The world erupted in a heartbeat.
One moment, the air was still in the ruined garrison courtyard. The next, brilliant arcs of blue light crackled through space, and Kael's voice whispered the final word of the spell. In an instant, the group materialized in the dim interior of a guardhouse—mud-streaked stone walls, torch sconces unlit, crates of weapons stacked in corners. No one saw them arrive.
Selena lowered her arms, panting. The blessing still pulsed through her veins like molten ice. "Now."
Kael stepped forward, eyes alight. With a single sweep of his arms, roaring flame burst from his palms, erupting around the startled sentries standing guard. The men leapt back, swords drawn—but their blades glowed with the battered chitin armor's dull sheen, no match for Kael's fire. One guard fell, screaming, as the flames consumed his protection.
Luther advanced next, sword blazing with holy runes. His footwork was silent, precise—every strike a sentence of judgment. He drove through the second line of defense, parrying a blow meant to split his shield, then cleaving through a breastplate that melted beneath his enchanted steel.
Arya vanished into the shadows, twin daggers flashing like lightning. She appeared behind two guards, her strikes swift and silent. No armor could stop her keen steel from finding the gaps. She moved like a gale—strike, disappear, strike again—until the hallway was clear.
Stormclaw lunged through a wooden door, jaws clamping on a guard's leg. The creature's strength rattled the man's bones. With a single powerful shake, the guard was disarmed, the metal blade clattering across the floor.
Selena raised her voice, chanting a cold incantation. A wave of frost exploded down the corridor, encasing the stone in brittle ice. Guards skidded, swords frozen mid-swing. The moisture in the air crystallized beneath her fingertips—nature itself obeying her will.
Within moments, the group breached the central courtyard. The northern garrison never had a chance to rally. Selena dashed to the fallen banners—black and crimson—tearing them down in a single swift motion. She replaced them with the silver-and-blue pennant of the Shadowkin, letting it unfurl on the wind.
Kael's flame lit every torch in the yard. Luther broke the gate's lock with a kick charged by holy light. Arya led the freed Shadowkin prisoners—two battered men still alive—into the open, where Stormclaw stood guard.
The entire garrison compound fell silent under the group's control. Even the distant sentries on the ramparts seemed frozen in disbelief.
Panting, the group gathered in the main hall—a cavernous chamber ringed with wooden balconies and inlaid runic glyphs that flickered with residual magic. The freed Shadowkin collapsed against the pew-like benches, clutching each other in gratitude.
Selena knelt beside them. "You're safe now," she whispered. "Stay low. We'll hold this until everyone arrives."
Luther paced, scanning every doorway. "They'll come looking for us. They'll know something's wrong."
Kael closed his eyes, focusing. "The blessing is fading," he said softly. "We have maybe ten minutes before it wears off entirely."
Every face hardened in resolve.
Arya checked her daggers, eyes alight. "Then we use them."
For a long moment, they waited in tense silence—only the drip of water and the echo of distant footfalls reached them. The rescued Shadowkin scanned the hall, terror and hope in their eyes.
Selena rose, voice steady. "Stand ready."
The courtyard doors crashed open, and the first rank of northern soldiers poured into the hall—pikes lowered, swords drawn, grim helmets glinting under torchlight.
Luther tightened his grip on his blade. Arya advanced to his side. Kael's hands glowed with the last embers of Selena's blessing. Stormclaw growled in the threshold.
And Selena stepped forward, heart pounding, eyes blazing.
The northern garrison had returned—and they would learn that the champions of ice and flame were not to be underestimated.