"Gods, that's a big one," Muir said quietly.
It struck.
I threw myself sideways. Heat blistered the air where my head had been. The floor bucked under the impact. I shifted on instinct—scales, talons—and raked across the serpent's cheek. My claws threw sparks. No blood.
The tail slammed.
It caught me mid-turn. Pain ripped through my ribs and I skidded across rock. My breath tore out of me. By the time I found air, the jaws were already descending—fangs like molten knives.
A column of water smashed into its face.
Steam exploded. The bite missed. Muir slid in front of me, hands splayed, another wave building along his forearms. "Up, Primal."
I staggered to my feet, dizzy. The serpent shook off the water, scales shedding steam like rain. It lashed again. Muir redirected, water hardening into a blade that banged off its horn and burst apart. The heat pouring off its body ate his water the moment it touched.
"Not enough," I rasped.
"Then we make it enough," he snapped, eyes on the beast.
It lunged. We split—me left, him right. The jaws hit rock and cratered it. I sprinted, kept the head turning, forced it to track me. Too fast for something that size. Coils dragged; the floor blistered where it slid.
"Primal, vents at the throat," Muir shouted. "Bright seams—like gills. Hit there!"
The serpent pivoted toward him. I cut across its flank and scored those vents. My talons sank more than before—but not much. The serpent screamed—high, metallic—and snapped at me, breath blasting heat that stung my eyes.
I didn't dodge fast enough. Its neck slammed me into a spire. Stars burst behind my eyes. I slid, palms leaving skin on stone. When I looked up, it had Muir in its sights.
He dragged water from every crack and puddle, hands carving, shoulders braced. The wave hammered into the serpent's open mouth and flashed to steam. It snapped through and kept coming. Muir threw his weight; ice locked around the fangs and bought half a breath. The ice cracked and ran off in crystal shards.
I ran. My legs felt like sand. I tried to call the violet flame—fingers tingled. Nothing.
The tail lashed. I vaulted, barely clearing it. It clipped my ankle anyway and sent me tumbling. I rolled, hit my knees, pushed up. The floor tilted; heat sucked breath from my lungs. The beast loomed. I raised my hands and the violet answered—then guttered. Thin, stringy sparks. Pathetic.
"Lyra!" Muir's voice cut through the roar. "Eyes up!"
I looked. The serpent's head filled my world.
I swung with everything I had. Talons met plate. Pain split my wrists. It drove through me, shoving me back. My spine skidded across rough stone. I couldn't find air. The monster reared, coiled, ready to crush.
For a heartbeat the fight slipped away. Blood pounded in my ears. My chest felt too small for my heart. Too big. Too fast. Everything too much.
You're out of your depth. You weren't made for this. Street rat with quick hands, not a hero. Not a savior. This isn't survival. It's a death sentence.
My vision tunneled.
A fist gripped the front of my shirt and yanked me upright. Muir's face snapped into focus—close, steady, all that red light painting his eyes hard blue. No smile. No joke. Just command.
"Lock in."
"I—" The word scraped out. My ribs burned.
"Breathe." His tone sliced clean through panic. "In. Out. With me."
I did—because I couldn't do anything else. In. Out. Air found me. The serpent's shadow spread across the floor.
"I can't…" The truth slipped out.
"You can." He let me go and braced beside me. "You're the Primal. I'm your water. Be present." His gaze flicked to the serpent and back. Softer: "On me. I won't let it take you."
It shouldn't have helped. It did.
The serpent lunged.
We moved.
Muir swept his hands. The ground in front of the beast flooded—thin, shallow, everywhere. The serpent plowed into it; the flash of steam stole its sight for a blink. I dove under the jawline, talons raking for the throat vents. The scales there glowed hotter—burned even through draconic skin. It shrieked and smashed its chin down. I rolled clear by inches.
"Left!"
I slid left without thinking. Muir's wave tracked me and snapped into the serpent's face. Water hissed and boiled off, but not before sealing along the inside hinge where the heat roared least. It bit; the new ice slowed the hinge a fraction.
"Again."
We did. He set the angle; I set the strike. A rhythm. Lure, blind, cut, move. Each pass we learned more—how long his water held before it steamed off; how deep my talons could reach at the vents; when to duck the tail by sound instead of sight.
It still wasn't enough.
The serpent adapted. It started leading our dodges, smashing the floor where I'd be next. The tail swept my calf and ripped me off balance. I hit my side; pain screamed up my spine. It twisted for my head.
I threw my arms up. Violet power surged, frantic and ragged—then fizzled.
Please—whatever you are—help me. Anything—
The answer dropped into me, cold as iron: So be it.
Power detonated.
Not mine. Not controlled.
A white-violet flood burst from my chest and out through my hands. Not flame—force. It hit the serpent full-on. The glow in its seams flared hard white, like its inner fire had been dragged to the surface. The beast recoiled with a scream that shook the rock. The light kept coming. It poured until my bones shivered. My fingers cramped; I couldn't close them.
"Lyra!" Muir again, farther this time. "Reel it in!"
I couldn't. The surge wasn't passing through me—it was using me. Cracks spidered across the serpent's plates, thin white lines racing down the head and into the neck. I clawed for control anyway.
"Enough!" The shout tore my throat. I forced the door shut.
The light cut off. Darkness slammed back. I sagged, dizzy, skin prickling.
Muir was already moving. He dragged every drop left in the cavern—condensation, steam, the thin film across the floor—into a dense, brutal wave. It didn't break. It hit, ramming the superheated seams and holding with both hands locked.
The shock was violent.
Cracks split wide. Plates popped. Molten lines went black. The serpent convulsed, spat a gout of half-cooked fire that fizzled into sparks, reared for another strike—and collapsed with a crash that rattled my teeth.
Silence landed so hard my ears rang.
I swayed. The world tilted. Muir caught my forearm, then my waist when my knees gave. He eased me onto a cooler patch of stone and crouched, studying me like I'd sprouted a second head.
"What did you do?" he asked, voice low. No mockery. No sugar.
"I…" Words scattered. "I don't know."
He didn't buy it. His gaze dropped to my hands. They still shook. I curled them into fists and hated that he saw it. He leaned in, consideration narrowing his eyes, then let it go—for now.
I looked past him at the dead serpent, jaw tight. "We should move. Raiden and Revik are still looking for us. And there could be more."
Muir's mouth twitched—frustration. "Can you stand?"
"Yes." I tried. My legs disagreed. I would've face-planted if he hadn't steadied me.
"Don't start lying to me now," he muttered, sliding my arm over his shoulder without asking.
We moved. The floor was scorched and cratered. Every breath scraped. The relic's hum tugged at me like a thread—fainter under the surge's echo, but there. I followed it, one step at a time.
"You're smarter than you act," I said finally, because silence made the ringing worse. "With the water. The vents."
He huffed. "Compliment? Be still my heart."
"I still hate you," I muttered. "You did try to drown me."
"That wasn't personal."
"Hard not to take that personally."
"Fair." A beat. "I was trying to get the prince's attention."
"You're insane."
"Perhaps," he said, smug again. "Worked, didn't it?"
We reached the shaft where we'd fallen. A vein of magma glowed along one edge. Too far up to climb, too slick to scale. The tunnel above was a solid wall of obsidian.
"We'll have to find another way around," I said, listening. The hum pulsed ahead, down a narrower throat of stone slanting south. "This way."
Muir adjusted his grip like he expected me to fight him. I didn't. The surge had hollowed me out. Pushing would mean falling.
"You can let go any time," I said anyway, because pride dies hard.
"You can walk on your own any time," he said, glancing at my knees. "I'll scrape you off the floor again."
"Asshole."
"I know." Then Lighter: "Keep moving."
We went on.
The heat eased as the passage narrowed. Air turned dry; the sulfur taste faded to mineral. I blinked the blur from my eyes and stretched my hearing. The relic's whisper sharpened—hum paired with a second tone I couldn't name. Not animal. Not human. Older.
"Which way?" Muir asked.
"Left," I said, sure.
We climbed—palms on rough stone, boots grinding grit. Halfway up my foot slipped. Strength still hadn't fully returned. Muir caught my belt and hauled me up without comment. At the ledge he finally let go.
The ledge opened onto a smaller chamber—black glass walls, dim veins of heat underfoot. The hum was stronger here. My skin prickled.
"Close," Muir said.
"Close," I agreed.
My legs steadied. My hands still trembled; I folded them under my arms.
"You going to tell him?" Muir asked.
"Tell who what?"
"Raiden," he said, like it was obvious. "About whatever that was."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Right." A beat. "He'll figure it out."
"Then I'll deal with it when he does."
He hummed. Not agreement. Not disagreement. "We fight well together," he tried, light again.
"Necessity," I said.
"Still," he replied. "Solid Teamwork."
"We are not a team."
He barked a short laugh. "She's got her bite back."
We crossed to a slit of a passage, barely wide enough to squeeze through. Cool air flowed from it, carrying a faint metallic scent. The hum was strong enough now to thrum in my teeth. I pressed my palm to the stone. It vibrated.
"We're close," I said, more to myself than to him. Closer than I'd ever been.
"Then let's not stop," he said softly.
I nodded, breath steadying. We slid sideways through the slit, shoulders scraping cold stone. It opened after a dozen paces onto a dark shelf above a deeper hollow. The hum rose like a held breath. I crouched, peered over, saw nothing but black.
Behind me, Muir set a steadying hand between my shoulder blades. Not a push. Just balance.
"On your call, Primal."
A dozen feelings crowded my chest at once: the serpent's weight; Muirs voice cutting through panic; the surge using me; Raiden's face the only thing in my head when I thought I'd die; the anger still simmering at him; the fear I wouldn't admit; the resolve I needed.
I shut it all up.
"On three," I said, eyes on the dark below. "One."
"Two," Muir said with me.
"Three."
We jumped.