The explosion of light and shadow knocked everyone off their feet.
Eira's vision swam, golden and black streaks dancing across her eyes. Her ears rang with the echo of that collision like a bell struck too hard, too deep. She hit the ground hard, breath torn from her lungs.
Silence followed. A strange, broken silence.
Then pain.
Not the tearing kind, but the ache that came from magic spent too fast, too wide. Her hands shook. Her arms trembled. The shard in her chest pulsed wildly, unsteady.
She rolled to her side and gasped. The square was wrecked, cracked earth, smoldering debris, bodies sprawled in every direction. The villagers huddled behind what little cover remained. Torin staggered to his feet, blood on his face. Lena crouched near a fallen girl, flames still dancing in her hands as she shielded the child's body.
Kaela was limping, dragging her blade. Her armor was scorched. She kept moving.
But Thorne…
Eira searched frantically.
Then she saw him.
He was standing, barely, blood trailing down his temple, swords gone. But his eyes were locked on Harrower.
The masked figure was still standing too but not untouched. His coat hung in tatters, the edge of his mask cracked. A thin line of red traced his jaw. He tilted his head as if confused.
"I see now," he murmured. "You're not her. Not yet."
Eira forced herself up. Her legs screamed, but she didn't fall. Her light flickered around her like embers in wind.
"I'm not her," she said. "I'm me."
Harrower took one step forward and stopped.
Not by choice.
Chains of golden light snapped into place around his arms, his legs, his throat. Not physical chains. Not steel. But memory.
Eira didn't know how she was doing it. Only that it was happening. The shard in her chest felt hot, pulsing in time with her heart. Her hands moved without thought, guiding the light like it had always belonged to her.
Harrower struggled. The chains held.
His mask turned toward her again. "You don't understand what you are."
"Maybe not," she said. "But I understand you. You destroy. You feed on fear. You twist what you can't control."
"And you think light will stop me?"
"No." Eira stepped closer. "But I will."
The chains pulled tight and cracked.
He roared. The sound shook the ground. The chains broke apart like glass, pieces scattering into the air. The blowback hit Eira square in the chest, knocking her backward. She crashed into a broken post, crying out.
Pain flared hot. The shard dimmed.
Harrower stood tall again, his rage simmering.
But something had changed. His mask was cracked. His control was shaken. And around them, the Veil soldiers were falling back. Some turned and fled into the trees. The wraith hounds vanished into smoke.
He hissed low. "Another time, little flame."
And then he was gone. Vanished into the mist, leaving only smoke and silence behind.
Eira lay there, chest heaving, heart racing. Her limbs felt heavy. Her magic was drained.
But they had survived.
They had made a stand and lived.
Thorne dropped beside her, one hand pressing gently to her arm.
"You're still with me," he said, not quite a question.
She nodded, exhausted. "Barely."
He gave the faintest smile. "That's enough."
Torin and Kaela approached slowly. Lena was already helping the villagers, checking wounds, organizing the uninjured. The fires had gone out. The sky was pale again.
Kaela looked at the shattered ground, then at Eira.
"That was memory magic."
Eira nodded slowly. "It came from the shard."
Kaela's gaze narrowed. "You need to learn to control it."
"I know," Eira said. "I will."
Torin looked out toward the woods. "He'll be back."
Eira sat up straighter, wincing. "Then we'll be ready."
Thorne's eyes met hers. "We?"
She looked at each of them. Kaela. Torin. Lena. Thorne.
And the villagers behind them.
"Yes," she said. "We."