Aami stared up from the crowd gathered in Cyrilla Plaza as she watched the shape in the sky. He was far—high enough that she could hardly make out who he was. But that was enough. Aami saw the way he stood, in the tenseness of his shoulders and the resignation in his stance.

He was getting ready to do something stupid again.

She saw him glance towards a big building once, towards a troll who was paler than bone. They locked eyes. Rowan mouthed an apology that only Aami saw, looked to the west, and took a step forward. Lightning crackled. Wind soared.

And then he was gone.

Behind her, Aami heard a sigh of relief.

“I thought the barrier was going to break,” Priscia said, shoulders sagging as she squeezed Aami’s hand. “What in Ancestors’ name was that in the sky? It looked like a person, but it was…”

She shuddered.

“It didn’t have a face. Was that thing even an amarid?”

“That thing was Rowan,” Aami muttered.

Priscia blinked, “What? You just opened your mouth without saying anything.”

Aami shook her head, “I did say something. It’s just that no one ever hears it, just like he said.”

Letting go of the cook’s hand, Aami let her flesh reform—the pale skin bubbled and turned black, expanding rapidly. The crowd around her screamed and Priscia backed away in surprise, watching as people tripped and stumbled away. They looked at her in fear. Some even raised weapons her way. Aami didn’t care. Not when she was in a hurry.

Feathers sprouted from her oozeflesh, and a massive beak grew out of her mouth, peeling her jaw back as her body expanded. Aami’s arms extended into vast, obsidian wings. Her legs morphed into talons and eyes sprouted all over her head.

She heard shouting from above. The men in the ships pointed their guns at her. Others drew theirs swords, their knives, and their spears.

Priscia stood in front of her and spread her arms.

“Stop!” she said, panicking. “She’s not going to—”

A gunshot. A bullet of pure, magical force exploded against Aami’s feathers. They didn’t so much as leave a scratch. With her massive talons, Aami grabbed Priscia around the waist and flapped her wings once. She shot up, past the ships. The people of Felzan looked at her like she was a monster. Aami looked back.

Their fear didn’t quite hurt her as much as before.

Aami flapped her wings again—she blurred forward, away from the panicking crowd and the soldiers with guns, and towards the manor atop a distant hill. She landed on the courtyard and set Priscia down as alarms blared across the city again. Guards outside of the manor rushed towards their location.

“I’m sorry,” Aami told the chef, her voice echoing out from her beak. “I know we were supposed to eat at your favorite bakery today, but I have to go.”

“Go? Where? To follow the—" Priscia stopped, blinked. “…Was that thing in the sky Ashran?”

Aami nodded, “He’s going back to where that woman is. The one who made him sad before. He’s had enough of feeling that way—it’s tearing him apart. I won’t let it happen again.”

“So you’re going to leave.”

“I am.”

Priscia looked conflicted for a moment, before she gave Aami a reluctant nod. “Alright, but you owe me another date, okay? I was really looking forward to showing you cake today. I haven’t gone with a… someone, in forever.”

“I was looking forward to the cake, too. But someone needs to get pecked or bitten a few times for going off without me, first.”

“I understand. I know I already said we couldn’t, but…” Priscia sighed. “I still can’t help but be a little jealous.”

“Jealous? What do you mean?”

Her shoulders sagged, “I don’t really know either. Just come back for me, okay?”

Aami shrunk down into her humanoid form and smiled, quickly giving the girl a hug. “Of course I will, dummy. I’m very possessive of my friends, you know?” Aami gave the girl a kiss on the cheek and pulled away, grinning brightly. “You and Rowan wouldn’t be able to run from me if either of you wanted to.”

“Your definition of friends might be a little wonky,” Priscia muttered, rubbing at her cheek with a faint blush.

“But what else could I call you? You already explained that I wasn’t your mate even though we—”

“—Stop! I get it, so we’re not… okay? I’m not ready for that kind of thing yet.”

“Yeah, yeah. You already told me that. But we can still do the bed stuff, right?”

“What bed…” Priscia trailed off and blushed harder. She shoved Aami off of her and pointed at the sky, glaring. “Stop bringing that up in public, Mimi! Ancestors. Just—go, okay? Don’t you have my employer to chase down?”

Aami laughed and waved at her, “See you later, Priscia.”

“Take care, Mimi.”

Smiling, Aami morphed back into a giant raven, the same kind Vivian had turned into in the past. She shot up towards the sky and out of the barrier, into the rainless sky. She turned to the west. Aami spread her wings, preparing to leave, when something small and blue pecked her on the beak.

Aami blinked and found a familiar bird next to her face.

“I’m going with you,” Venti said, and Aami turned her head to see hundreds of birds rise from the forest. They gathered around her, Venti in the lead. “I’m not going to let that pale idiot run off and ditch me again.”

“And you’re going with me? I thought you didn’t like me?”

“You’re a disgusting void creature that has no right to exist in this world, yes. But we all make compromises.”

The shoggoth rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway. Venti wasn’t getting to her. Not anymore. She let the swarm of birds perch on her back, and with a chorus of chirps, the wind around her roared. Galewind gathered under her. It lightened her; made the sky itself part for her to pass.

Aami blurred forward with a swipe of her wings, and they cut like knives through the scattered clouds.

Saer Halcyn flew over the battle, feeling Freyarch’s sorcery burning within his veins. It filled him with power that felt like it would burst inside him—that it would shatter his heart should his control falter even once. But it was a sensation he was used to. The pain was he’d already trained himself to withstand, over long years of pain and effort.

Being an immortal’s chosen was no easy task. Being a chosen of the Sunchaser Lion, doubly so. Halcyn waved his hand and a wall of steel thorns exploded out from the earth, shredding a horde of monsters below.

Halcyn smiled as his Shissavi moved in, silverblight slimes in the lead. The responsibility of leading came with power and repute. Now he had plenty of both.

“Prince Halcyn, assistance needed south. Two gazerstalks. Status, blooming.”

The connection came to life in his mind. One of the riftwalker’s human commanders spoke to him directly, their telepathic networks acting as the center of communication for the united front’s forces. Halcyn turned in the air as one of the RWA’s battleships rushed over him. Its cannons released catastrophic blasts into the swamp below, targeting the blight and killing thousands. The silverplague destroyed them before they could reform.

“I’ll leave this side to you,” Halcyn said. “Reinforce the north with three ships. My forces will circle forward and cut a swathe of blightland away from the whole.”

The commander sent his affirmation, and Halcyn called to the essences in his body. Blood, muscle, strength. They flooded his body and Halcyn stomped at the air, splitting it with a sonic boom as he rocketed towards the south. Two miles passed in a blur. Five miles. Ten.

He saw the gazerstalks in the distance. Titanic, overpowering monsters.

One turned to him right after its fleshy petals finished blooming. The horde of eyes on its flesh glowed green, and Halcyn felt his limbs stiffen. His fingertips turned to stone. The curse rushed up to his arm, his torso, up to his neck—

And Halcyn grinned.

He snapped his fingers and summoned a reflective coin of glass from his storage ring. The essence of thorn and mirror flared. The stone rushing up his flesh vanished, and the distant gazerstalk screeched.It petrified from the tips of its petals down, stopping only once hundreds of eyes had been turned to stone. His glass coin shattered and Halcyn clenched his fist.

Boom!

With a punch, he shattered the gazerstalk’s head, blowing petrified flesh into a million little chunks. The monster split down the middle and screeched with a mouth full of razor teeth.

It rushed at him and Halcyn dodged. He clenched his fist.

Thorns erupted from the ground beneath the creature and wrapped around its length. The barbs constricted—lacerating, shredding. Blood rained and tainted the swamp red. A second gazerstalk turned his way and its eyes glowed purple and blood exploded out from Halcyn’s nose.

He stood through the pain of his brain melting and advanced. The first gazerstalk looked at his back and the petrification started inside of him. Stone crackled over his heart. Halcyn counted.

…three, two, one.

Another glass coin appeared in his grip. It shattered as he died.

Reflect.

The gazerstalks screamed in pain. Their eyes burst. Their flesh stiffened and cracked and greyed, and negative energy rushed through their massive bodies. Both crashed into the swamp and sent explosions of blighted water into the air.

It rained around Halcyn like blood. Below him, a team of riftwalkers cheered. His Shissavi moved in and cleared the corpses before the ground could suck them in.

“Prince Halcyn. Northwest. Corpse Leviathan.”

Halcyn was already moving before the man finished his sentence. He shot across the battlefield, crossing vast distances and killing tens of thousands of corrupted beasts. They fell with every swipe of his hand. And for every second he bought, there was another meter of swampland cleansed.

The corruption was vast, but Freyarch’s power was endless. Despite his inability to use the lion’s strongest essences, he was still unstoppable. An amarid storm of thorns, steel, and blood.

The thrill of battle was intoxicating.

Hours passed like minutes to him as he shredded through the Crimson Tide. Morning went, and the afternoon vanished. It was only when the sun left a trail of molten gold through the horizon that he stopped the advance.

Night was falling.

Below him, the Shissavi blew their horns and the riftwalkers shot their cannons into the sky. The signal for retreat came, and both groups retreated from the front lines.

Halcyn defended his forces from attacks in the darkness until they reached the closest outpost. A massive wall of thorns, roots, and bark rose from the swamp like a plateau. And at the very top, his forces gathered to swap shifts with the Duskwater House’s Nel’tari.Shadows.

The prince landed on the tower in the center and exchanged nods with one of the Duskwater’s scions, an amarid with leaf hairs that smoldered like charcoal. Trian Thayne Duskwater.

“We will reclaim twenty miles by morning,” Trian said, smiling. “My Nel’tari do not slack on power like the Shissavi do.”

Halcyn returned the fellow saer’s grin with one of his own, “And yet your Nel’tari can hardly block a single gazerstalk for more than a minute. Such a flaccid, soggy force. They certainly resemble the prince that leads them.”

“I could say the same for the Shissavi. Tough like steel, but unsharp. Perhaps even a little dull.”

“I understand you two enjoy a healthy rivalry, but I’d rather we skip the cock-sizing and get to the fun. I’ve been waiting all day to see my champion kick some ass.”

A voice spoke into Halcyn’s mind, and the prince turned his head to find a winged snake of ash floating in the air next to Trian. The Autumn Fae looked around the camp and frowned, before raising a scaly brow at Halcyn.

“I don’t see the fat cat around. Did Freyarch finally ditch you?”

Halcyn smiled at the snake, “Greetings, Sylstrix. Ashen Serpent. I see you’re still well.”

“Oh? A proper greeting? You should take his example, Trian.”

“And be boring? I’ll leave that to Halcyn.”

Shaking his head, Trian stepped forward and clapped a hand over Halcyn’s shoulder. The Duskwater prince flashed him a smile.

“It’s a shame that this is the first time we’ve seen each other in months, Hal, but I won’t be staying to chat. I wasn’t joking about twenty miles. If I’m not two times better than you at everything I do, it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.”

“It must be a pity, then, to taste bile all the time.”

Trian laughed and waved, before leaping off the top of the tower. Wings of ash erupted from his back and brought him down to his army of dark-armored assassins. They were a massive group—far larger than what Halcyn expected Trian to bring. It was as if he’d invested his entire order into the war effort.

Even Halcyn had only spared half his forces for the blight.

He watched Trian wave his hand, and with a single gesture, the horde of assassins dispersed into the night in squads of twenty. Halcyn turned away as the remaining Nel’tari boarded the Duskwater House’s battleships. He would have to repay his old friend with a drink later, for sacrificing so much for his domain’s safety.

Something in the edge of Halcyn’s vision flickered, and Freyarch stepped out from behind a blind corner. The orange tabby leapt onto his shoulder and sat.

“Elanah Kindlebright is stable, now. Thanks to the witch.”

Halcyn nodded as his smile fell away. He walked down from the top of the tower, taking the stairs down into the depths of their druidcrafted outpost. Inside, the halls were lit by glowing disks of magic affixed to the ceiling, and the walls were made of wood so pale and smooth that it looked like ivory.

Making his way down to the heart of the medical ward, Halcyn entered a room with a single bed. Elanah Kindlebright slept in it, unconscious and pale as death. Black veins ran up her skin like terrible little cracks.

Beside her was a tall woman in a ravenfeather cloak, her white, crow’s mask peering down over the Blight Witch.

“She will survive,” the Lady of Crows, Nashandra, said. “But whatever she did to herself, it mustn’t happen again. If I weren’t a well-versed arcanist, I wouldn’t have been able to drain the mana poisoning from her veins. The damage would have been far worse.”

Halcyn nodded. “Thank you for your assistance, Lady Nashandra.”

“Bah. It wasn’t to help you, boy. This woman’s continued health is in my interest, and no doubt in the interest of alchemy as a whole. My reasons for helping are beyond your petty war.”

Freyarch bared his fangs at Nashandra in a smile, “You wouldn’t happen to be here for me then, would you, Fae Hunter? I smell the blood of my kin on your hands. Old, but strong. It might as well still drip from your fingers.”

Nashandra leaned down and touched Elanah’s forehead. With a flash of black light, the darkness in the woman’s veins faded. The excess mana drained into Nashandra’s hand, and she glanced at Halcyn and Freyarch both.

“If I was here to hunt Fae, you would already be dead instead of running your mouth. Be glad you aren’t of the Winter Court.”

“And be glad I don’t repay favors with blood. I am not some servant like those you slaughtered.”

“And yet you would bleed to my magic, all the same.”

Freyarch’s eyes flashed a bright green as he snarled, his fur sticking up like a million tiny needles. Before the air in the room could explode with violence, Halcyn stepped forward and looked up at the woman in black. The prince shook his head, “There is no need for hostility, Freyarch. Lady Nashandra. Please.”

“Hmph.”

“Bah.”

The two turned their glares away from each other, and the room fell into silence. Only Elanah’s soft breathing filled the air. Halcyn stared down at his old mentor, frowning at the damage she’d caused to herself. In the past, this wouldn’t have been an issue. The Blight Witch had ingested far stronger brews for far longer in the past.

But now, half a month of fighting was her limit.

Halcyn shook his head, “It will be difficult to continue the fighting without her. We have no other alchemists skilled enough to follow her instructions accurately. Without her, the silverblights would vanish from the front line.”

Nashandra looked at him, and Halcyn could feel her frown from behind her mask. “They would vanish regardless, if she died from mana-poisoning. Let her rest.”

“I never said that I wouldn’t. Only that—”

“—Stop,” Nashandra said, raising a hand even as Halcyn frowned. She walked up to him and peered down from above, her eyes inside the mask frowning. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Active magic.”

Raising an eyebrow, Halcyn closed his eyes and focused his senses. He was no learned mage, but he was still capable of sensing mana. For him, it was only a matter of—he frowned as something registered in his senses. Something faint, hidden. Halcyn felt for the traces of magic he felt and reached out.

He touched his shoulder, where Trian had clapped him on the back. It felt hot. Like… Something on his shoulder flashed. Halcyn paled. Vivian moved. Freyarch leapt back, Halcyn moved to reinforce his body with essence—

And the rune on his shoulder exploded.

Halcyn felt his arm evaporate into a stump. He felt his ribcage shatter. He felt the blast burn the moisture out of his left eye, and he felt it throw him against the wall, shattering it, crashing him through. Dust filled the room.

Halcyn laid collapsed on the rubble, staring at the hole the explosion had blown through the outpost wall. Six Duskwater airships floated outside.

They aimed their cannons at Elanah’s room. At him.

Halcyn stared at the man standing atop one of the ships. Trian. Someone who he’d thought to be an ally. There was no smile on his friend’s face. The mask had fallen away, and now there was only cold anger. Halcyn opened his scorched lips to speak, “Why?”

“What kills most friendships?” Trian asked, looking down at him. “Secrets. A kind stranger just happened to tell me one of yours.”

“…I see. So that’s why you came here.”

“I lead an order of assassins, old friend. Killing future tyrants like you is what we do.”

Halcyn shook his head. Trian swept his hand down.

And the cannons opened fire.