The withdrawal wasn’t clean.

  Nothing was anymore.

  We moved through shattered rock and torn earth while Caelia kept the channel open, her voice cutting through the noise like a taut blade.

  —Air support requested. I repeat, immediate air support at delta–seven coordinates. We are under heavy pressure.

  I looked up just in time to see them.

  Seravenn’s fighters tore through the clouds like silver arrows, engines roaring with a familiarity that almost felt comforting. For a second—just one—I felt relief.

  It lasted exactly as long as it took for horror to replace it.

  Eiswacht’s interceptors arrived after them.

  They didn’t dive.

  They didn’t maneuver with urgency.

  They glided.

  Their black wings reflected the light in an unnatural way, and their flight paths didn’t follow human logic. Turns too tight. Acceleration too sharp. Deceleration without loss of stability.

  —That’s not normal… —Velka muttered.

  The sky filled with contrails.

  Missiles traced impossible arcs. Flares burst like false stars. One of Seravenn’s fighters tried to break formation—it didn’t make it.

  A precise burst split it in two.

  There was no heroic explosion.

  Just fire… and then nothing.

  And then the ground answered.

  The first artillery impact landed far too close.

  It wasn’t a direct hit, but the shockwave slammed me into a rock wall, ripping the air from my lungs. I felt my magic try to react—and fail halfway.

  It lagged.

  A second too late.

  —Take cover! —Caelia shouted—. The interference is still active!

  Another strike. The earth tore open like a wound. Metal and stone fragments screamed through the air. Something grazed my side—it burned like cold fire.

  It wasn’t lethal.

  But it hurt.

  It hurt because it shouldn’t have happened like that.

  Velka dropped to one knee, gasping, one hand digging into the ground.

  —The healing… —she said through clenched teeth—. It’s getting through… but it won’t hold.

  She was right. The magic flowed, but it slipped away. Like trying to hold water with open hands.

  Above us, the aerial battle grew increasingly one-sided.

  —Air units, fall back! —a voice yelled over the channel—. Fall back, fall back, they’re—

  The transmission cut out.

  Caelia clenched her jaw.

  —They outmatch us in speed, response time, and targeting —she said, voice steady—. This isn’t just weapons. It’s prediction.

  As if they had been waiting for us.

  As if they knew exactly when and where we would appear.

  Another fighter fell in flames, crashing into the mountainside with an impact I felt in my bones.

  —Lyss —Caelia said—. We have to move. Now.

  I nodded without answering.

  Blood Crown vibrated in my hand, restless, as if it wanted to rise into the sky and split it open. I forced it still.

  This wasn’t going to be solved with brute force.

  Below us, the artillery didn’t stop. They weren’t aiming for precision. They were aiming to wear us down. To force us to react again and again, with broken timing, with incomplete magic.

  —They’re closing the net —Velka said—. They want us pinned.

  She was right.

  One by one, allied signatures vanished from Caelia’s magical radar.

  —Air support neutralized —she finally confirmed—. Priority shift. Squad survival. Stay low. Do not overextend.

  I swallowed.

  I looked at the cordillera, the front still burning, the enemy advancing through smoke and steel.

  For the first time since this war began, I understood it with brutal clarity:

  They weren’t trying to defeat us.

  They were proving that, even for us,

  the world was no longer safe.

  The sound changed.

  It wasn’t distant thunder or the high whistle of missiles.

  It was lower. Closer.

  Instinctive.

  —They’re dropping —Caelia said, her voice calm in a way that barely masked the urgency—. Direct bombing run. Brace yourselves.

  There wasn’t enough cover for that.

  Eiswacht’s fighters tore through the low cloud like predators, too fast, too close. They weren’t looking for surgical precision. They were going for saturation.

  —Now! —Caelia shouted—. Shields, everything you have!

  I didn’t think.

  Resentment answered before reason.

  The rifle took shape in a blink—long, angular, vibrating with a dark, corrosive energy that burned my palm even through the glove. I aimed without breathing.

  One shot.

  It didn’t explode.

  It dissolved.

  The fighter’s wing melted like metal dropped into living acid. The craft lost stability and slammed into the mountainside in a dirty ball of fire.

  One.

  Only one.

  The others were already releasing their payload.

  —Lyss, down! —Velka shouted.

  I didn’t make it fully into cover.

  The first explosion lifted the ground beneath us. Caelia threw up an emergency shield—translucent, strained, unstable. The shockwave tore through it like cracked glass.

  I felt the impact in my right arm.

  It wasn’t a blunt hit.

  It was heat.

  White, immediate pain ripped a scream from my throat. I looked down just long enough to see blackened skin, torn open, burned flesh beneath the shredded sleeve.

  Another blast.

  Neyra was thrown clear.

  She didn’t scream.

  Her body slammed into a rock formation with a hollow, impossible sound. Her head bounced once… then she went still.

  The world collapsed.

  —Neyra! —I tried to move, but another explosion hurled me backward.

  Velka hit the ground nearby, blood streaming from her brow, breathing ragged. Caelia dropped to one knee, the shield shattering into fragments of light.

  —Caelia! —I shouted.

  She was already speaking.

  —Immediate reinforcements —she said into the comm, her voice breaking for the first time—. I need reinforcements now. We have critical casualties. Repeat, critical casualties.

  Static answered.

  One second.

  An eternity.

  Then a voice.

  Not loud.

  Not rushed.

  Steady.

  —Acknowledged —Seraphina said—. I’m on my way.

  I swallowed, staring at Neyra’s unmoving body amid fire and dust.

  I didn’t know if they would make it in time.

  And for the first time…

  I was afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

  Velka reached me before I could even push myself up.

  She dropped to her knees beside me and grabbed my right arm with both hands, no permission asked. I felt her magic before I felt any relief—a warm, dense, frantic flow.

  —Hold still —she muttered through clenched teeth—. Don’t you move right now.

  The pain was still there, but it stopped growing. The burn throbbed like embers being smothered by force, stubborn, resentful. Velka set her jaw, pouring everything she had into it.

  —It’s not pretty —she growled—. Don’t expect miracles.

  —Neyra… —I tried to say.

  Velka looked up for a second, her eyes shining with something I didn’t want to name.

  —I’m getting to her, damn it.

  She released my arm and sprang to her feet.

  —Caelia! —she shouted—. Shield, now! Big one. Make it hold.

  Caelia didn’t answer with words. The energy field rose in front of us, imperfect but solid, vibrating under distant impacts.

  Velka ran to Neyra.

  I forced myself up and followed, my arm still burning, every step heavy. Velka dropped beside Neyra’s motionless body and grabbed her by the shoulders, dragging her carefully—clumsily—into the shield.

  There was too much blood.

  Far too much.

  It ran through her hair, soaked her forehead, streamed down her temple to her neck. Neyra didn’t react. Her breathing wasn’t visible.

  —Hey —Velka said, leaning over her—. Don’t you dare play dead right now.

  She placed one hand on Neyra’s head, the other on her chest, and squeezed her eyes shut.

  —Come on, you obsessive piece of shit —she muttered—. Wake up. Don’t do this to me now.

  The magic surged again, rougher, stronger. I saw Velka tremble, her shoulders tight, her breath breaking.

  —Can you hear me? —she pressed—. Don’t you dare leave me alone with this mess, got it? Don’t be a coward.

  I knelt on the other side, helpless, useless.

  —Wake up —Velka repeated, her voice cracking—. Come on… wake up, idiot.

  A twitch.

  Small. Barely there.

  Then a harsh gasp.

  Neyra sucked in air like she was surfacing from deep water. She coughed, wet and horrible, her body jerking.

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  —That’s it… —Velka let out a shaky laugh—. That’s it. Good girl.

  She rested her forehead against Neyra’s for just a second—only one—before straightening.

  That was when I saw it.

  A light.

  Not an explosion.

  Not a violent flash.

  Something bright cutting through the smoke-choked sky, descending with a calm that didn’t belong on a battlefield.

  I lifted my gaze, my heart hammering.

  —Velka… —I whispered.

  She looked too.

  And for a moment, even with the war still roaring around us, everything seemed to stop.

  Seraphina had arrived.

  Minutes earlier...

  The battlefield was no longer a front.

  It was an organized slaughter.

  Eiswacht’s armored columns advanced with near-obscene precision: tanks in staggered formation, mechanized infantry covering flanks, drones hovering like unblinking eyes beneath the gray sky. Every movement was calculated, corrected, optimized.

  And still, Blood of the Throne kept advancing.

  Irhena fell from the sky like a meteor, her chains slamming into a tank’s armor with an explosion that hurled dirt, metal, and bodies into the air. The blast tore the turret clean off, flinging it meters away before the chassis collapsed inward.

  She didn’t celebrate.

  She was already moving.

  A kinetic round struck her square in the side, launching her into the ground hard enough to carve a crater. Something fractured—there was an audible crack—but Irhena rose anyway, blood spilling from her mouth, eyes burning with feral fury.

  —Is that all? —she roared, yanking on her chains and ripping a soldier from cover—. Come on!

  Thessia was laughing.

  Or trying to.

  Her barbed whip shredded the air, tearing through entire ranks, but concentrated fire began to find her. Shrapnel embedded itself into her shoulder and thigh. The pain she reflected back started to return—amplified, warped by battlefield saturation.

  The laughter turned sharp. Forced.

  —Fuck… —she gasped—. That… that actually hurt.

  Maren raised her scepter, the floating orbs around her pulsing with dark energy. The ground ahead grew heavy, oppressive; enemy soldiers faltered, their movements slowing, breaths turning uneven.

  The tanks didn’t.

  Systems didn’t feel despair.

  A cannon rotated. Fired.

  The explosion hurled Maren several meters. She landed hard on her back, the scepter rolling from her grasp. It took too long for her to rise, breath shattered, eyes wide with a silent terror she couldn’t impose on machines.

  Vaelyn moved among them like a badly mimicked shadow.

  Her movements were precise. Too precise.

  She had begun anticipating trajectories, positioning herself where the enemy would be, reacting the way they reacted. Her split lance pierced a vehicle at an impossible angle, detonating it from within.

  But with every strike, something in her expression hardened.

  —No… like this… —she muttered, correcting her stance, her breathing, copying patterns that were no longer human—. It’s not enough.

  A shot caught her in the back. It didn’t kill her, but it slammed her into the ground, air ripped from her lungs.

  Lureya advanced at the forefront, her massive mace crashing down again and again, crushing steel and bone alike. Impacts slammed into her relentlessly, stacking one over another. She didn’t scream. She didn’t stop.

  But her pace slowed.

  Each explosion left unseen marks. Each blow added weight her body began to remember, even if her mind refused to.

  —We’re getting flanked —she growled, driving the mace into the ground to steady herself—. Badly.

  Irhena looked around.

  Tanks tightening the encirclement. Artillery recalibrating fire. Drones descending to mark targets.

  For the first time since they landed, she didn’t see a clean way out.

  —Fire —she said, spitting blood—. On my position.

  The others stared at her.

  —What? —Thessia laughed, brittle and sharp—. Have you lost your damn mind?

  —Do it! —Irhena roared—. Now!

  The impact came seconds later.

  The world detonated into light and sound.

  When the dust settled, Blood of the Throne was still standing.

  Broken. Bleeding. Trembling.

  But alive.

  And still… the enemy kept advancing.

  The line was minutes from collapse.

  Far away, somewhere beyond the smoke-choked sky, something began to glow.

  And none of them saw it yet.

  Lumina Umbrae advanced like a wedge of light driven into the enemy line.

  There was no hesitation, no unnecessary spectacle. Reia led the charge, her star-tipped spear spinning with surgical precision, each strike carving clean corridors through Eiswacht’s ranks. Wherever her weapon descended, time slowed just enough for the blow to be final.

  Caelyn moved at her flank, the air thickening with moisture under her control. Vapor condensed at her will, forming blades of compressed water that slipped through armor joints and weak points—silent, efficient, lethal.

  Virelle descended and rose like a continuous detonation. She did not touch the soldiers; she altered the pressure around them. The air imploded inside their bodies, hurling them backward without clear external wounds, but beyond recovery.

  Nysha hovered slightly behind them.

  She did not attack.

  She did not need to.

  Her presence alone was enough to make shots miss, to make hands tremble while reloading, to make soldiers glance around with an unease they could not explain. The fear was still faint, a barely perceptible murmur… but it was there.

  The front began to buckle.

  Eiswacht’s formations fractured. The tanks rolled back several meters. Infantry units lost cohesion.

  Then, with unsettling precision, everything stopped.

  Gunfire ceased all at once. Enemy lines opened with unnatural synchronicity, as if a silent command had rippled across the battlefield. Entire units withdrew simultaneously, leaving behind a void that was far too clean.

  Reia felt it instantly.

  —This isn’t a retreat —she said—. Stay sharp.

  A second later, the projectiles fell.

  They did not explode.

  Small, gray cylinders, launched from multiple angles. They bounced across the ground, rolled between bodies and debris, and came to rest without detonating.

  Silence.

  A low hiss.

  —Masks! —Reia ordered.

  All four activated their seals almost at the same time.

  Almost.

  The projectile that broke Nysha’s mask was neither large nor precise. It grazed the side of her magical visor, barely splintering it. A minimal fracture, nearly invisible.

  Enough.

  Nysha inhaled.

  The gas did not kill her.

  It did not knock her down.

  It did not paralyze her.

  It opened her.

  Her breathing shattered instantly. An uneven gasp, followed by a sound that was not yet a scream, but something worse—an involuntary, animal whimper torn from deep in her chest.

  —N-no… —she stammered—. No, no, no…

  Fear awakened without shape.

  There were no monsters at first. No shadows. Only a wave, an invisible pressure that rippled through the ground and the nearby bodies as if something had detonated inside them.

  The closest soldiers froze in place.

  One dropped his rifle and began clawing at his own neck in desperation, tearing at his skin in short, frantic pulls, as if something were trapped beneath it. Another collapsed to his knees and slammed his head into the ground again and again until he stopped moving.

  Farther back, several began to scream.

  Not at Lumina.

  At nothing.

  Nysha’s pulse expanded.

  It did not explode.

  It scoured.

  Within the immediate radius, bodies began to fail in different ways. Some turned their weapons on one another without lifting their gaze, as if terror had erased any notion of ally or enemy. Others went rigid, skin tightening, eyes locked open, until something invisible seemed to peel them away from themselves, leaving behind unrecognizable remains.

  Not all of them bled.

  In some, there was simply nothing left that could.

  Fear did not kill them.

  It unmade them.

  Nysha dropped to her knees, hands pressed against her cracked visor. She screamed and cried at the same time, her voice breaking into howls that did not ask for help.

  —I can’t stop! —she sobbed—. I can’t… I can’t…!

  Her magic continued to spill outward, not by will, but by pure panic. Every convulsion of her body sent another wave rolling across the field.

  Caelyn tried to reach her.

  The air thickened, humid, impossible to breathe. Vapor saturated with fear, with images that belonged to no one in particular and to everyone at once. Each step toward Nysha was a struggle against something without form.

  Virelle slammed down violently, sending pressure waves outward to clear space. The ground ruptured, bodies were thrown aside… but the fear did not retreat.

  It did not obey.

  It was not an enemy.

  It was a state.

  Nysha remained at the center of the devastation, surrounded by human remnants and sudden silence, rocking in place as sobs tore through her chest. Her magic stayed active, uncontrollable, pouring out like an open wound in the world.

  The front was lost.

  And then, someone moved toward her.

  Walking.

  Reia advanced.

  Not flying.

  Not descending as a symbol.

  Walking.

  With every step, the air grew denser, more hostile, as if fear itself had weight and friction. Her magic reacted on instinct, closing around her in protective layers of light—and still, something seeped through.

  The first burn flared along her forearms.

  It wasn’t immediate.

  It built.

  Her skin reddened beneath the armor, tightening, burning in irregular waves, as if the light were being scraped against something coarse. Reia clenched her jaw, but did not slow.

  Nysha’s fear did not push her away.

  It consumed her.

  Another step, and an invisible shock tore across her side. The pain was sharp, brutal, leaving the sensation of exposed flesh without an open wound. The smell followed a heartbeat later—not ordinary burning, but magic driven too far, saturated, broken.

  Reia drew a careful breath.

  Each inhale burned.

  Her magic kept her alive.

  Not unharmed.

  When she was close enough, she saw Nysha clearly.

  She was on her knees, folded in on herself, fingers digging into the shattered visor. Her body shook uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with saliva and a thin smear of blood at the corners of her mouth.

  She was screaming.

  Or trying to.

  Her voice was nearly gone—ragged, shredded, a torn thread barely holding after being pushed far past its limit.

  —N-no… —it rasped from her throat—. No… p-please… no…

  Every attempt to scream collapsed into a dry, painful gasp. Even so, fear kept spilling from her in uneven surges, emotional spasms she could not stop.

  Reia took the final step.

  The burning intensified all at once.

  The light around her reacted violently, as if resisting the advance. Patches of her skin blistered beneath the armor, irregular burns blooming across her shoulders and arms—ugly, uneven, nothing heroic. Pain climbed her spine and bit into her chest.

  She did not retreat.

  She knelt in front of Nysha.

  She took Nysha’s face in both hands, ignoring the heat tearing through her fingers.

  —Hey… —she said, her voice steady, though it cost her to keep it so—. I’m here.

  Nysha did not stop crying. She did not stop shaking. She did not stop trying to scream, even though her voice could no longer keep pace with the panic.

  —I can’t… —she whispered, broken—. I can’t stop…

  Reia closed her eyes.

  And held back.

  She did not push more light.

  She did not try to cover the field.

  She did not try to save anyone else.

  She folded her magic inward, tight and narrow around herself and Nysha, sealing it like a constricting ring—just enough for the fear to stop spreading.

  The horror did not vanish.

  But it stopped growing.

  Nysha collapsed against her, sobbing, clutching Reia’s armor as if it were the only real thing left. Her voice finally faded into a fractured whimper.

  The front was still burning.

  The bodies were still there.

  The war did not stop.

  But for the first time since the gas fell, the world ceased unraveling any further.

  And Reia, kneeling in the heart of the inferno, knew—without words, without clear visions—that there were costs even light could not prevent.

  Only accept.

  Back to Lyss...

  She was in the sky...

  Suspended above the mountain range, unmoving, as if the world itself had stopped just to hold her there. She wasn’t descending violently. She wasn’t falling. She simply was.

  —She’s there —someone said beside me.

  It didn’t sound like relief.

  It sounded like certainty.

  Seraphina extended one hand, and the air changed. There was no explosion. No blinding flash. The entire front reordered itself. Lines that were seconds away from breaking stabilized instantly, as if an invisible force had pulled them taut from within.

  The shields came first.

  They weren’t simple bubbles, but layered planes, domes folding into one another, absorbing impacts that moments earlier would have torn us apart. I recognized the pattern immediately.

  —That’s— —Caelia murmured—. That’s my magic again.

  Seraphina moved her hand again, and I felt something far more unsettling: the panic around us shifted. It didn’t vanish. It didn’t disperse. It simply… stopped being inside us.

  The shaking in my legs eased. The noise in my head quieted just enough for me to think clearly. Around me, I saw other girls straighten, breathe, refocus.

  And then I understood.

  She wasn’t destroying the enemy.

  She was carrying us.

  Higher up, Seraphina descended a little more. Her figure tensed—just slightly. As if every meter cost something it shouldn’t have cost. The light surrounding her grew uneven, and I saw lines race across her armor, not like cracks from an external blow, but like fractures from overload.

  The blood came afterward.

  Not in torrents.

  In heavy drops.

  They struck the air and scattered before reaching the ground.

  She didn’t stop.

  She raised both hands now, and the entire front froze emotionally. Not in time—but in intent. Eiswacht’s soldiers hesitated. they were not afraid, but something inside them had slipped out of alignment, as if their impulses could no longer find purchase.

  —She’s using something new… —Velka whispered.

  I didn’t answer.

  Because I felt the pull in my chest.

  It wasn’t my magic being taken. It was worse. It was the certainty that every shield, every second gained, every life not lost… was going somewhere.

  To her.

  Seraphina clenched her teeth. I could see it even from here. Her posture remained perfect, regal—but there was rigidity in her shoulders. Contained pain. Will pushed far beyond what was prudent.

  She wasn’t invincible.

  She was an anchor.

  And anchors—I knew this all too well—are the first to wear down.

  I looked at Blood Crown in my hands and felt a chill crawl up my spine.

  If this was what she did to prevent defeat…

  What would she have to do when preventing it was no longer enough?

  And as Seraphina held the sky together with nothing but sheer resolve, I understood with terrifying clarity:

  She wasn’t saving the war.

  She was buying time with her own body.

  There was no immediate ending.

  There was no victory.

  The war went on.

  Seraphina moved like an impossible shadow between fronts. I saw her rise one last time before vanishing northward, leaving behind a trail of unstable light, as if the sky itself didn’t know how to close after her.

  On our front, the mountain range held.

  We didn’t gave way in the end.

  Hours bled into one another. Attacks, short withdrawals, desperate counterattacks. Messages flowing nonstop, voices tired, some breaking, others dangerously calm.

  —Shadows, hold your position. Limited air support. I repeat, limited —Caelia ordered through the communicator, her voice steady… too steady.

  Velka no longer healed with care.

  She healed with urgency. Her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking. Every time she closed a wound, something in her expression hardened a little more.

  Neyra didn’t fight the same way again.

  She kept copying magic, yes—but erratically, as if every spell had poorly defined edges. Every time she used borrowed power, it became harder for her to breathe.

  I kept fighting.

  Blood Crown felt heavier with every strike. Not less obedient. More aware. As if it knew it was being used to hold something that should not be held this way.

  —Seraphina making contact with Lumina —I heard on one of the open channels.

  Minutes later:

  —Confirmed. She has stabilized the western front.

  Then silence.

  And after that, distant shouting, interference, static.

  Every time her name appeared on the channels, it came with a delay. With long pauses. With strained breathing.

  She was helping.

  But she wasn’t coming out unscathed.

  When there was finally a real pause—one of those that doesn’t come because you won, but because no one can keep advancing—the three squads were ordered to regroup in a secured area at the base of the mountain range.

  That was when I saw it.

  That was when I understood.

  Lumina Umbrae arrived first. They no longer looked like a constellation fallen from the sky. Their outfits were scarred, their light uneven, as if hope itself had taken blows it didn’t yet know how to process.

  Nysha was sitting on the ground, her back against a rock, her hands clenched tight to her own chest. She was shaking. Not from cold. Not from physical pain. She was shaking like her body still hadn’t understood that the immediate danger was over.

  Reia held her with both arms, saying nothing.

  Just anchoring her, grounding her, as if letting go for even a second meant losing her.

  Caelyn’s face was pale, damp from the constant effort of keeping her magic stable.

  Virelle breathed deeply—too deeply—restraining herself as always… but this time with visible cracks.

  Then Blood of the Throne arrived.

  Irhena walked as if every step were a challenge to the ground itself. She had open wounds, poorly sealed burns, dried blood along her neck and arms. Thessia smiled in that dangerous way that only appears when pain no longer matters. Maren barely stayed upright, her ivory scepter dim, her eyes sunken. Vaelyn avoided looking at anyone. Lureya limped, leaning on her massive mace as if it were a cane.

  And then there was us.

  Velka had her hands wrapped in bandages—bad ones, rushed ones.

  Neyra sat apart, silent, her gaze unfocused, as if she were still falling.

  Caelia hadn’t let go of her communicator, even though no orders were coming through anymore.

  I closed my fingers around Blood Crown, feeling its weight, its contained pulse.

  No one spoke for several seconds.

  There was no need.

  We all knew we had held.

  And that the price was only just beginning to be paid.

  When the sun began to fall, the mountain range was still ours.

  Barely.

  That was when the message arrived.

  It came without dramatics.

  There was no music.

  No shouting.

  Just a clean, direct transmission cutting through every open channel.

  —Attention to all units. Highest priority.

  —Report confirmed thirty seconds ago.

  —The Eastern Front has fallen.

  No one spoke.

  I felt something tighten around my chest, slow and firm. As if the world had just tilted a few degrees… just enough for everything that had been balanced to begin to slide.

  I looked at the blackened horizon of the mountain range.

  I looked at my companions, covered in blood, dust, and exhaustion.

  And I understood, with a clarity that hurt:

  This was not the end of the battle.

  It was simply the exact moment the war decided to bare its teeth.