From this height, I can see our ground forces moving through the forest—Haven’s Heart soldiers in tight formation, their weapons gleaming in the morning sun; Sable’s wolvesflowing like liquid shadow through the undergrowth; Bran’s bears advancing with unstoppable momentum.
We soar high, using cloud cover to mask our approach. Black Ridge rises before us like a dark fist thrust from the earth, Viktor’s war camp sprawled across its slopes. From above, I can see the ancient temple at its center—a stone structure pre-dating our clan’s memory, its architecture both beautiful and ominous, now surrounded by Viktor’s forces.
I count the defenders—at least fifty Storm Eagles perched on various vantage points, twice that many Dire Wolves patrolling the perimeter. The odds are not in our favor, but we have something Viktor doesn’t expect: unity.
A mile from our targets, we’re spotted. Alarm horns blare across the encampment, their mournful sound carrying on the wind. Dark shapes launch into the air—Viktor’s Storm Eagles rising to meet us.
“Now!” I signal with a sharp cry, tucking my wings and diving.
My Eagles follow, plummeting toward our designated targets. Wind roars past my feathers as I focus on the largest guard tower. At precisely the right moment, I release a bolt of concentrated lightning—blue-white energy that strikes with devastating precision. The tower explodes in a shower of stone and wood, defenders scattering like leaves.
All across the camp, similar explosions mark my warriors’ successful strikes. Viktor’s Eagles reach us moments later, and the sky erupts in aerial combat—a whirlwind of talons, beaks, and lightning.
I bank sharply, evading a diving attacker, then twist to rake my talons across his wing. He spirals downward, screaming in pain. Three more Eagles converge on me—Viktor’s elite guard, recognizable by the silver bands on their legs.
I meet them head-on, storm magic surging through my body. Lightning arcs from my wings, striking one directly in the chest. He falls instantly, feathers smoking. The remaining two circle warily, looking for an opening.
Below, ground combat has erupted. Sable’s wolves clash with Dire Wolf patrols in vicious close-quarters fighting while Haven’s Heart soldiers advance methodically under covering fire. Bran’s bears tear through barricades with raw strength, their roars echoing across the battlefield.
The battle plan is working. Viktor’s forces are divided, confused by the multi-pronged attack. But I don’t see Viktor himself, which means he’s likely in the temple with Elena, continuing ritual preparations despite the chaos.
I dispatch the remaining guards with a powerful surge of lightning, then dive toward the temple. Through our bond, I can feel Elena more strongly now—her determination mixed with fear, not for herself but for the prisoners Viktor plans to sacrifice.
Storm magic crackles around me as I approach the temple. The ancient stone structure sits atop a natural rise, its entrance guarded by Viktor’s most loyal followers. I shift into human form as I land on the temple roof, the transformation allowing me to drop through an opening in the stone ceiling.
Inside, the temple air hangs heavy with dark magic—a cloying, oppressive atmosphere that makes my skin crawl. I move silently through shadows, following the pull of the mate bond like a compass pointing true north. Voices echo from the central chamber ahead—Viktor’s cold commands and responses from his followers.
“The battle outside is irrelevant,” Viktor’s voice carries clearly. “Let them exhaust themselves. Once the ritual is complete, none will stand against us.”
“And the prisoners?” asks another voice.
“Bring them now.” A pause. “And fetch Dr.Ashford. It’s time she witnessed what true power looks like before she contributes her own.”
My hands clench, lightning dancing between my fingers. The casual way he speaks of Elena’s death sends rage flooding through me. I force myself to remain hidden, to wait for the right moment.
I slip along the shadowed colonnade, counting guards, counting breaths. The side chamber smells of fear and damp stone. Through the grate, I find her—Elena—kneeling beside a cluster of prisoners with their hands bound to an iron rail. Lyra works a hidden pick at the locks, her movements so economical they barely disturb the torchlight.
A low current rides my skin. We are both too late and just in time.
“Elena,” I whisper, a breath of sound. Her head lifts; for a heartbeat, our eyes lock, and the static between us flares.
A slow clap breaks the quiet.
Viktor steps from a rib of shadow, silver-gray eyes amused, stormlight coiling lazy and lethal around his fingers. “Stormwright,” he says to the dark where I hide, “you fly well. You skulk poorly.”
He doesn’t look at Elena when he speaks; he looks straight at me.
Lyra’s pick snicks. The first shackle falls. “On my mark,” she breathes.
I shift weight, ready to cut the lantern and take the room in darkness—when Viktor lifts the ritual blade and touches its point to the threshold sigil. The symbol flares a sickly green. Wards shudder awake.
Stone booms. The floor between us splits like a closing jaw. But Lyra is already moving, picking locks as the wards start to activate. “Run!” she shouts to the two prisoners she’s managedto free, shoving them toward a narrow waste chute. They scramble through just as a lattice of lightning cages the chamber, yanking Elena backward on hidden chains.
“Dawn is for sacrifices,” Viktor says pleasantly. “Midnight is for rats.”
I hurl a braided bolt at the sigil; he meets it with a turning wrist and redirects the charge into the wards. The chamber doors slam. Lyra gets another shackle free and shoves the freed prisoner toward the waste chute. She gives the rest of the chained people a desperate look. “We’ll come back for you,” she tells them, then palms a flat token into Elena’s hand. “Keep this. It’s keyed to the chains.”
Guards flood the corridor. I take two down, three, but the lattice is already carrying Elena away through the inner conveyance toward the main ritual chamber. She keeps her eyes on mine until the bars slide across her face and the wall eats her.
