"Over there!" she heard one of the soldiers bellow. He lunged at her with his sword while another soldier pushed the door shut. Now it was pitch black—no light penetrated the temple. Severa darted to the side, knowing the soldier wouldn't be able to see her.

"In Balor's name, Sigurd, I can't see a damn thing!" the soldier cursed. "Open this blasted door."

Severa held her breath. She could hear the clinking of their armor. If she stayed silent and kept her distance...

Suddenly, the temple began to tremble. Stones crumbled and fell. A soldier cried out in agony—he must have been hit.

"Thorbjörn is leaving us to rot in this temple!" another soldier shouted in panic.

"Get a move on, Sigurd!" another bellowed. "We need to get out of here!"

The massive stone door of the temple flew open as if flung by a storm. It was the Pyroraptor, spreading its wings. She heard the crunch of steel armor being crushed. Twenty-five soldiers to go—and a dragon.

Severa swallowed hard as she looked up at the massive beast above her. The commander clung desperately to one of the dragon's scales. He scrambled for footing, but it was too late. His arms, strained by the weight of his heavy armor, gave out, and he plummeted to his death.

Out of the corner of her eye, Severa saw a sword slashing toward her. She raised her machete to block, but the soldier's blade cleaved her weapon in two as though it were butter.

The sword whistled past her ears, her waist, her arm. Each blow was barely evaded, leaving her no chance to counter. It was only a matter of time before the soldier landed a strike. He grinned wickedly, savoring the anticipation, deliberately missing to prolong her struggle.

Then, suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream. Severa looked up to see the woman from the temple leap off the Pyroraptor. Her glowing hands were spread like claws, and her tattered black dress flapped wildly as she descended. Though Severa dodged, the woman landed heavily on her, sending her head spinning.

Severa struggled to focus, but the woman stood effortlessly, unharmed. Another screech tore through the air—this time from the dragon. It was enraged. Severa could see the fire rising in its throat. With the soldiers closing in, fire surging...

She closed her eyes and braced herself. The heat surged around her as the screams of men, the dragon's cries, and the roaring flames filled her ears. The smoke choked her, and dizziness overcame her until she lost consciousness.

When Severa opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was green grass beneath her. Untouched. At first, this didn't mean much. But as she lifted her head and looked around, she noticed patches of glowing red grass amid a field of ash. She gasped as she realized she was beneath a green dome, the only patch of land unscorched.

All the soldiers lay motionless, their melted armor pooling over their lifeless forms. The dragon was now a distant speck, flying back to its lair. The green dome around Severa faded as she hesitantly stood.

The woman was still there, unscathed, ash drifting onto her shoulders. She turned sharply toward Severa, her mouth set in a grim line, her eyes literally blazing with fire.

"I've saved you twice. You saved me once. You owe me," the woman said, her dry lips curling into a menacing grin.

Severa swallowed hard. "I never asked you for anything," she retorted, scrambling to her feet and heading toward the cliff's edge.

"Your time will come, Severa of Sylvamarius," the woman replied calmly.

Severa froze, whipping around to face her. The woman still stood there, smirking. How did she know her name? What did she mean by "time"?

"Farewell," the woman said, chuckling softly. Her laugh made Severa's hair stand on end.

The woman's dress dragged through the ash, leaving a trail as she walked toward the sea, though it was barely visible through the swirling gray haze. Soon, she vanished into the cloud of ash.

Severa remained frozen, staring at the spot where the woman had disappeared. Then, she sank to the ground, stirring the ash around her. She felt weak. She had run, abandoned her father. For the first time, she had been unable to save herself.

Should she be grateful to still be alive? Should she thank the dreadful creature that had saved her? The memory of her pale, lifeless skin, hollow eyes, green flames, and torn flesh haunted her. Severa felt bile rise in her throat.

What was there to be thankful for? Her life was a torment. She closed her eyes, listening to the crackling of dying trees and bushes, the acrid smell of burning wood filling her lungs—a painful reminder of what awaited her in Sylvamarius.

She didn't want to return to face all she had lost: her father, her mother. She had failed miserably to be the strong person her father had taught her to be.

It took all her willpower to suppress the tears welling in her eyes, blaming the ash for the sting. She knew she couldn't look back—only forward. She turned toward the other side of the mountain, where she saw Monterra in the distance.

Tall, unwelcoming walls surrounded the city as if the mountains encircling it weren't enough.

If she told them about Brimsjá's atrocities, about their secret weapon escaping, about their most powerful men dying in battle, maybe they would join her in the fight. War was always welcome, and she would reign within it, exacting her revenge. She would draw strength from her loss, just as her father had taught her.