Vann’s eyes harden with urgency. In a matter of seconds, he morphs from lover to warrior. The purpose is different, but the magnitude is the same.
“Let’s go.”
He pulls me along, his grip like iron as he helps me get to my feet. I scramble to put on my clothes, my fingers trembling, but he is fluid. He doesn’t speak as he quickly pulls on his own gear.
Without another word, he tucks me close to him.
“First, we need to go to the hut where they kept me,” he says. “I need my cleaver.”
I nod, understanding, as we race toward the small hut where he keeps his weapon. The air crackles with tension, the rumble of distant explosions growing louder as we approach. Inside, Vann quickly retrieves his cleaver.
We don’t stop. The destruction of the shore is already visible—bright balls of magical fire soaring through the air, crashing down into the water and setting the trees ablaze. The elves’ boats skim across the darkened waters, their magic wreaking havoc on everything in their path.
In the distance, I see more ogres, their massive forms towering over the shoreline. They raise their hands, and huge rocks are lifted into the air, hurled back toward the elven boats with deadly precision. But the elves’ barrage continues.
“Vann,” I say, my voice high.
“Stay close,” he orders, grabbing my arm and pulling me back toward the ritual grounds that is still full of witches casting spells. They launch red, black, and green trails into the air. The sound of battle is deafening, the shore in chaos, and I can feel the ground shake.
Together, we take cover in an alcove surrounded by trees.
I spot Maelira chanting, her arms swirling and pulling, drawing deep inside of herself before lightning crackles in the sky.
My mouth falls open as she directs a bolt to one of the ships.
It cracks and I flinch against Vann.
I don’t know how to do this—how to be a part of any of this. The last time I was in a battle this big was with Arion.
He held me in place. Made me watch the death.
Vannshieldsme.
Another woman appears at my side and grabs my arm. I look up to see a tanned witch with dark brown hair. “What are you doing here? He may fight. You will not. Come.”
I start to protest, but Vann's gaze hardens as he looks at me. Chaos and light rain around us.
“She’s right,” he calls over the roar. “You have no magic! You’re not a fighter. Go!”
I pause. But then, with a reluctant nod, I agree. “I’ll be fine,” I whisper. I don’t want Arion to take him from me. I can’t bear it. “Just hurry back.”
“I will. Stay hidden.”
But as the witches start to pull me away, I turn back to Vann. For a heartbeat, everything freezes. He reaches out, pulling me close for another kiss. His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing the tear that I hadn’t noticed.
“I will come for you soon,” he whispers, his voice low, full of something raw.
I swallow hard, my heart aching.
“We need to go now!” the woman screams.
I reluctantly pull away, my eyes never leaving his. “Hurry back to me,” I say, my voice strained with emotion.
He swallows. Then holds up his half-missing pinky.
“I will,” he promises, his gaze never wavering.
And then, the witches move me forward, leading me toward the cave.