[Evelyn’s POV]

I don’t think but move.

The first Mintian warrior swings high. I duck under the blade, drive my shoulder into his chest, and put my knife through the gap in his armor. He drops.

The second one thrusts toward my throat — I deflect, pivot, channel moonlight into my palm, and throw a burst of light into his eyes. He screams and staggers. I cut his legs out.

“Evelyn — behind you!”

I spin. A third warrior is already mid-swing, blade descending toward my skull.

“No time to block!”

I throw my hand up and the moonlight erupts — ragged, uncontrolled, a spray of white fire that deflects the blade just enough to miss my head.

“How did I do that?”

“Instinct. The bond acted before your mind could, but it cost you.”

The warrior stumbles back. I disarm him — blade against wrist, twist, pull — and his sword clatters to stone.

“Your reserves are depleting. I can feel the cold spreading through you.”

“I know. My fingers are going numb.”

“How is your breathing?”

“It’s getting worse. How’s your wing?”

“Useless. I cannot reach you, and I cannot fly to you.”

“Then I come to you, just hold on.”

I push forward, stepping over bodies, slipping on blood. Twenty yards to Aspis. Another warrior is coming — skilled and professional.

I channel moonlight into my forearm to block. The power sputters, surges, holds for a heartbeat before flickering out. He goes down when I feint left and drive my blade into his armpit.

Fifteen yards to Aspis.

“Evelyn, movement at your two o’clock. Coordinated formation.”

I look, and my blood runs cold. A dozen fighters in blue-marked armor are moving across the field toward Aspis.

“They are not here to kill me.”

“The chains at their belts — they’re here to capture you.”

“Yes, I am the prize. The white dragon, claimed for Mintia. My father’s ultimate trophy.”

“That’s not happening. I won’t let it happen.”

“Evelyn, there are twelve of them. You are exhausted, and your power is failing. The mathematics do not favor us. Evelyn—”

“I’m not leaving you, and I’m not letting them take you. Tell me you understand that!”

“I understand. I also understand that you may die trying.”

I break into a run. The cold at my edges spreads deeper — fingers numbing, vision tunneling.

I don’t care, and I don’t stop. Aspis is twenty yards away, and twelve elite guards are closing on her with chains designed to bind dragons.

The first two fighters turn as I approach. I scream and throw everything I have left into a burst of moonlight. The light erupts in ragged arcs, catching both fighters full in the face.

“Two down. Ten remaining.”

“I can count, Aspis!”

“I am trying to help.”

I close the distance. My blade finds the gap in the third fighter’s armor. The fourth swings at me and I duck, but my legs are shaking. His return stroke clips my arm — a shallow cut, pain flaring from elbow to wrist.

“You are injured.”

“Just a shallow cut, I’m fine.”

“You are lying to me.”

“I’m managing. Keep talking to me — it helps.”

“What should I say?”

“Tell me I’m not going to die here.”

“I cannot promise that. But I promise I will not let them take me alive. If you fall, I fall with you.”

“That’s not comforting, Aspis.”

“It was not meant to be so. It was meant to be true.”

“Your power is failing, and the reserves are empty.”

“I cannot do that. You are my rider, my everything.”

“EVELYN!”

“She is buying you time. Use it.”

I try to stand, but my leg screams in protest. Blood soaks through my leathers.

“Venna! There’s too many of them — you can’t hold all of them alone!”

“I need to hold them long enough for you to get to your damn dragon!” She parries a blow meant for her head, returns with a cut that takes the attacker’s hand off at the wrist. “Get to Aspis! Get in the air!”

“She can’t fly! Her wing is damaged!”

“Then fight from her back, like ground combat! Use her fire, just get to her!”

“I can’t leave you here to die—”

“You’re giving my death meaning! GO!”

The fourth guard lunges at Venna. She twists to avoid the killing strike but not fast enough — his blade punches through her side, between her ribs.

She doesn’t stop. She grabs his sword arm, holds him in place, and drives her own blade through his throat. He falls, and she staggers but keeps her feet, blood pouring from her side.

“She is dying.”

“I know.”

“She knows it too, and she chose this.”

“I know, but I don’t understand why.”

“Perhaps you do not need to understand. Perhaps you only need to honor it.”

Venna’s eyes find mine. For a single heartbeat, the woman who spent months hating me looks at me with something that might be respect.

“Why?” I ask her. “After everything — why?”

“You’re worth more than my grudge.” She turns back to face the remaining guards. “And someone has to hold the gate. GO!”

Six elite guards remain. She faces them alone, bleeding from a wound that should have killed her, blade raised, stance perfect.

I run.