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Then Sarina lashed out with a wave of fire, incinerating the nearest line of mages. One of them tried to retaliate with a surge of water, but it evaporated in a hiss of steam.

Stone melted. Flesh sizzled.

Nothing could withstand the heat of her flames.

She carved a path through their line, and Skye followed in her wake, swinging with sword and shadow.

“This is where we should’ve started.” Through her flames, Sarina’s smile was feral, her eyes wild. “To hell with politics. Act like a dog, and you’ll go down like one.”

Two came from the side, attempting to flank them. Sarina met the first with a searing blast. Skye moved to intercept the other—

The Sanctifier screamed as his arm was suddenly detached from his body—then he stopped screaming as with a snap of her water whip, Aimee took his head.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, she was dirt-streaked and sweaty—but smiling so broadly, Skye couldn’t help but smile back.

“That’s a bit more effective than last time,” he said.

She laughed. “A little bit.”

And just like that, Aimee joined the fray.

One Sanctifier, sensing the tide was turning, broke away and tried to run. The crowd shoved him back.

Until now, they’d been frozen, caught between terror and hope. Too afraid of the Sanctorum to intervene, but a new energy was crackling among them.

“Shit.” Aiden dropped to his knees beside an unmoving Taly. His hands flared green as he assessed her many injuries. “Don’t just stand there!” he snapped at one of the onlookers. “Someone help me!”

A Lowborn woman peeled away from the crowd. “Ana,” she said in greeting. “Tell me what you need.”

And that was the breaking point.

That single act of courage was the spark that ignited the flame of their collective bravery.

The crowd surged forward, armed with whatever they could find—makeshift weapons, magic, sheer will. The air crackledwith aether of every kind, the sound of clashing spells and weapons filling the morning.

The Sanctorum, caught off guard by the uprising, struggled to maintain their ground against the onslaught. There were seven of them still standing. Highborn fuckers were hard to kill.

A water whip lashed out. Aimee gave a shout of victory from somewhere in the chaos.

Sarina unleashed a torrent of flames that engulfed half the battlefield.

And Skye—he was lost to the rage. To the devastation. He bared his teeth, snarling as he spotted a stray piece of meat trying to run.

Shadows coiled around him. He closed the distance in a blink, crashing into the mage.

The impact sent them sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and darkness. Skye came out on top. He brought his fist down. Blood sprayed, and he reveled in it, delivering punch after punch.

The man was beyond begging, limp on the ground, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted him to suffer,needed—

“Skylen.”

The familiar voice was enough to cut through the bloodlust. Skye froze, his fist still raised.

He looked over his shoulder to find Ivain standing behind him.

A sudden hush settled over the crowd. The clash of steel, the roar of magic—all of it quieted.

“That’s enough,” Ivain said calmly. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. Beside him, Calcifer’s tail lashed once, eyes glowing with barely-contained fury.