28. Chapter 28
AMARIA
More void soldiers poured across the field.
The ones I'd erased were nothing—a fraction of the swarm still coming. They stuttered toward us from every direction, reality warping in their wake, the air itself bending wrong around their forms.
We were losing.
Maxx flickered at the edge of my vision. His left arm kept phasing in and out—there, gone, translucent, there again. He was fighting one-handed now, his jaw clenched against whatever it felt like to be half-unmade.
Serenya stood frozen beside him.
Her eyes were vacant, darting across the battlefield without recognition. She didn't know where she was. Didn't know why steel clashed around her. Didn't know which direction to run.
A void soldier turned toward her.
"Dreadscale!" My voice cut through the chaos. "Get them out!"
He acted immediately—shouting to Maxx, reaching for Serenya's arm. But the void soldiers were closing in. Too many. Too fast. They'd never make it to Veyra in time.
I looked at Eryndor. He was on his feet now, one hand pressed to his bleeding side, blade in the other. Pale. Shaking. Still fighting.
He met my eyes.
He understood.
"Do it," he said.
I opened the door inside myself.
The Fury roared out—not a shockwave this time, but a beacon, blazing through Dawnrender and Voidbringer, through every blade strapped to my body, until I became the brightest threat on the field. A pillar of golden light in the center of the chaos. A target no void soldier could ignore.
They turned. All of them.
The swarm shifted direction, stuttering toward me and Eryndor, drawn like moths to flame. The path to Pyrrath and Veyra cleared.
"NOW!" I screamed.
Dreadscale moved. He grabbed Maxx by the collar—and half-carried, half-dragged him toward the waiting dragon. His other hand locked around Serenya's wrist.
"Come," he commanded. "Now."
She followed. Confused. Terrified. Moving on instinct because her mind couldn't guide her.
They reached Veyra. Dreadscale threw Maxx onto the dragon's back, boosted Serenya up after him.
"Get her out of here," he snarled at Maxx. "Don't stop until you reach the mountain."
He didn't wait for a response. He was already running—toward Pyrrath, who had circled back and dropped low enough for him to leap. Dreadscale caught the spine-ridge mid-stride and swung himself into position.
Two sets of wings spread. Muscles bunched.
Veyra launched. Pyrrath followed.
“Umbra!” I was running. Eryndor beside me, his wound leaving a trail of red on the glassed ground.
The void soldiers swarmed behind us, closing the distance, their stuttering forms gaining ground with every heartbeat.
I snapped my arm back without breaking stride—two stars singing out from the vambrace to break the lead soldier’s face before they magnetized home again.
Umbra dropped from the sky.
She hit the ground hard, wings flaring, jaws open in a roar that scattered the nearest soldiers. I grabbed the spine-ridge and hauled myself up. Eryndor climbed after me, slower, one arm wrapped around his ribs.
"Go!" I shouted. "GO!" Umbra launched.