“Same pattern,” Mirren said, voice steady despite the chaos. “Pressure left, then rotate.”

  Lewlen responded without looking back, an arrow already glowing as arcane energy wrapped around its shaft. He loosed, the shot bending midair to slip past a raised shield and punch through the throat of a Light Seer before detonating in a burst of blue light. Lia moved at the same time, strands of shimmering spider silk snapping out to bind another enemy’s legs to the stone. The man fell hard, just in time for Dylus to step in and bring his hammer down in a bone-shaking arc that crushed armor and earth together.

  Mirren pushed life into the ground as they advanced, roots surging up through cracked stone to snag ankles and slow pursuit. The magic came easily, but holding it steady under pressure was harder. A bolt of light slammed into Dylus’ shoulder, spinning him half around, and Mirren felt the impact like a punch to her own chest. She reacted instantly, green light flaring as bark-skinned growth wrapped around his wound and knitted shattered muscle back together.

  Crynane hissed a curse under her breath, dark runes blooming in the air as she marked the Inquisitor who was barking commands at the rear. The man faltered mid-shout, blood seeping from his nose as the curse ate at his focus and strength. Mirren followed with a pulse of restorative magic that washed over her allies, easing pain and pulling them back from the edge. It wasn’t enough to make them whole, but it kept them moving.

  They needed to keep up the rotation, or they would die.

  Lia took a glancing blow from a sword that burned with judgment, her cry sharp as she stumbled. Mirren redirected her magic in a snap decision, sacrificing control of the roots to throw a surge of healing into Lia’s back. Flesh closed, but the pain lingered, and Mirren could see the strain in Lia’s eyes as she forced herself upright. Lewlen covered her retreat with a rapid volley, arrows stitching a lethal pattern that drove the Order back a step.

  “Switch,” Mirren called.

  Dylus planted himself and drew the enemy’s attention, hammer glowing as he slammed it into the ground and sent a wave of fractured stone rolling outward. The Order legendaries answered with brute force, blades and spells crashing against him, and Mirren poured everything she had into keeping him standing. Her vision narrowed, sweat stinging her eyes as she balanced healing, control, and awareness all at once.

  Crynane slipped past Dylus’ flank, curses flaring with power as she layered them onto a wounded Infiltrator who had tried to break through. The man screamed as his strength bled away, and Lewlen finished him with a clean shot through the eye. Another enemy fell to Lia’s webs, immobilized just long enough for Dylus to end the fight with a single crushing blow.

  They were bleeding now. All of them were. Mirren felt it in the tremor of her hands and the drag in her magic, but she also felt the rhythm of the team lock in. Wound, heal, strike, rotate. Again and again.

  “We’re still here,” Mirren said, more to herself than anyone else.

  And as long as that remained true, she intended to keep them alive.

  Violet lived for moments like this, when the world narrowed to angles, distances, and timing. She darted through the edge of the square with fourteen adventurers spread behind her in staggered pairs, every movement calculated to look like a retreat just slow enough to be tempting. Lawkeepers poured after them in a tide of steel and shouted doctrine, Lawspeakers weaving crude spells that crackled against the cobblestones. Violet smiled to herself and kept running, counting steps and heartbeats as she guided them exactly where she wanted. These were amateurs, but they hadn’t lived through the integration of two planes of existence.

  She skidded around a broken fountain and slapped a palm against the ground as she passed, a barely visible disc snapping into place and blending with the stone. “Keep pulling,” she shouted, voice sharp and confident. The adventurers complied instantly, loosing arrows and spells just enough to sting before falling back again. The Order took the bait, ranks compressing as they surged forward, boots pounding in unison as discipline gave way to bloodlust.

  The first claymore went off with a thunderous crack that punched the air flat. Bodies flew, armor torn open and flung aside as the blast scythed through the front ranks. Violet pivoted on her heel and brought up Ballbuster, the blunderbuss roaring as she fired into the stunned survivors. The shot wasn’t a single projectile, but a grapeshot-style swarm of small metal pellets driven with more force than any Earth bullet ever had been. They struck as a wall, shredding shields and flinging men backward like broken dolls.

  Violet didn’t stick around to admire her handiwork. She sprinted again, weaving through alleys and across open ground, always staying just ahead of the press of righteous fury. Another trap detonated behind her, then another, each explosion timed to catch the Order as they regrouped. Lawspeakers tried to rally their people, voices raised in chants that faltered as shrapnel and shockwaves tore through them. The adventurers surged forward in those moments, blades and magic finishing what the traps had started before falling back on Violet’s signal.

  The pattern repeated, brutal and efficient. Lure, detonate, slaughter, withdraw. Violet’s armor fed her constant readouts, tracking enemy density and threat levels as the kill count climbed. She adjusted on the fly, swapping to shorter fuses when the Order grew cautious, spacing traps wider when they charged too recklessly. Each blast thinned the horde, turning their numbers from an advantage into a liability.

  A Lawspeaker managed to slip past the traps, light flaring around his hands as he hurled a bolt straight at Violet. She slid sideways and answered with Ballbuster at point-blank range, the impact folding him in half and slamming his body into a wall hard enough to crack stone. She felt the recoil shudder through her arms and welcomed it, the familiar jolt grounding her in the chaos. “Next wave,” she muttered, already moving again.

  By the time the last of the Lawkeepers broke and ran, the square was a wreck of smoke, fire, and bodies. The adventurers stood panting among the debris, bloodied but alive, their faces lit with fierce satisfaction. Violet reloaded with a practiced motion and scanned for the next threat, chest heaving as adrenaline slowly bled away. Roughly two hundred enemies lay dead behind them, and she knew this was only one front of many, but for now, the plan had worked perfectly.

  Clay had never liked being bait, but he understood the value of it. He and Oliver moved through the shattered streets like wounded animals, letting their auras flare just enough to be noticed, just enough to invite pursuit. Clay staggered deliberately, the blood on his armor real but not crippling, while Oliver sent out half-formed illusions and misdirected spell signatures that suggested a larger force just out of sight. The Order legendaries took the hook, twenty of them converging with disciplined speed, blades and spells forming a tightening noose.

  The Order tried to box them in near a collapsed plaza, shields locking and casters stepping behind the line. Clay felt the pressure build as radiant magic lanced past him and scorched the stone, and he knew they were seconds from being overwhelmed. He planted his feet anyway and roared a challenge, hammer slamming into the ground hard enough to crack it, while Oliver vanished in a flicker of misdirection, reappearing behind the enemy line to sow confusion. The Order responded like professionals, tightening formation, looking to crush them with coordinated force.

  That was when the ground flowed.

  At first it looked like mercury spilling out of the cracks in the street, liquid metal surging forward in a silent wave. Then the metal rose, shaping itself into towering humanoid forms that gleamed like living mirrors, their surfaces rippling as they adapted. The Mercury Mirror Golems stepped through walls and rubble as if they were mist. Limbs extruded into blades, hammers, and crushing fists mid-motion. The Order barely had time to register the threat before the golems were among them.

  Clay watched in grim satisfaction as discipline shattered. One golem flowed under a shield wall, its body flattening and reforming behind the line, bladed arms scything through casters who never saw it coming. Another met the defenders head-on, liquid metal hardening into a massive fist that caved in armor and bodies alike, the impact sending shockwaves through the plaza. Blades struck the golems and slid off uselessly, reflections warping as the constructs adjusted density and angle to deflect every blow.

  The Order tried to rally, shouting commands and pouring magic into focused strikes, but the golems adapted faster than they could react. A spear thrust was caught and absorbed, the metal arm flowing around it before snapping shut and crushing the wielder. A burst of holy fire washed over a golem’s torso, only to be swallowed and converted into a type of healing energy for the construct. Clay felt a savage thrill as one of the legendaries turned to run, only to be skewered by a limb that reshaped itself mid-strike. And why shouldn’t he enjoy this? These were the men and women of the Order. They’d been terrorizing the city he loved for far too long.

  Clay knew Samvek was watching from somewhere far above, but down here it felt personal. The hunters were screaming now, fear raw and unfiltered as the golems advanced without haste, every movement efficient and lethal. Bodies piled up in moments, the plaza becoming a killing field of broken armor and shattered faith. Clay straightened, exhaustion momentarily forgotten, and hefted his hammer again as the last of the Order legendaries fell.

  When it was over, the silence felt unreal. The golems stood amid the wreckage, liquid metal settling back into smooth, featureless forms as if nothing had happened. Clay exchanged a look with Oliver, both of them breathing hard, and for the first time since the fighting began, he felt the balance shift.

  Up above, he heard the dragon roar as another of the Order flew at her. Clay had to give it to them, they weren’t cowards, despite being led to the slaughter. Of course, neither were the dead.

  The attack came out of nowhere, but Selena still knew it was coming. Her senses might not be as potent as Silas’ with his stupid, broken stats, but she could still feel the approach of five individuals who weren’t bothering to hide their auras. She was ready. Two Inquisitors slipped through the walls like knives through cloth, while the Dreadnoughts crashed in from opposite sides with crushing momentum. The Law Warden anchored the assault, aura flaring as judgment magic tried to seize the space before anyone could react.

  Selena didn’t move.

  She could have if she’d wanted to. Reality bent easily to her will, and she felt a dozen clean solutions unfold in her mind, but she forced herself to wait. Allanna stood only a few steps away, perfectly still, and Selena refused to commit until she understood the fey princess’ intent. Trust was a currency she would not spend blindly, not with the life of her fiancé on the line. It was cute how he’d gotten so much more emotional since he’d made his oath to her. She found she valued that more than she thought she would have, and she was never going to give it up.

  While Selena stayed put, Silas and Urg reacted explosively. Urg surged forward with a soundless roar, astral form snapping into lethal clarity as he intercepted the first Dreadnought mid-charge. Silas followed with precise violence, lightning and force constructs blooming in rapid succession as he cut the second Dreadnought off from its support. The floor cracked under the impact of their combined assault, and the Order’s opening momentum died in a heartbeat.

  The Inquisitors tried to pivot, blades and light weaving together as they sought flanks and leverage. One vanished and reappeared behind Silas, only to be caught mid-strike by Urg’s crushing grip. The second hurled a binding sigil toward Selena, testing her presence, and she let it brush her aura without answering. The Law Warden barked commands, voice layered with authority, but the words rang hollow against the clear disparity in power unfolding in front of him.

  Allanna watched with mild interest, head tilted slightly as if evaluating a performance. Her aura did not rise, and she offered neither warning nor support to the Order attackers. Selena felt a chill at that indifference, colder than the magic in the room, and her resolve hardened.

  Still, she kept her eyes locked on Allanna while Silas and Urg dismantled the threat piece by piece. If the fey princess intended to intervene, Selena wanted to see exactly how and when.

  Allanna moved at last. A pulse of power rolled out from her like a silent concussion, slamming into Silas and Urg and hurling them back just enough to break their momentum. She stepped forward with wings unfurling in a blaze of summer fire and light, placing herself over the last wounded member of the Order as if claiming him. Domination poured out of her, thick and crushing. Selena sneered. She was familiar with this type of magic, and what she felt from the fey princess was absolute command.

  She drove the man to his knees, demanding to know where Arbiter Kalix was hiding. He resisted, shaking as a sliver of something colder and harder pushed back against her will. Selena couldn’t see it like Silas, but he’d described it. He suspected there was a tiny shard of the Lawgiver’s presence lodged inside each of his followers, and that’s what she was witnessing now.

  Allanna’s lips curved in a cruel smile as she placed her hand flat against his chest. “I know how to deal with your type.” She reached in as if flesh were water and drew out a thin white wisp of light. The man screamed as his body spasmed and shriveled before collapsing into ash.

  Flames burst to life around Allanna’s hand as she crushed the wisp, burning it away until nothing remained. “Be free,” she said softly, with more kindness than Selena had heard in her voice up to that point. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold still. Then the wisp of light was gone.

  The moment shattered as a wave of overwhelming force slammed down from above. The inn, the street, and everything for a block in every direction flattened in an instant, buildings folding into rubble as if struck by a god’s fist. Selena hadn’t been fast enough to react, but somehow Urg had. He’d grabbed both her and Silas and shielded them with his own body. She looked up from where he held her on the seared ground and saw the deep pain on his face.

  In that moment, she knew that Urg would protect her just as fiercely as Silas would, and that he would protect Silas with as much ferocity and love as she would. Silas was already casting Celestial Regeneration to heal him, but the damage was so bad that it was taking time for the spell to have any effect. Silas cursed under his breath. “Freaking ascendant caused spiritual damage to you, buddy. I’m here.”

  Seeing that Silas was consumed with his soul bond, she frantically looked around to see what else was happening. There was a haze as whatever multidimensional attack had been used distorted the light and stirred up the exposed soil, as the city’s foundations had been seared away. She quickly realized they were now several feet beneath the surface of the world.

  When the dust settled, Selena forced herself to look up. Allanna lay scorched and bloodied amid the ruins, her wings tattered as she struggled to rise. Standing over her was Arbiter Kalix, his presence crushing and absolute, and Selena knew with cold certainty that the real battle had just begun.

  Rathmar had spent the past four thousand years living in the shadow of a Void Queen. He’d been considered a prodigy in his youth. The former Void Queen had even named him to her Court, and Queen Simari had maintained that appointment when she took over after the great war. Throughout it all, he never felt truly recognized. Sure, he lacked the raw power of the royals, but his finesse was greater than any of them. It was one of the reasons that he liked this foundling prince.

  Setting up the romance between a summer princess and a void prince had been easier than he’d thought. Then, because they were afraid of their mothers, they’d kept the child secret. That allowed Rathmar the opportunity to hide the baby, who now went by Tad, as a foundling on Aerth. Choosing this world had been intentional. As the birthplace of the Lawgiver, it had been granted to him in the truce that paused the war.

  In some ways, he thought of the young prince as his own son, or at least as his ticket to a better life. All he wanted was his own kingdom to rule. He wanted his own servants to bow and scrape before him as he’d been forced to do under the heels of the Void Queens. His hope had been to cause a resurgence in the war, because war always created opportunities for those who knew how to seize them.

  Now, though, it was looking like everything was going wrong. The Twin Prince was being accepted back by both his families. The Order was here, but so far, it looked like the great system itself was protecting the prince. It was time for Rathmar to take a direct hand in this.

  He stayed hidden, his aura inverted as only a true master could accomplish. He watched the battle. He was still enough of a fey to enjoy watching the deaths of the Order’s elites, although that dragon overhead gave him pause. He knew enough history to know that dragons and fey had not always gotten along.

  But it was now or never. The battle was settling down. Tad and a treant were standing in the middle of the square, so this was his moment to strike. The prince either had to be his bargaining chip, or he had to die.

  Rathmar swept down, keeping the weaves of his magic inverted. Even Tad’s highly attuned senses didn’t detect him in time. He unleashed a Void bolt that struck the treant and began to wither her core. She’d be lucky to survive the next hour, and would suffer every excruciating moment as she shrank away to nothing.

  He followed up with his most powerful sleep spell, directing it at Tad. The spell’s potency built up over time, and even the nascent prince wasn’t able to resist it. Rathmar smiled as the boy fell to the ground.

  That was when he felt it—a flash of ascendant power a few streets over, a statement of raw strength he hadn’t felt in a century. It erased a portion of the city and made Rathmar tremble. He didn’t want to confront the Order’s ascendant, but if he was lucky, the man might even manage to kill Allanna. The woman had never been very good at fighting.