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In the distance, thunder clapped.

A lie, a soft voice told her.

The little girl knew what a lie was. She had learnt to tell them herself not all that long ago… But this lie was different… Like the shadows that had whipped through the fortress courtyard; the promise of something sinister.

And yet, the cave called to her… A song of recognition, of welcome.

Anya, it called.

She took an unsteady step forward, the warmth of the man leaving her.

His words followed her in a broken whisper, ‘May your death be swift and painless. May you rest well with Enovius, little one.’

They faded away along with the man behind her, her feet moving, one after the other, as though in a trance. Anya walked into the cave, deeper and deeper, until she was alone.

For a moment, the pitch-black swallowed her.

There was no swift and painless death waiting for her. There was no death at all.

A breath rattled from within – not her own.

But Anya was not afraid.

For she knew the darkness, and the darkness knew her.

Thea felt untethered from herself as the strange image faded before her and the rest of the world fell away like flecks of ash from a fire. She was dying, she realised, her fate stone had met its match in the black lashings of the shadow wraith. Pain wrapped around every part of her, a searing brand of torment.

Thea rasped for air, choking on the scent of burnt hair once more.

Claws assaulted her and there was no time to think on what she’d seen. She could only think of the agony as she braced herself behind her shield. Unimaginable power knocked her back, stealing the air from her lungs. She tasted iron on her tongue as blood filled her mouth.

The darkness came for her.

And Thea let it take her. She had tried; she had triedso hardto leave her mark on this world, but Wren had been right. She was not invincible, and even destiny was no contest to the dark forces sent from beyond the Veil —

‘Don’t you dare give up now,’ came Wilder’s deep voice, shattering the rapture of impending death.

The sound brought her back from the brink and stirred something within. Coming back to herself, Thea ignored the pain as a familiar pressure began to build from the centre of her. Something ancient coursed through her veins and she tipped her head to the darkened sky, dropping her weapons. Her hands unfurled at her sides, power pulsing at her palms.

White lightning split the sky and Althea Zoltaire claimed it as her own.

Magic danced at her fingertips and without thinking, she brought its force down upon the shadow wraith.

The creature’s scream broke her trance.

The bolt of power vanished, but Thea wouldn’t waste this chance. She snatched up her blade and was on her feet again in a second, her whole body charged with surging strength. She advanced on the wraith where it scrambled upright, its skin smouldering where the lightning had struck.

Thea grit her teeth against the beat of lingering pain. Her hand was slick with blood and sweat around her sword, but it didn’t stop her from throwing an upward cut with the back edge.

Black and red blood rained.

‘To me!’ Thea shouted to her fellow warrior, seeing their opening.

Wilder was at her side in an instant, and together, they forced the weakened creature back, brandishing fire and steel against its shadows.

Side by side, they fought. Thea could feel the searing heat of the Warsword’s blazing weapons as he broke away from the clash of claws, only to wield them with even more power, throwing high horizontal cuts to the wraith’s torso.

The creature screamed again; the sound vibrating through the entire forest, the entire realm.