Uncloaked magicians materialised on the arena floor as the world dissolved into chaos. Magic flared around her as lightning, wind, water and stone ripped into the stands to send blood and flesh flying. Elvie couldn’t process the danger – it was too sudden, too swift, too deadly.

In the places it struck shields, those held by Alder House magicians or ones erected by the spectators in the stands, Elvie expected the magic to be stopped. And most of it did, but the spells weren’t standard casting; several of the magicians frayed to cast. Elvie’s chest lurched in horror as they became wisps drifting apart like ashes freed of a fire. Their lives gave their magic excessive force, and it slammed into softly glowing shields – and bored completely through them in places as magic murdered its way through the crowd.

Elvie ducked, but James had a shield in front of him. As the first barrier weakened the spells, they bounced off his harmlessly.

More magic came in rolling waves of death and destruction. A hurricane ripped through the crowd, and Elvie recognised the magic of Birch House as it surrounded, compressed, and threw spectators out of the stand and into the arena. Her body rose like a doll in a child’s tantrum, weightless and free, before she plummeted down.

Everything was too fast, too sudden. The only thing she could do was scream as she plunged into the unconscious form of an unknown magician sprawled on the arena floor. The impact forced the breath from her lungs and left her gasping in pain. But luckily, the worst of her fall was broken by the hapless body of the magician.

Elvie staggered to her feet amidst the confusion, seeing Rilla painfully rolling over a short distance away.

Water cascaded through the sky in torrents. Lightning pounded into earth already stricken by quakes as desperate mages fought against each other – and Elvie wasn’t even sure who they fought. The stadium weaved to and fro like corn in a strong wind as the structure crumbled and shook beneath the assault. While that shocked her, it was nowhere near as terrible as the bodies – unconscious, she hoped – strewn around the arena.

A man with dark hair and a savage scar focused his attention on her, and attacked without reservation. She recognised part of the spell – Hawthorn house. Metal spooled around him, and he had several strands wrapped around his wrists and cloak. He was well-prepared.

Daggers sharpened in front of him, twirling out like long bullets as he circled his wrists and flexed his fingers.

Elvie’s mind blanked. She wasn’t trained for this – she wasn’t even a magician yet! But she had to focus – he had to be Hawthorn house. What could she do to defend against Hawthorn?

Her legs shook, and fear coursed through her body.

The man’s right hand rose, preparing to fling the metal, fingers extended – when they snapped back on themselves. He screamed in agony.

Elvie stared as Rilla stepped forward, her face a mask of determination. She chanted Willow spells, but not those designed to heal bones – but to break them. Two more fingers cracked like brittle firewood, and the man jerked his hand to his chest protectively.

He was not easily overcome. Despite the pain, his other hand extended, he whispered words and flung metal at Rilla.

Elvie screamed a wordless sound of anger.

One of the darts took Rilla in the shoulder, and she spun away in a flash of blood.

‘You bastard!’ Anger consumed Elvie. Her beautiful friend was hurt because of this man. ‘You bastard! That’s my friend!’ Her mind screamed one word: revenge.

Summoned by her rage, the cat materialised at her side, no longer hazy and indistinct, but flesh and blood and very real. ‘Reizen dorde getijden,’ it said in her mind. ‘Travel through the tides.’

Scarface launched his metal as Elvie said the spell without thought.

She vanished.

The arrows pierced the space she occupied as she portalled behind the man.

She was not familiar with the spell, but cast it even as her fingers shook. Her trust in her spirit creature was strong now that it actively protected her.

‘Yn peidio â llif.’ This time an image came of a hand in motion. She grunted in shock as her body and soul committed to her will. Don’t think – just do. Cast. Cast. Cast.

Time slowed around her as the cat fed her more spells.

‘Bhlath amgtl chynu.’ Grow and entwine.

Roots and branches shot from the ground. The man turned, curiously slowly as roots swept over his feet, restricting his legs as they climbed towards his stomach, torso, and finally over his head. He moved slowly – her spell did not. Panic barely registered in the man’s eyes before the tree encased him. They could still be seen, looking outwards from a small nook, blinking in slow motion as he struggled to register what had happened.

Time flicked back to its usual pace as reality slammed into her like a fist.

The destruction of battle continued, along with howls of pain and screams for help.

Elvie staggered as the weight of the magic just cast impacted her body. But she barely had time to think before another assailant was upon her, this one bearded and hairy.

‘You’re making a mistake…’ She said to him, trying to sound brave and threatening. But she was tiring fast – this level of magic was beyond anything she’d ever attempted before.

The man winced. ‘Dead mage is a dead mage, even if you’re a kid.’ His accent was weird to her ears, but she couldn’t think about that – she needed to cast.

As she formed her will in an attempt to slow time, a pile appeared behind the man to fly through the air. Except it wasn’t stone, not this time, it was a collection of boulders with a humanoid body and distinct opal eyes.

No, it was the collection of rocks.

The rock creature swatted the man out of the way, floating him through the air like a plane taking flight. She tried to watch the magician sail out of the arena, but the stone creature came towards her fast.

‘One more spell,’ the cat told her, ‘to safety.’

Yes, safe. Eldridge! Elvie reformed her focus to desperately whisper out ‘Reizen dorde getijden,’ in the seconds before solid rock grabbed hold of her body.

She disappeared with the golem attached to her arm.

The spell was different this time, perhaps not cast perfectly due to her intense emotions. Elvie felt a sensation of disorienting cold before she was spat back out of the portal and thrown onto the floor.

Her cat was gone, and she wasn’t sure where.

The golem slid across red carpet and ornate floorboards to crash into, and then through, the far wall. Large picture frames rained down to smash upon the floor.

Elvie hadn’t escaped the battle; she could sense the deep concussive shocks of offensive magic. But she also wasn’t in the arena any longer – she was in a beautiful room – and… was that the royal family huddled on a dais next to thrones?

‘What have I done?’ She tried to mentally connect to the cat. ‘Where am I?’

No reply.

The room she stood in was a gorgeous sight and one she would have admired another time. But the rich red furnishings and rugs were overlayed with darker burn and char marks. Cracked chandeliers hung awkwardly across the ceiling, or had smashed and shed their glass below. The illustrious gold trim surrounding beautiful architecture had roasted to obsidian black.

In the middle of the throne room, two magicians fought. The rapid movements of their hands a battle of life or death.

Elvie recognised one instantly – the Sentinel.