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Small fires burned across the valley, arrows raining down in sparks of orange and yellow, and across the vast battlefield, a shower of white-hot blues and a burst of screams.

By the time we emerged onto the platform, combat ringing below like a medley of living death, it was overcome with the Engrossian-Mindshaper force.

Jezebel hadn’t revived from her stupor yet. Erista stood directly before her, guarding the girl she loved fiercely with a hooked sword in each hand and a scythe waiting across her back. As I dismounted and ran over, she swung one of those hooks through a warrior’s gut—straight through the metal armor as if it was parting a stream—and tore out her guts.

My boots slugged over the remains. I sped to a stop beside her, catching my breath and facing the next attacker. A number of Mindshaper rebels circled the perch, as well, Ricordan standing at the very back.

“How long has she been like that?” I asked as I met an ax with my sword. My shoulder embraced the impact, jarring and sharp. I breathed through it, forcing the opponent back.

“Since the first horn,” Erista said. There was no fear in her voice. Only calm rage and a hint of exhaustion. She and Jezebel were both too young to be in the heart of war. “She tunneled down and has been gone since.”

A man danced around me, and I spun, dragging my sword across his ankle. He fell to a knee with a cry, spinning to raise his ax.

Above his head, I watched Jezebel. She didn’t look lost, she looked powerful. Something born of another time, another world, when gods and Angels prowled the land. There was no visible sign of her power. Nothing that indicated if what she was doing had a tangible result.

Unless you knew where to look. She moved her arm in a graceful arc and a nearby dying Engrossian launched his ax at a fellow warrior.

She repeated the motion, and he did, too, never opening her eyes. It was as if she was seeing through the spirits instead.

Behind her, a shower of blue flames rained down, breaking my trance.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked.

But before Erista could say anything, more enemies crawled across the lookout like a swarm of ants, wolves snapping. They launched at our Seawatchers with claws and teeth. With a grunt, I turned away from those flames and drove my blade into the neck of the man before me.

“Get her!” I directed at Erista, ducking an ax and shooting back up. I rammed my sword beneath the man’s arm and shoved his body to the ground, quickly spinning to meet the next. I ripped Lucidius’s dagger from its sheath and sent it straight into the warrior’s eye. “Wake her somehow, and get out of here?—”

My words broke off with a strangled cry, sword nearly tumbling from my hand.

At first I thought I’d been stabbed, the pain in my chest was so sharp, but it cleared quickly, fluttering away with each beat.

“What’s wrong?” Erista shouted over the clash of blades, but she was near Jez now.

“Nothing,” I gasped. I pressed my hand to my chest and tried to focus on the fight—to find my next attacker.

A pair of Mindshaper rebels slid into place in front of me as I stumbled back, righting myself. My jaw ground against the echo of pain still stuttering behind my ribs.

“What—” Erista started, eyes dropping to my hand still against my chest and glazing over briefly.

She couldn’t have a fucking vision now. Not in the center of the melee.

“Go!” I roared, gripping my weapon tighter.

There were shouts and a creaking whir of the catapult as our army launched boulders across the valley where the Engrossian-Mindshaper reserves waited. From here, the impact was barely audible, but it carved a crater among their ranks, and I sighed with relief.

Our Seawatchers and Mindshaper rebels formed a united front against the legion attacking the outlook, but blood rained down from either side. It sprinkled the dirt and snow, stained the souls of those wielding the weapons.

Every time one of theirs fell, a new warrior took their place in an endless flood.

My weapon met my opponents’ again and again, the rush becoming a blur. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an archer fire a flaming arrow, its fire painting the indigo sky orange. Then, beneath the arm of my opponent, I saw a Mindshaper ram his dagger through the Seawatcher’s spine and kicked her body over the edge of the cliff. I roared as she fell, as the enemy’s twisted focus turned on another.

Drawing that anger up within me, I swung my sword through the neck of my opponent and charged the next before their head hit the ground.

Quickly, I was coated in the blood of warriors. Everywhere I looked, we were all crawling through slaughter, trying to find the end of it. To survive. Sticky red coated my skin, dirt and gore and grime beneath my boots.

The battle moved in a haze of annihilation. Bodies piled up. Weapons fell. Horses and wolves ran free of their riders. No sounds were discernible over the din of spirits being called to darkness.

Summoning what energy I had left, I whirled to meet another opponent. As Mila had taught me, I let the rhythmic memory of battle take me over my spinning mind.