She laughed and pushed deeper, not into her magic but into her authority. The floor rippled, stone flexing as if it had forgotten it was solid, gravity tugging at us from inconsistent angles. This was not spellcraft. This was ownership, the right to tell the world how it should behave. I met it in kind, reaching for Terrakinesis and contesting the shift rather than trying to cancel it.

  The ground steadied under my will, not yielding to me completely but refusing to obey her without question. Her claim was older and more grounded, but mine was still enough to throw her off balance. I could feel her laziness coming through.

  Selena pressed again, blades carving arcs that forced Allanna to keep moving. I supported constantly, snapping force constructs into wedges to break killing lines and bending space to pull Selena clear when the fire surged back. My lightning cracked in precise bursts, riding folds of compressed distance to strike from angles that should not have existed. Allanna adapted, flames reshaping and recoiling, but she was no longer dictating the entire exchange. For the first time, she was reacting rather than initiating.

  She escalated with a flick of her wrist, pulling heat from air and stone alike, turning the chamber into a furnace. I felt sweat boil on my skin and answered by thickening my constructs, feeding them with will until they held long enough for Selena to slip through the inferno again. Allanna’s control over Aerth surged once more, and I leaned harder into Terrakinesis, bracing the world beneath us like a man holding a door against a flood. The strain was immense, and my teeth clenched as authority ground against authority without either side giving way.

  I cast my new spell—Diversity of Cold—to counter, managing to take the edge off, but that was all. There was no doubt who had more power to throw around here.

  The pressure peaked in a heartbeat that felt stretched thin. Fire, force, lightning, and warped space collided in a violent knot that threatened to tear the chamber apart. I felt the line where another step would take this little tit-for-tat from demonstration to destruction, and wondered if Allanna felt it too. Then she raised a single hand, and everything stopped.

  “That’s enough.”

  The fire vanished, gravity settled, and the crushing weight of her aura withdrew as cleanly as it had come. Selena was suddenly sitting back in her own seat with an expression of frustration on her face. I lowered my hands slowly, breathing hard, every muscle tight with the effort of having held my ground. Allanna studied us with new eyes, no longer amused, no longer dismissive, and I knew the sparring had served its purpose.

  “Very well, so you may be of some use. And you say you have a dragon?”

  That was when the negotiating began in earnest. Around us, the onlookers still smiled.

  Interlude Six: And So It Begins

  Kalix stopped the lecture he was giving to the prisoners about the inherently corrupt nature of elves when he felt it. There was no mistaking the massive surge of mana that flared out over the city. He recognized the flavor immediately, and it belonged to that blasted human who had escaped him. There were other aspects to it, though, and they were what drew his attention the most.

  There was a fey royal here. Summer Court, if his senses were correct, and they were. For them to be here, and out of nowhere, sent a chill down his spine. It wasn’t that fey royals were so powerful. They were, certainly, but what bothered him was that he hadn’t detected anything until this moment. It would have had the hallmarks of a trap, except he was positive whoever it was had been locked in battle.

  Perhaps there was more going on here than he’d understood before. If his enemies wanted to fight each other, he’d be happy to let them. Still, he sent orders out and the forces marshalled. The time was fast approaching to raze the city to the ground. There was still a use for the prisoners, so he wouldn’t kill them yet—the law did have to be maintained, after all. But there was nothing stopping him from sending a squad out.

  He might lose a few of them, but he’d get his own insights into what was happening, and he might just find a window to attack. Out of an abundance of caution, he sent a squad of two Inquisitors, two Dreadnoughts, and a Law Warden straight for the inn where he felt the disturbance. That done, he shot up out of the atmosphere and phased a hair out of reality while pulling his aura in as tightly as he could.

  He grinned. The fey royal would never feel him until it was too late.

  Still stuck outside the dimensional barrier, Tion, Crown Prince of the Void Court and Tad’s father, felt a surge of power. It had to be Allanna, if he could feel it through the membrane. He beat his hands against the barrier and cursed. Whatever she was doing, it was assuredly stupid, and could only serve to endanger Tad. He needed to get through this barrier, and now.

  Just before he was about to go all out, he heard a voice in the back of his head. It was one that was always there, but it never spoke to him directly.

  Pieces have been put in place. The Twin Prince does not fight alone.

  It was the Ways speaking directly to him. He’d seen his mother converse with the Ways more than once, but they never spoke to him. He felt torn now. He trusted the Ways, but he still wanted to be there for his son. Apparently, he would just have to wait.

  Or maybe not. He felt the presence of a trio of ascendants streaking across the Void toward him. They all had the stink of the Order, and of course they outnumbered him, but they were about to get a lesson in why it was a bad idea to fight a void fey inside the Void. This might be just what he needed to let off some steam.

  Samvek felt the message hit his awareness like a hammer striking a bell.

  “Now.” Silas’ presence came through the group channel with hard clarity, stripped of all embellishment. Kalix was gone, or at least no longer anchored to the prisoners, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t return. Samvek knew the plan. They were to free them if they could, but they needed to be ready to flee if Kalix made an appearance.

  Samvek didn’t hesitate. He closed the channel and reached for Azuria, the bond between them tightening until it sang. “It’s time,” he sent, and felt her answer with a surge of anticipation so fierce it made his blood heat. The waiting was over, and whatever came next would be decided in motion.

  Space folded around them as Samvek triggered the teleport. The warehouse vanished beneath their feet, replaced by open sky as they reappeared hundreds of feet above Basetown. Cold wind tore at Samvek’s cloak, and for a heartbeat the city lay spread beneath them, streets tight with soldiers, prisoners bound in the square like offerings on an altar.

  Azuria didn’t waste that heartbeat.

  Her body exploded outward in a roar of expanding mass and power, humanoid form unraveling into scale, wing, and claw as her true shape tore into the air. Blue scales caught the light like polished steel, and her wings unfurled wide enough to cast entire buildings in shadow. Lightning crackled along her spine as her presence slammed into the city. The fear came with her, ancient and absolute, a terror only a dragon could bring. It froze breath in lungs and sent even hardened Order warriors stumbling back in shock.

  Samvek landed against the ridge of her neck as she completed the transformation, fingers locking into scale and armor straps he’d secured for this purpose. The city looked small from here, fragile, and the Order looked suddenly less like an occupying force and more like prey. He raised his spear and pointed it downward, letting spatial mana coil around the weapon as lightning danced along its edge.

  Azuria struck first.

  A bolt of lightning tore from her jaws, a branching storm that ripped through the square with deafening force. Stone exploded, Order banners burned, and bodies were hurled aside as electricity crawled across armor and flesh alike. Through their bond, he could tell that Azuria had been careful not to hurt the prisoners despite the outpouring of power. Samvek followed up immediately, space snapping as he launched himself from her back and reappeared amid a cluster of Order elites, spear already moving.

  The first kill came fast and brutal. Samvek drove the spear through a Law Warden’s chest, lightning detonating on contact as spatial compression crushed the body inward. The moment the man died, Hunger flared, a deep, ravenous pull that tore power out of the corpse, sending it into Samvek’s core. Strength surged through him, not clean or gentle, but intoxicatingly sharp, and he welcomed it without hesitation.

  He warped back into the air as Azuria banked hard, her wings battering the square with hurricane force while lightning rained down again. Samvek struck from above and within, space and lightning layered together as he culled a pair of Dreadnoughts, each death feeding Hunger and pushing him higher, faster, stronger.

  They waited for Kalix.

  Samvek kept one part of his awareness stretched wide, watching for the telltale pressure of an ascendant’s arrival, the way reality itself would flinch around such a being. It never came. The sky remained clear of that crushing presence, and the city trembled only under dragonfire and falling stone.

  That was the answer they needed.

  Samvek warped space to allow his whispered words to echo throughout the warehouse more than a mile away. “Engage! All teams, move now!”

  The moment Samvek’s signal went out, Tad watched as the square erupted into motion. Thunder rolled overhead, heavy and predatory, and a wave of terror rippled through the Order ranks as Azuria’s presence crashed down on the city like a living storm. Tad did not look up. He felt it in his bones—the opening Samvek had promised—and he stepped forward with his cleaver already in his hands.

  Lexa moved with him, massive and unyielding, roots creaking softly as she planted herself at his side. “I’m not leaving you,” she said, her voice low and certain. He didn’t argue. He could feel the magic gathering ahead of them, bright and rigid, and he needed her exactly where she was.

  The Truth Flames attacked without warning.

  Radiant magic tore across the square in layered patterns, chains of light and sigils of judgment meant to bind and burn in the same breath. Tad reached out instinctively and tore into the spells before they could take effect, consuming them as readily as a morning muffin. The light bent inward, collapsed, and vanished into him with a bitter, metallic taste that made his jaw clench.

  The nearest Truth Flame staggered as his casting unraveled mid-gesture. Confusion flickered across the man’s face, followed by panic as he felt his mana drain away into nothing. Lexa surged forward and slammed into him, her wooden fist caving in armor and driving him into the stone hard enough to crack it.

  Tad was already moving toward the next target.

  Training with Samvek had stripped away hesitation and replaced it with rhythm. His body knew where to be now, how to step inside an enemy’s casting space instead of reacting too late. He ducked under a flaring brand of light, closed the distance, and brought his cleaver around in a brutal horizontal cut that split a Truth Flame from shoulder to hip. The man’s magic sputtered and died as his body hit the ground, and Tad drank the last of it without thinking.

  The Order tried to adapt. Two Truth Flames shifted tactics, one feeding power while the other shaped it, hoping to overwhelm him through sheer volume. Tad let them try. He tore into the structure of their spellwork, ripping at the seams where certainty held it together. The magic unraveled, starving the caster even as feedback slammed him to his knees.

  Lexa finished him with a downward blow that shook the square.

  Dragon fear still clung to the battlefield, dulling reactions and breaking formations. Tad pressed the advantage, cleaver rising and falling in heavy, efficient arcs. Without their magic, the Truth Flames were fragile, and they knew it. He could see it in the way they tried to retreat, hands shaking as they reached for spells that no longer answered.

  A bolt of light caught Tad in the side, burning through armor and flesh, and pain flared, sharp and immediate. He seized the spell as it hit, consumed what he could, and twisted the rest aside. The caster screamed as his connection snapped, and Tad was on him an instant later, cleaver coming down in a vertical chop that split helm and skull alike.

  Lexa roared beside him, her bark hardened like iron as she waded into another cluster. She took blows meant for Tad without hesitation, her body absorbing punishment that would have crushed any lesser defender. In return, she shattered their foes, branches and fists smashing bodies aside so Tad could reach the casters behind.

  They moved together with seamless coordination. Lexa’s mass and control created openings, and Tad’s disruption and brutality exploited them. Spells died in his grasp before they could take shape, and Order members followed. Mana flowed into him in ragged surges, not enough to drown him, but enough to keep him moving when his muscles began to burn.

  One of the last Truth Flames tried something desperate. He poured everything he had into a single column of judgment meant to erase Tad completely. Tad braced, dug his heels into the stone, and tore into it with both hands. The spell fought him, resisted, and screamed in its own way, but he consumed it piece by piece until nothing remained.

  The caster collapsed, empty and shaking, and Lexa crushed him into the ground.

  When it was over, the center of the square belonged to them. Bodies lay scattered across the stone. The air was thick with smoke and the echo of thunder. The remaining Order forces were in disarray, their casters gone and their confidence shattered. But Tad still looked for more enemies. Samvek’s training had been worth it, and his hatred for the Order burned bright.

  As the square descended into chaos, Fara disappeared, stepping sideways into the fractures of fear and distraction, her presence thinning until even her own breath seemed to forget her. Dragon fear pressed down on everyone else, but to Fara it was camouflage, a curtain of instinctive terror she could slip behind without resistance. The presence of the Great One was just as important to her as Tad was, and she was still coming to grips with having met a dragon. For now, there was work to do.

  The first Inquisitor never knew he was hunted.

  He was watching the sky, eyes fixed on the lightning tearing through the Order’s formation, when Fara slid up behind him and opened his throat with a single precise cut. He tried to scream, but she caught his jaw and twisted, guiding his body down so it did not make noise. By the time he hit the stone, she was already gone, her blades wiped clean on his cloak as she melted into another shadow.

  The second and third went just as quickly.

  Inquisitors were dangerous when they had space and preparation, but panic ruined their discipline. Fara exploited that fact mercilessly. She struck from blind angles, severing tendons, puncturing lungs, and slipping away before blood had finished pooling. Each kill fed her confidence, her movements flowing with the certainty of someone who had trained for exactly this kind of work.

  A skill notification flickered at the edge of her awareness as she vanished again, something incremental and welcome, but she ignored it. This was not the time to dwell on any numbers that weren’t a body count.

  Then she made a mistake.

  She ghosted in behind another Inquisitor and felt the prickle too late, the sudden awareness that her target was not as distracted as the others. He twisted as her blade came in, armor scraping as the edge glanced instead of biting as she had planned. Pain flared up her arm as he slammed an elbow back into her ribs and rolled away, eyes wide but sharp.

  “So you’re the lizard person we’ve heard rumors about. This isn’t even your world,” he snarled, already moving.

  He vanished as she lunged, his concealment snapping into place with practiced ease, and the square around her suddenly felt too open. Fara spun, blades up, heart pounding as instinct screamed at her to move. A dagger sliced past her cheek, close enough that she felt the air shift, and she barely avoided the follow-up by dropping into a roll that scraped scales from her forearm.

  They circled unseen, two predators hunting each other through the same broken space.

  Fara slowed her breathing and forced her panic down. She had faced worse than this, but never with so much at stake. She baited him with a deliberate misstep, letting her outline blur just enough to suggest weakness, and felt his attention snap toward it.

  He struck hard and fast, blades flashing out of concealment, but she was ready. She parried one strike, took the second across the shoulder with a hiss of pain, and drove her knee up into his midsection. He grunted, staggered, and she pressed in close, denying him space to vanish again.

  The fight turned brutal and personal.

  They crashed into a fallen stall, wood splintering as they grappled for control. His blade bit into her thigh, shallow but burning, and she answered by driving her elbow into his throat. He recovered, slammed her back against stone, and raised his dagger for the killing blow.

  Fara headbutted him.

  The impact stunned them both, but she recovered first. She twisted inside his guard and buried her blade under his ribs, angling it up until she felt resistance give way. He shuddered, tried to curse her, then went limp as she withdrew the blade and let him fall.

  She stood there for a heartbeat, breathing hard, blood running down her arm and leg. It was impossible not to be winded after a fight like that, but standing out in the open on this battlefield would only get her killed, so she sucked it up. Hiding was always what she’d been best at.

  Fara vanished again, pain and all. There were still Inquisitors out there, and now she knew they were watching for her. That would only make the hunt more satisfying.

  Mirren felt the battle as a living thing, a pulse that ran through the square and into her bones. She stayed just behind Dylus as they moved, staff warm in her hands, eyes tracking the flow of wounds and mana like a second sight. The Order legendaries ahead of them had already recovered from the first shock of the dragon’s arrival, and they regrouped with disciplined efficiency. That was the danger. These were not panicked zealots, but veterans who knew how to kill as a team.