The wind hadn't stopped howling since she left.
It tore through the peaks, carrying the scent of rain and death—the same scent that haunted me since the last time we faced the darkness. The sound of it scraped the inside of my skull, too close to memory.
We'd fought this thing before. Not this many—but enough to know how it moved, how it fed, and how impossible it was to truly kill.
How do you kill what's already dead?
Answer: you don't.
You hold it off.
You buy time.
Tadewi didn't waste a breath. Her calm, ceremonial air had vanished the second the scout delivered the report. What remained was command—pure, disciplined, lethal. Her voice echoed through the mountain, magnified by the wind.
"Evacuate the lower terraces!" she barked. "Skyguard to the bridges, archers to the cliffs! Seal the inner currents—no one touches the lower trails without my word!"
Sentries scattered to obey, cloaks flashing slate and saffron as they vanished into the clouds. Horns answered from below—two short, one long—the call for full mobilization.
Muir landed beside me, boots skidding over stone, eyes already sharp with recognition. "It's the same pattern," he said grimly. "Rolling in slow—testing the edges before it strikes."
"Yeah," I said. "And it'll hit hard when it does."
Revik climbed up a ledge to get a better look. His face paled as he saw the full extent. "They say thirty-six hours at most," he said. "I reckon less—it's moving faster than before."
Tadewi turned toward us, her presence cutting through the storm like a blade of light. "You've faced this before," she said, not asking. "You know what's coming."
"We do," I said. "And it's not a battle we can win."
Her jaw tightened. "Then we hold the line."
"We can," Muir said. "For a while. But not forever."
"That's all we need," Tadewi replied. "A while—enough to let my people evacuate."
"Your whole nation will be devoured," Revik said quietly. "Where do you plan to go?"
For once, Tadewi stayed silent. She didn't have an answer.
"Your people are welcome in the Fire Nation," I said.
Her head turned, eyes narrowing. "Your people will not like that."
"My people will adapt," I said. "They'll do as I say—or they can find another nation to call home. This is my decision to make."
Her lips curved faintly. "Spoken like a true king."
The horns changed tone—a deep, rhythmic pulse that vibrated through the stone under our feet. The Skyguard were taking formation. Below, the terraces shimmered with faint light as wards flared to life, a defensive lattice humming along the cliffs.
The Air Nation was preparing for war.
The fortifying was the easy part—walls, wards, fire spread evenly across the cliffs so the dark couldn't find a single mouth to feed on. And yet, it never felt like enough.
The last time we faced the darkness, we'd barely escaped with our lives. An entire forest had vanished in less than an hour—consumed, body and soul—until there was nothing left but silence and cold air.
We couldn't let that happen again.
Not with so many lives on the line.
They might not be my people—but they were still people.
I turned toward Tadewi. "We'll take the Sky Bridges," I said. "If those fall, the whole nation goes with them."
Her eyes flashed with that same unyielding hurricane. "Then you hold them—until your bones give out."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Muir muttered, cracking his knuckles.
Tadewi almost smiled. "Confidence," she said, "or resignation?"
"Little of both," Revik said.
Tadewi gave a curt nod. "Then may the wind favor your blades and elements." She turned to the little girl, who stood nearby looking lost. "Come with me, wind-child. I can't promise complete safety—but I can promise warmth and shelter."
She turned and strode away with the girl in hand, her voice carrying as she rallied her soldiers with commands in the old sky-tongue.
We moved too—across the narrow causeways toward the bridgehead.
The sky ahead was already bruising to black, the horizon writhing with movement. It wasn't clouds. It never was. The darkness moved like a living thing—billowing, crawling, devouring the light it touched.
Muir drew his blades, the edges lined with frozen mist. "You feel it?" he said quietly. "It's stronger than before."
I nodded. "It's been feeding."
He didn't argue. He knew. We all did.
By the time we reached the bridges, the first rank of Skyguard was already in place. They stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons gleaming faintly in the gloom, wings folded like banners waiting to unfurl.
They hadn't seen this before—but to their credit, they didn't flinch when the light dimmed or when the first whisper crawled across the wind—a sound like voices speaking from underwater.
I stepped to the front and raised a hand.
"I know I'm not your commander," I said, voice carrying across the line. "But today, I will be. We fight together—as brothers and sisters fighting for life itself. Remember what it wants." I paused, letting the silence stretch. "Fear. Noise. Panic. Don't give it that. Give it steel. Give it light."
The Skyguard shouted once—sharp, unified, defiant.
The shadow reached the first bridge.
It didn't strike like an army. It surged.
A wall of moving black hit the outer wards with the sound of thunder cracking stone.
I let lightning split the sky to shed light—and for a split second, we all saw it.
A thousand half-formed faces within the darkness—faces that used to be people.
Muir lifted his arms, water spiraling from the air, freezing into spears the soldiers could wield. I followed, calling the storm into my hands. The air charged as I held the full weight of it in my veins.
Revik's blade flashed beside me, clean and sharp, every movement burning with purpose. We'd done this before. We knew the rhythm of survival.
But even so—this wasn't going to be easy.
The wards shuddered under the assault. Shadows climbed the walls, clawing for purchase. Every strike we landed burned another hole in the darkness. The mages tried to mend the wards, but for every tear they patched, two more split open.
"Get ready to hold the line!" I roared.
Muir's voice echoed mine, hoarse but steady. "Keep them busy! We just need to buy the Primal Dragon time!"
Lyra.
She was out there somewhere—chasing a relic that might be our only chance at survival.
Every second we held this line was another second she had to find it.
That was the only thing keeping me upright.
Night bled into the horizon.
The storm above was electric, the mountain below was shaking, and the world between them was turning into war.
We'd fought this darkness before. We'd watched it crawl through wards, shattering them piece by piece until nothing was left.
But now the real fight had begun.
And it was going to have to claw through ice and lightning to reach us.
And we'd make sure it remembered exactly why it feared the light.