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Leaf screams from my side, eyes wide at Taman, taking in the scene.

Castor yells, “My night vision isn’t working! I cannot see!”

I don’t need to see the approaching shadows to know who they are. “THE JORD IS HERE! ATTACK!”

47

Shoulder to Shoulder

Something is terribly wrong. Dark shapes approach our camp, and I cannot fucking see them.

What the fuck.

It’s the exhaustion, it must be. My eyes must be playing wicked tricks on me, as they do most nights when I try to fall asleep. Battles playing over and over in my head. Images of my fallen comrades, bleeding out on the ground. The front lines buckling no matter how fucking hard I push myself. “Casualties are a part of the natural consequence of war, Castor,” my father said in his office when I confronted him about the lives lost in our latest battle with the Southern Continent, the Jord joining their side and betraying hundreds of years of peace.

My ears betray me next.

Boots.

Dozens on heavy-footed boots. Soft clanking of weapons clattering on shields. Low grunts and gleeful laughter. My spine crawls at the distinct sounds my mind tortures me with when I attempt to sleep.

But I should be able to see them, right?

Why can’t I see them?

As one of the best Moon’chers in all the Watch, night vision is something I’m counted on for—responsible for—a skill that holds immense pressure and duty to the Watch. What is a scout without their ability to see?

I hit the palm of my hand against my forehead, blink forcefully, and squint into the distance just as the sounds grow closer. I just need a little more light. “Myst.”

The pull of my moon stone from my wrist cuff bites. Fuck, that hurts. Like a leech sucking blood for too long. My stores are low. The silvery moon smoke twirls from my wrist, almost fully transparent. Weak. Barely illuminating the night. “Fuck!”

I had made sure that before we traveled back to the Watch, I spent time storing more Source into my stones. Why is my myst acting so fucking pathetic?

An arrow arches overhead, whistling through the air. I can barely track the motion before it pierces Taman’s shoulder. The roc cries out in pain.

I reach over my shoulders, pulling my dual blades and call back to the camp. “My night vision isn’t working! I cannot see!”

Akemi’s voice, pure and resonant and full of so much of that restrained power I know she has hidden within, rings out above Taman’s screech. “THE JORD IS HERE! ATTACK!”

Fury of the deepest kind heats my chest. Half from my own failings, the other with the Jord. How fucking dare they.

How dare they abandon the treaty.

Join forces with the South.

Kill my comrades on the front.

Then dare to come here. I don’t know how they found us, but I sure as fuck won’t let them leave here. Adrenaline, so innately human and unlike the use of the Source, pulses through my veins, shunting off any remaining exhaustion and fueling me with an abundance of strength. I abandon my moon magic for the thrill of physical combat and run.

With my two curved blades swinging at my sides as my arms pump wildly, I push myself forward, forcing every single fucking muscle and ligament in my body to work at its highest potential. My entire being alights with this feeling, and I remember why I’m both the youngest and most powerful Commander in the Watch.

I unleash a battle cry as the Jord warriors finally come into my field of sight, raising both swords high above my head.

Their eyes widen in terror. Both swords arch down, inking their expression indefinitely for the stars. I glance up. Good. Let them watch.

The Oksvakt emerge from the darkness like vermin from the deepest oceans, scowls on their deranged faces, gleaming with joy at the potential of catching their prey unaware.

Good thing I’m well the fuck aware. With all my might, my blade rips through the air, cleanly slicing off limbs as easy as a hot knife through butter. But where one Underling collapses, another emerges, replacing their kin without a second thought.