The wind scraped the ridge.
Heat still clung to my skin, but the fire had steadied. No longer wild. Controlled.
Below me—blurs of motion. Flaring pulses.
Salem: shadow-coiled, shaking, bleeding.
Kali: coiled tighter, exact, bleeding — just barely. But her mana was furious now. The kind that cracked ribs from thirty feet away.
And then—
Three new outlines tore down the slope like falling stars.
One in front. Grounded. Earth-thick mana radiating like a pressure wave.
Rōko.
Her chain flicked once through the air — quick as thought — and hit the ground near Salem. It didn't strike Kali. Not yet. Just drew a line. A boundary. Her sickle glinted. She stood between them like a wall that wouldn't move.
Two others flanked her — one on each side.
Left: fire and lightning, tangled fast.
Right: cold, layered deep, slow, ancient.
The left one moved first.
He didn't hesitate. No words. Just motion.
One flicker of mana — and he was gone.
The blur reappeared in front of Kali.
A strike — so fast I didn't see it. Just the aftershock.
Lightning crashed. Fire licked the air. Kali reeled back, her mana staggered.
Not injured. But hit.
Hard enough to feel it. Hard enough to make her blink.
I had never felt his mana before. But I knew who he was.
Lumos Drossel.
Alven's brother.
The one I'd heard some stories about — the one they said might be the only mage who could survive a strike from Lincoln Himself.
Lightning and fire. Almost unfair.
Even from here, he looked untouchable.
Rōko shifted forward beside him, chain snapping wide, sickle low and angled. Defensive. She didn't strike first. She waited. Ready.
Kali adjusted. No more circling. She was reading the field.
And to the right—
The third figure didn't move toward Salem.
He moved toward me.
Toward William.
His mana was cold. Not like my ice. Not furious. Not wild.
Just… precise.
He landed on the ground in front of us without a sound. His aura didn't explode. It lowered the temperature like gravity settling into place.
I knew the shape. The balance of that energy.
"Aethon," I whispered.
Sir Aethon of the Elven Guard.
My voice surprised him. Barely. A tilt of the head. Recognition.
His mana shifted towards me for a second
"Hello there Annabel, you've grown up since we've last sparred."
Behind him, I felt the pressure shift again.
The devil commander had landed.
Not running. Not charging. Just arriving — like a guillotine sliding into place.
His blade was already half-raised. The mana marks on his shoulders hadn't healed.
But that smirky mana hadn't faded.
Aethon didn't blink.
"You're a commander are you?" Sir Aethon asked.
The devil tilted his head. No reply.
Then his mana spiked.
I felt the strike coming. A line of pressure like steel splitting the air.
Aethon caught it before it formed.
A single sweep — ice dragging up in a perfect arc. Clean. Instant. The blade hit frozen resistance. The shock barely rippled.
William gasped beside me. "How did they get here?"
"Salem and Rōko," I said. "Stay behind Aethon, this devil is strong."
He didn't argue.
A second later, Aethon stepped fully into the fight — his blade drawn now, coated in something colder than winter. It felt like it was coater in a massive amount of his mana.
The battlefield cracked open.
Rōko and Lumos closed on Kali, not in sync completely but getting in rhythm.
Not two mages. Two weapons.
Kali parried Rōko's chain and dodged the sickle. She blocked Lumos's second strike with the flat of her blade — but it burned her hand. I saw it — mana recoil, skin sizzled.
Still, she didn't retreat.
Her mana sparked.
But not the confident kind.
The other kind.
The kind people wear when they finally start trying.
The battlefield blurred.
Too many flares. Too much noise.
Salem's mana flickered across the ridge — dimmer than before.
Not gone.
But faltering.
I staggered upright.
"Stay here," I told William.
He made a noise like he might argue.
"Stay," I snapped.
Then I ran.
Every step scraped through the rock — pain lacing down my ribs like barbed wire. I followed her outline. That coiled, familiar shadow — still upright, still holding, but barely.
Behind me, chaos unraveled.
Kali's pressure pulsed with terrifying clarity — relentless, elegant, vicious. Two others struggled to keep pace. Rōko's mana danced frantic, out of rhythm. Lumos sparked bright, darting between too many points at once. They weren't fighting together — they were surviving. Just barely.
I didn't look back. I didn't need to.
Salem was slumped near the edge of the ridge. One leg bent under her at an impossible angle. Her blade-hand was still raised — trembling, dark mana unraveling in uneven pulses. Her outline flickered — a torn silhouette against the storm of pressure.
I dropped beside her, caught her body before she could fall.
"Annabel," she whispered. Her voice was all gravel and blood.
"I'm here," I said. "I've got you."
She shook her head — barely. "You shouldn't— You can't be here, it's too—"
"I am here."
Her arm curled weakly around me. It wasn't moving right. Too many cuts. Too much lost. I pressed my hand to her back, trying to pour heat into her. Anything. Something.
"I thought you were—" she choked, "gods, I thought I lost you—"
I shook. Just once.
"Not yet," I said.
Her mana brushed mine. Thin. Flickering. But still reaching.
"I love you," she murmured.
"I know," I said. "You're going to be okay."
"No, listen—"
"You're going to be okay, Salem." My voice cracked. "But we need to move."
She gritted her teeth. "I can't—"
"Let me."
I reached deep.
Not into fire. Not into ice.
Into space.
The part of me that bent the air. That cracked holes in the world.
I didn't have much left.
But I didn't need much.
Just enough.
I pulled. Mana behind my eyes flared white-hot, twisting sick down my throat. The air tore. A fracture opened — jagged, unstable, barely wider than a wagon.
I dragged her through.
Then it slammed shut behind us.
We hit stone. Somewhere lower, a hollow behind an outcropping, just far enough from the ridge. Our outlines would vanish from sightlines. It felt like miles.
She groaned. I braced her body against mine, breathing fast.
"I've got you," I whispered. "Don't move. Just breathe."
She did.
Barely.
But she did.
—
The ridge erupted.
Kali's pressure sharpened to a blade. Her mana surged like a storm with intent. I felt it — focused now. Not chaotic. Not reactive.
Rōko stumbled, her outline blurring into the rocks. Her whip lashed, missed, snapped wide again. She was too slow. Too messy.
Then it happened.
A shift.
A flare.
A shove.
Lumos threw her sideways — hard. Mana burst around him as he stepped into the line she couldn't hold.
The blade that would've taken Rōko's head missed by less than a breath.
He caught it.
Steel screeched against crackling lightning. Then he dipped low — a perfect pivot — and snapped his foot up into Kali's ribs.
CRACK.
The shockwave rolled across the slope. Even here, it knocked loose pebbles down the hollow.
Kali slid back — two feet, maybe three — but she didn't stagger. She straightened. Calm. Unfazed. Watching him now.
Lumos stood tall. Breathing hard. Lightning coursing in veins across his arms.
"No kids around now," he said, voice darker than I'd ever heard it. "So I don't have to hold back."
Kali's silhouette tilted her head.
Then she laughed.
"Good," she said. "I was getting bored."
Behind her, Rōko was still catching her breath. I could feel it — her panic. Her guilt. The shame blooming in her mana like a bruise.
Lumos didn't look back.
He couldn't.
He was done covering for her. Done doing three things at once — striking, blocking, saving her from death. She wasn't fast enough. She knew it. So did he.
"You should've left her behind earlier," Kali said softly, stepping forward. "She would've died cleaner."
"I don't let people die," Lumos snapped.
Kali's pressure narrowed like a needle. "Neither do I," she whispered. "I break them first. Unfortunately you have all protected your minds way too well, especially you. So I'll do it the old fashioned way and tear you limb from limb."
Then she vanished.
They collided again — blade to chain, lightning to shadow.
No more restraint.
Not now.
And farther off— another war.
—
Aethon's pressure loomed heavy, glacier-weight and unshakable. He moved like inevitability. No wasted strikes. Every swing of his frostblade bent the battlefield colder.
His opponent — the commander— blazed like a furnace. Fire thick in every breath. He fought like a war remembered: loud, cruel, punishing.
But he wasn't winning.
Every blow the commander swung met clean, elegant deflection. Every blast of fire melted inches short of armor.
He roared, staggering back from a parry. "Stand still, damn you!"
Aethon didn't answer at first.
He took a measured step forward, eyes never leaving him. Then — calm, almost quiet:
"Your name."
The commander blinked.
"What?"
"I asked your name," Aethon repeated, blade at the ready. "I believe it's honorable to know the names of the men I kill."
He snarled. "Zareth. Commander. Slayer of—"
"Zareth," Aethon said. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," the devil growled, swinging again, "i'll burn you!"
He lunged. Flame roared.
Aethon twisted, dodging fluidly — one step, then two — and buried his blade through the fire, frost coating Zareth's gauntlet mid-strike.
Zareth screamed in fury. "You're just— running away! Hiding behind tricks!"
"I'm fighting smart," Aethon replied, voice calm, unmoved. "You burn like a drunk man swinging his fists. All fire. No form."
"Coward!"
"Discipline."
Another clash. Fire cracked down Aethon's shoulderplate. He didn't flinch.
"You're not stronger than me!" Zareth shouted. "You know you're not!"
"I don't need to be," Aethon said softly. "I just need to drain that stamina of yours a bit."
Frost rippled across the ridge.
And Zareth, for the first time took a step back.
—
I held Salem's hand. Her mana curled weak and low in my palm. Still there. Still hers.
Above us, the battlefield raged.
Pressure colliding. Elements screaming.
A storm with too many names.
Salem breathed again — shallow, rough.
"I've got you," I whispered.
She didn't answer.
But she didn't let go.