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A groaning roar followed Mila’s scream, and the ground erupted, vines shooting into the air.

The pounding in my chest intensified until it was all I could focus on, a wild animal trying to break out.

“Malakai, move!” Esmond shoved me, and my back hit the dirt, flowers crushed around me. A moment later, the pyre came crumbling down. Chunks of stone from Ptholenix’s statue rained with it, striking the earth with booming echoes.

I laid among the rubble, trying to think through my pounding heart and focus.

“Mila!” I finally shouted, shoving myself to my feet. Esmond and Gatrielle stood shakily on the rocking ground.

“I’m fine!” she answered, her voice nearly drowned out, but I needed to see her to believe it. Another roar brought a chunk of the Angel’s hand within an inch of my foot. Carving a wide arc among the flowers and trying to keep my balance, I tore through the field toward Mila’s voice.

“What in the damned Spirits is that?” Mila gaped at the Angel statue. She stood back from it, the pyre having completely collapsed before her.

I took stock of her first. Of the platinum hair swirling around her shoulders and the determined—albeit alarmed—glint to her eye. An unfamiliar relief swarmed through me, drowning out the panic.

“That wasn’t there before,” Esmond said, shock bursting through his words as he joined us.

Following their gazes, I saw it. A golden image unfurling between the Angel’s wings like a freshly inked tattoo. An orchid, petals blooming and lively. Vines danced away from the flower to curl down and around the stone wings, climbing his broad shoulders and spine.

“That’s not portrayed on any artwork,” Gatrielle gasped. Wind rustled his hair, his jaw dropping open.

I had an idea of what it reminded me of—what the entire phenomenon reeked of—but as the earth’s shaking leveled out to rolling tremors, vines ripped from the ground again and caught around my wrists.

They pulled at me, but I wrenched myself free. The greenery grabbed Mila by the waist, yanking her back. As more erupted, a rumble coated the air.

One slippery appendage tangled around Esmond’s ankles and tugged his legs out from beneath him. The Bodymelder crashed to the ground, his head snapping back.

“No!” I roared.

Gatrielle was already there, fighting his own vines. “He’s breathing! He’s okay.”

Thank the Angels.

“What the fuck is happening?” Mila growled, unsheathing her lone sword to cut off her captors at the root. I mimicked her with my ax as best I could with the shackles grabbing at my wrists again.

Fucking Angels, if only we had all of our weapons. These things were too quick for a single blade.

“I’m not sure,” I answered.

“We need to get out of here.” Mila’s eyes were wild, alternating between Esmond on the ground and me, still slicing my way through. “Malakai, look out!”

A vine shot toward my throat, but I swiveled. It locked around my bicep instead.

“Gatrielle.” I tugged against it. “Is there anything else we need to know about this location?”

Over the forest to the east, darkness continued to gather. Distantly, I thought I felt a chill creep through the air but I couldn’t stop to focus on it. Only kept hacking at the vines now working their way up my legs.

“I’ve never heard of anything like this happening.” Gatrielle circled Esmond, slicing through vines to defend both of them. I tried to make my way toward the pair.

I’d only gone a few feet when a gust of wind wrapped around the statue, and Ptholenix’s wings ignited. The heat of the flame scorched across us, near-burning.

Around the base of the Angel, flowers wilted in three spots, wide circles browning at the edges.

“By the Spirits.” Gatrielle’s eyes roved across the field. “I think it’s recreating it.”

“Recreating what?” Mila gasped as the vines around her waist tightened. Her strained voice twisted something primal in my chest.

Pulling with every ounce of force I had, I ripped away from my captors and ran to her, battling off the magic with pure desperation. I swung my ax through the taut, slithering plants holding her and watched them wither.