Calyx gritted her teeth, firing off a rapid volley of molten balls of sunlight that seared across the dark sky. Her face creased with a frown of intense concentration as she glared at her target – a monstrous dragon, spitting fire. Her fear was long forgotten, what remained was simple fury. She ignited another shivering ball of lightning around her palm and drew back to fling it.

High above, the dragon roared.

She unleashed the searing orb, watched it arc across the night, and then ducked back down. In its wake, the world fell silent, and, suspicious, she peered out from beneath the rocky outcrop she was using as a bolthole.

Above, the moon was full, bright in the velvet sky. Thousands of stars glittered, frosty pinpricks of fire in the deep darkness. It was a clear night, beautiful and peaceful.

Well, except for the damn dragon hellbent on her destruction.

Calyx pursed her lips as its shadow reappeared, swallowing the lunar orb for a brief moment. It circled her position, and she scowled. Surely it was time to end this ridiculous game of cat and mouse? How long had the damn thing been hounding her? She wasn’t sure, exactly, but it had been on her tail since the moment it had spotted her. She was no fool – she knew exactly why it was so infuriated, but she thought it a little unfair how persistent it was being about the whole thing. She had grand plans of revenge, which should (theoretically) please the irritable beast, but it appeared that her death was preferable. She supposed she deserved it, but she would not go down without a fight – it was not in her nature to die on her knees. A flare of prickling temper boosted her, and she launched a double fireball as the dark shadow came around again.

She’d tried, damn it! All her life, she had done her best to do her duty. She had fought against insurmountable odds for as long as she could remember. It wasn’t her fault that a fluke event, right on the cusp of everything, had sent it all tumbling down into Chaos. Her brows knotted with indignance, and she leaned out from under the heavy granite slab to shout up at the boundless sky.

“It wasn’t my fault, damn you!”

The dragon swooped low with an infernal roar, dousing her hideout with purple fire. Calyx ducked, waving the flames away, and then stuck her head back out again.

“You’re one to talk!” she screeched, “God damn it – I mean – Malevelyn damn it! This is as much your fault as mine – probably more so!”

That did it.

With a howl of rage the beast threw itself to ground atop the rocky outcrop. Cursing, Calyx threw up her arms to shield her head against the falling scree, regretting her taunt. The dragon tore at the great boulders with sharp, savage claws, frantic to get at her.

But abruptly, it stopped. Calyx risked a peek out, saw the dragon silhouetted against the stars, its head raised, testing the air. It snorted, spread its wings, and glided down in a sweeping circle to land in front of Calyx’s refuge. Calyx set her teeth, ignited her magic once more as it advanced on silent claws.

It stopped a mere breath away, enfolded its wings around its glistening body. They swept up again in a swath of silver smoke, and Calyx readied her fireball to strike.

“Enough, Calyx.”

The magic fizzled at her fingertips, and the dragon, no longer a dragon, approached with measured strides.

“Esadora…” Calyx hissed, “Decided to kill me with your own bare hands, have you?”

“Oh, hush, child,” Esadora waved her indignance away. She beckoned for her to come out from under her rock. “Something has happened – don’t you feel it?”

Curious – wary – Calyx stepped out into the clear night air, lifted her senses to the wind. She caught the forward song of a ripple of magic, rolling across the world. It sang nearer, engulfing both of them at once, and Calyx sighed in ecstatic relief.

“How did you feel that so far off?” she asked, impressed.

“Dragon sense,” Esadora answered, “Far more sensitive to magic than any Witchkin – even you.”

Calyx nodded, seized upon her chance. “Look, Esadora, I’m sor-”

But Esadora held up her hand, and Calyx bit off her words. “No time for apologies, dearie, we have work to do. Jordan is alive, her magic begins to awaken. We have to find her before Fayne does. We can discuss your failures later – rest assured, her being alive certainly helps your case.”

Calyx curtseyed stiffly. “Thank you, Majesty.” She raised her head, stifling a shadow of defiance. “How will you command me?”

“I am no longer your Queen, child,” Esadora scoffed. “I have not been so for a very many years. You would do better to find Jordan, and ask her how she might command you. I am merely asking for your help – consider it a penance, for failing to protect Asbeth.”

Sobered, Calyx bowed her head. “There is not enough penance in the world to make up for my failure.”

Esadora nodded, satisfied. “Well enough. We must follow this ripple back to its source, and ensure Jordan is unharmed.” She stepped forward, menace palpable, and Calyx stiffened. “Be under no illusions, Lat’Nemele, you dragged my granddaughter back to this god-forsaken land. If anything happens to her, I shall hold you personally responsible. Your demise will not be quick, nor will it be pleasant.”

Calyx swallowed. She had no doubt the Worldkin meant every word. Esadora readied herself to port, but Calyx cleared her throat to stay her.

“Majesty, a moment. Having been on the Old World for so long, there is something you don’t know…”

Esadora’s eyes flashed, more steel than silver. “Out with it.”

Calyx took a deep breath. “There is a second Lat’Nemele. She serves the False Queen.”

Esadora raised her eyebrows, and then laughed. “That is impossible, child. There is only ever one Lat’Nemele – it has been this way for nine thousand years.”

Calyx stood her ground. “That does not change the verity of what I have said. Her name is Nerys, and she equals me for power.”

Esadora’s face turned grave. “Are you certain of this?”

Calyx nodded. “I have faced her.”

“Who won?”

“Neither.” Calyx shifted. “You… interrupted… before we could finish.”

Esadora’s mouth rounded with surprise. “I saw her, then! I did not realise she was Lat’Nemele – I thought that was the stain of your magic hanging in the air.”

“It was, but it was hers, too. Our magic is remarkably similar.”

Esadora’s lips tightened with disapproval. “This is an unexpected thorn. Very well, Calyx, I will find my granddaughter, and you will seek out this Lat’Nemele and finish her. Consider that a command.”

Calyx bowed her head. “As you wish, Majesty. I shall re-join you soon.”

“Don’t dither,” Esadora warned, “I will need your help to return myself and Jordan to the Old World.”

“To the…? But, Majesty, she must reclaim the Throne!”

“She will not!” Esadora snapped. The vehemence in her words made Calyx step back, and the elder woman levelled her with an icy glare. “Look around you, Lat’Nemele, look at the state of Andoherra – the wild-magic storms are a clear indication that it is far too late! You served my daughter; you know as well as I what will happen if Jordan sits upon the Throne now.”

“I…” Calyx could think of no argument. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but she did know. She understood it, had seen it – was one of the very few who had. Esadora was right, it was too late for Andoherra – all she could hope to save now was Jordan.

“I will hear no more of it,” Esadora said with grim finality. “Deal with this other Lat’Nemele, and return to me. We will wait for you at Queenhaven. My magic and Jordan’s will not be enough – we need your elemental power as an anchor. Together, we will open a portal and leave this doomed planet. Perhaps… I will let you travel back with us, as a reward.”

Calyx curtseyed low, genuine this time. “Thank you, Majesty. It will be my honour to serve.”

Esadora glared at her for a moment more, then spun on her heel. Her skirts billowed around her as launched herself into the sky. She transformed back into the dragon as she did so, gaining rapid altitude with powerful wingbeats. When she was high enough, she ported, disappearing in a haze of smoke that glowed in the moonlight.

Far below, Calyx sighed, scuffed at the ground with her foot. She had been so hell-bent on ensuring the return of Andoherra’s Queen, she hadn’t spared a thought for the physical consequences of the elapsed time. She set her jaw, lifted her head; she would not be responsible for Jordan’s death. She’d been given a second chance, and she would make the best of it.

She took three quick strides for a running start and waved her free hand to port into Betwixt.

The cold, crushing darkness engulfed her, but she surged through it, heading for Eoscan and the World Queen’s Palace – the place she deemed most likely to find the other Lat’Nemele. She counted, waiting for seven, but had only tallied three beats when an unexpected surge knocked her off balance. She spiralled sideways, expelling half her breath in surprise as a spectral hook of magic caught behind her ribcage. Merciless, it altered her course. Powerless to fight it, she let it draw her, concentrating instead on extending the last of the oxygen in her lungs. Just before she ran out of breath, a window hurtled out of the darkness.

She braced herself.

And hit it.

Out of control, she careered from Betwixt in a flash of magic, smashing into a table and three stools upon exit. The smell of stale beer and vomit assaulted her, and the smoke from pipes hung thick in the air as she skidded to a halt in an unceremonious heap.

With a groan, she pushed to her feet, using a broken stool for leverage. Before she was even fully upright, the strange hook tightened cruelly in her chest. The searing pain hit her like a kick from a mule, knocked the breath out of her. She doubled over, hissing until it faded to a dull throb once more. When it had receded, she took a moment to gather herself. She realised that she was holding onto the side of the toppled bar table and pushed it away from herself with unnecessary force.

She crushed the remnants of the strange pain with sheer willpower. Wearing a mask of fury to hide her discomfort, she swept the room with violent eyes. Something beckoned – she licked at her lips, tasting the hint of wounded magic in the air. Her petite fangs lengthened.

Across from her, several unsavoury patrons had turned to stare. One kneeling man, trousers half-undone, was tugging at his belt, trying desperately to fasten it back up even as he hovered above the helpless figure of a battered woman on the floor. The diminished shape at his feet stirred with a feeble moan, and Calyx didn’t need the next searing muscle spasm to tell her that this woman’s distress was what brought her here.

She also didn’t need to be told that she’d inadvertently arrived just in time.

Her fury ignited. With a vengeful snarl, she kindled cruel balls of lightning in both hands. She bared her sharp fangs, regressing into the depths of her magic, and unleashed hell upon the ragged band before her.

Their world imploded. Her feral hiss of fury echoed beneath the whining crackle of lightning, and she set to obliterating every soul she could see. A big, burly man yelled and ran at her from behind, brandishing a broken table leg. He didn’t make it within three steps of her.

She spun, wild with hungry retribution. A wicked flash of lightning cleaved him lengthways in two. A second giant man, the spitting image of the first, howled with horrified rage at his brother’s rapid demise. He leapt at her from her other side.

She whirled to catch him by the throat.

Clawed fingers, a sharp barb of magic. She tore out his jugular before he could think to scream. His blood spewed across the already-slick floor, and, effortlessly, she cast his husk aside.

The remaining bandits scrabbled like rats beset by a cat, but it was far too late for salvation. Calyx, her skin smoking with the lightning-hot touch of her magic, barred the doors with bolts of power, and eradicated them all.

At last, at last, the dreadful screaming stopped. The smoking room fell still.

In the appalling silence that followed, Calyx extinguished her magic. Shaking herself to dispel the dregs of feral power, she swept her predatory gaze around the ruin, alert to any sign of movement.

But there was none. She was alone, but for the brunette curled up upon the floor.

She approached with soft steps, cocking her head as she felt for the magic that had pulled her here, but it seemed to have disappeared. She reached the woman’s motionless form and crouched down beside her, extending one gentle hand to touch her shoulder. There was no response to her mild nudge. She began to turn the woman towards her, but recoiled with a gasp.

The curtain of dishevelled dark hair and rising bruises could not hide her identity. Calyx rocketed back on her heels, unwilling to believe that she was staring down at Nerys Dur’Borran. She took two deep breaths, and then reached out and rolled the other all the way over onto her back, to be sure.

Nerys moaned, but didn’t stir.

“What in the hell happened to you…?” Calyx whispered, horrified.

Chewing at her lip, she reached out absently to tug Nerys’ torn dress back up over her exposed bosom. As she did so, her magic hissed in warning. She flinched, snatching her hand away, and narrowed her eyes to look closer. A growl pulsed low in her throat as she spied the yellow-black glint of the crystal shard embedded in Nerys’ chest.

“Jesus…!” She pushed away in horror, the word a shocked gasp escaping her lips.

She pressed a hand over her thundering heart as she stared. Nerys groaned, her eyelids fluttered. Her gaze roved for a moment, before settling unsteadily on Calyx’s face.

“Wh…?”

She didn’t quite manage to push the word through her swollen lips. She tried to rise, but hissed in agony and slumped back down into unconsciousness once more, unable – or unwilling – to fight the pain. Calyx watched in silence, biting at the inside of her cheek, trying to decide what to do.

On the one hand, here was her sworn enemy, helpless and at her absolute mercy.

On the other, Nerys was clearly victim to the Fetters of Chaos. The likely consequence of killing her would be the start of a chain reaction, hastening the end of the world. The Fetters was also a hellish curse to bear, no matter how evil the host might be.

“Well, nothing for it,” Calyx said, squaring her shoulders and coming to stand over her. “If you die, you’ll kill us all – and Esadora will kill me twice.”

She dipped her head beneath the weight of her decision, and reached down to hoist Nerys into her arms before she could change her mind. She settled the brunette against her torso, cupping her head against her shoulder. Once more, she felt a subtle twinge, mirroring the location of the shard in Nerys’ chest, and she frowned, wondering at the connection. It was odd, too, that the brunette’s magic had pulled her off-track in Betwixt – taking into account, of course, the fact that it was tied up in an unspoken battle with the magic of the shard. It was fighting to keep Nerys alive, which made it next to useless for anything else. More importantly, she was positive that Nerys would not have called her intentionally, which meant that their magic was somehow connected on a fundamental level. It was possible, she supposed, considering that they were both Lat’Nemele – and the only two to exist at once since the Dawn of Andoherra – but the idea was exceptionally unsettling.

She shook her head to dispel her wayward thoughts. She did not have the time to dissect it now.

No, now... she had to do something about the ticking time-bomb she held in her arms. With a sigh of frustration, she adjusted her grip. She had but one choice: take Nerys to the only Witchkin who could help her, who also happened to be the person least inclined to do so. She was under no illusion of the wrath she would face when she returned to Esadora with the Dark Lat’Nemele cradled in her arms, and she scowled down at the unconscious woman.

“This is all your bloody fault!”

But she gathered her resolve, pulled her magic around herself, and ported – carrying Nerys away with her.