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Another screech echoed across the isles, high-pitched enough to make Wilder wince from where they’d been ordered to stand down.

‘These wraith attacks are getting a little too common,’ Malik said seriously, sizing up the three that approached, ribbons of onyx cutting through the air around them.

‘Agreed,’ Talemir replied. ‘The rulers should be doing more.’

‘We’ll talk to Osiris upon our return.’

Malik launched himself at the first of the shadow wraiths.

There was a reason the Warswords of Thezmarr had earnt their titles. It was evident from the first strike of their blades. Malik and Talemir moved as a single unit, as though they had been fighting together for centuries, as though they could feel the energy of violence shifting and pivoting around them. They moved like water, like the shadows they were trying to destroy, slicing through the rotten, sinewy flesh of the wraiths like butter.

Wilder gripped his own sword, tense as he watched the skirmish unfold, restless beyond words as he fought with the instinct to throw himself into the battle as well.

The three wraiths surrounded the two warriors, their shadows lashing dangerously close, their hisses and snarls permeating the quiet of the shores. But Talemir and Malik were a force like no other, beating the darkness back with their Naarvian steel and their Furies-given strength.

Sand and blood sprayed while shadows danced around the battle, encircling the Warswords in a swirling mass of obsidian, obscuring them from view.

Wilder heard Malik shout from within, and he took a step forward, poised to run —

‘Don’t,’ Torj told him, a hand on his vambrace. ‘We have to follow orders.’

The mass of shadow deepened, roiling outwards, tendrils creeping towards where the Guardians were posted on the dunes.

Wilder shook Torj off and looked to their peers. Some of their faces had paled, their gazes distant as though they were seeing something far different to what was unfolding before them in real time.

Another shout of pain sounded from within the chaos, and Wilder didn’t think. He was running towards the storm of shadow, brandishing his blade. He might not be able to carve out a heart with regular steel, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cause some damage along the way.

With a curse, he crossed the threshold of darkness – and blanched at the sight of the battle within.

Malik and Talemir were in the heart of the fray, fighting back lashes of onyx power, blocking swipes of razor-sharp talons. But their usually precise movements were sluggish all of a sudden, and it became clear that neither Warsword was in their right mind, that they were seeing things that weren’t there.

Wilder took advantage of the element of surprise, cleaving through the arm of one of the wraiths before dragging his blade from its throat to its navel with all his might. Black blood spurted, hitting his chest. A shout sounded from behind him and he knew that Torj had followed him into the madness. Good – they could prove that Guardians could do more than stand by and idly watch. He relished the song of steel carving through more wraith flesh, seeming to snatch Malik and Talemir from their trances.

He gave a victorious shout —

Pain seared across his back as darkness lashed him harder than any whip.

Wilder staggered with a ragged gasp, suddenly unable to see past the agony that lanced through him. His vision spotted and he stumbled again as he was hit by another, the force of the impact sending him sprawling across the sand, a sea of his darkest moments rising up to greet him.

An ear-piercing screech sounded in the near distance and the shore beneath him vibrated. Wilder staggered to his feet, his grip on his blade weakened, but there. He had to help Malik and Talemir, he had to —

A huge form passed through his vision and he watched in awe as Malik cleaved the head of a wraith clean off its shoulders before taking his dagger of Naarvian steel to its chest, removing the thick mass of its heart with a grunt of disgust.

Then he was moving again. To Wilder.

Wilder watched him, utterly dazed at the warrior his brother had transformed into since he’d first left Kilgrave on the family’s old mare.

He felt the kiss of another whip of shadow, but Malik was there, with dagger and sword, fighting back the darkness, blow after mighty blow.

Someone grabbed Wilder under the arm and pulled him upright.

‘You and I are going to have words, Apprentice,’ Talemir growled, fury in his hazel eyes as he watched Malik finish off the third shadow wraith and toss its heart into the sea.

‘I just —’

‘You just nothing,’ Talemir snapped. ‘You disobeyed direct orders. You could have been fucking killed.’

‘You were losing —’