“Back—GET BACK!”
I turned and saw it. One of the Renegades, barely standing, blood pouring from a slash across his ribs, lifted something from beneath his cloak. It was small and black, shimmering with etched violet lines. It didn’t look like anything forged by Leander hands. It looked…alien.
A weapon of some kind, just like the one Myccael had shown us during the meeting. It wasn't a gun or a blade. Whatever it was, it was worse. I didn’t have time to shout before it detonated.
There was no flash, no light, I only heard a sound. Like air beingsucked in, then compressed into a scream that tore through the marrow of my bones. Before I had time to comprehend, a force the likes of which I had never experienced before hit me like a wall. My feet left the ground, and my sword ripped from my hand. I wasflying,through air, through dust, through pain. I slammed into the trunk of a karnel tree, the bark cracking beneath me, the breath knocked clean out of my lungs.
I hit the ground and didn’t move. Icouldn'tmove. The other dragoons had suffered the same fate as me, all on the ground, groaning, unmoving.
Daphne?
Snyg, where was she?
The Renegades came back; they hadn't run away: they had gottenout of the wayto let their terrible weapon lose. And now they were coming back to finish us off. I tried to get up, but I still couldn't move. It felt like I was frozen, and in disbelief, I watched the Renegades return, watched them start slowly and methodically slicing the throats of my dragoons, one by one. It was only a matter of time before they reached me. And Daphne! Gods, I couldn't allow that to happen.
I wasn't a dragoon. I was a snygging vissigroth. I was better, stronger, and it was up to me to stop this bloodbath. I tried to move. Couldn’t.
One of them slit a dragoon’s throat two feet from me. Another stood above Korran, blade raised. Ney!
The word exploded from me, and rage followed. I forced my hands to work. My legs. I was wobbly, but on my feet. My muscles felt stiff, and everything inside me screamed. But I got up, swordless and bruised. It didn’t matter.
I was still Mallack, the Vissigroth of Hoerst, and the gods weren't done with me yet. I had been trained by the gods themselves and forged in blood.
I let out a roar that shattered the air, caught the attention of every bastard in earshot. The man about to slit Korran's throat stopped; they all turned.
I grinned. “Let’s finish this.”
I charged the one closest to Korran, throwing myself at him, slamming into his side like a meteor. We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and steel. He snarled, but I was faster. Stronger. I drove my fist into his face, again and again, until he stopped moving.
Korran groaned. His expression was still that of utter astonishment, like he was frozen from the moment the alien weapon went off. Only his eyes blazed with life and rage. I didn't have time to care; more Renegades were coming. Half a dozen of them circled me. They thought I was vulnerable because I didn't have my sword, or they thought the blast had broken me.
It hadn’t.
I tore a short blade from the corpse beside me and rose again. My stance widened, and I squared my shoulders. I gave them my smile—the one that made warriors think twice before advancing.
“Let’s finish this,” I said again, low and calm this time.
And I did.
Mallack was still fighting. He was bleeding from several cuts on his bare chest, his arms, and his legs, but he was moving like a force the gods themselves had forged in shadow and flame.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He moved through the chaos with lethal grace, every motion a thing of power and purpose. One Renegade fell, then another. His sword was a silver blur in the darkness, cutting down anything foolish enough to approach. For one impossible moment, I thought it was over.
Then I saw him.
A Renegade, barely standing near the riverbank, blood pouring from a deep gash across his chest. He staggered forward and pulled something from beneath his tattered cloak. Whatever it was, it was small and smooth. Under the light of the Crowin Moon, it looked black and gleaming, etched with glowing violet lines that pulsed like a heartbeat.
My breath caught. I didn’t know what it was, but my primal self knew it would be bad.
Mallack turned toward him as if sensing the danger, and everything in my body screamed for him to move, to run, toget away?—
But it was too late.
There was no flash. No fire. Just a sound. A low, vibrating hum that deepened into a roar of pressure that made the very air around us collapse inward. The world shrank to a single, bone-rattling scream, and then it exploded outward.
The force hit like a tidal wave. I was thrown backward, flung through the air and deeper into the tent. Canvas tore. Something cracked. My body hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs. Dust filled my mouth and throat, and the ringing in my ears was deafening, my vision a dizzy blur of motion and smoke.
Outside, there was nothing but stillness. But it wasn't the peaceful kind. It was the kind of silence that follows devastation. Images of my first dream came back to me. Fragments. The smoke, the smell of burning and death. I lay there, tangled in fabric and debris, lungs burning as I tried to remember how to breathe. My body ached, but I didn't think anything was broken. My skin stung, but there was no blood. I could even move, barely.
