I was watching myself kill.
I was inside my own body, behind my own eyes, feeling every muscle move. But I wasn't the one moving. Something else was. Something that wore my skin and used my hands and fought with a precision I'd never had.
The power from the broken seal — one-third of everything that had been locked away — was instinct. Ancient, violent, absolute. It moved my body the way a river moves a leaf. I was along for the ride.
And the ride was terrifying.
Saeltharys came at me — at *it* — with everything. Gravity manipulation that should have crushed mountains. Claws that had torn through Primordial scales for four thousand years. The Ancient Language, words that bent reality like wet paper.
The thing wearing my body met her blow for blow.
