The world around Emmet faded to nothingness as the blow from the Golden Knight sent him into unconsciousness. His body hung like dead weight, carried by the relentless pull of gravity until, at last, he felt himself being lifted from the battlefield. A strange sense of detachment settled over him. He had lost—Haven’s Reach had fallen, and with it, so much more.

  His senses slowly returned as he was cradled against something cold and unyielding. The smell of earth and the distant sounds of the battle slowly pierced through the haze in his mind, but they felt distant, muffled, as though they came from another world altogether.

  The first thing Emmet noticed was the weightlessness, as if he were drifting in a dream. His eyes fluttered open, but the world was still a blur. He could make out the vague silhouette of Doramm, his towering form carrying him away from the battlefield. Emmet could feel the death knight’s cold, armored hands beneath him, but his limbs refused to move. His body was numb, still unable to shake off the exhaustion and pain of the previous fight.

  “Doramm,” Emmet murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Rest, Emmet Fischer,” Doramm replied, his voice as steady and emotionless as always. “There is no need for words now.”

  Emmet’s throat burned as he tried to speak again, but his body betrayed him. He tried to lift his head, to see the battlefield one last time, but it was impossible. The last thing he had seen was the Golden Knight’s sword falling toward him, the cold gleam of its steel a reminder of how much they had lost. Haven’s Reach, his home, was now a shattered memory. His first summon, the serpent, had been slain before his very eyes.

  “Tabitha?” Emmet managed to say, his voice rasping.

  “She’s with us,” Doramm rumbled.

  A flash of light ahead of them caught Emmet’s failing vision, and he turned his head as best as he could, finding Tabitha’s silhouette as she moved with purpose in their wake. She was casting spells to protect them as they fled, her figure radiant even in the dim light of the forest. Emmet saw the flicker of magic as a shield sprang into existence, pushing back the advancing enemy forces.

  Tabitha’s voice reached him, cutting through the haze. “We’re getting out of here, Emmet. I won’t let them take you.” Her tone was unwavering, but there was an edge to it—a desperation that Emmet could hear beneath her calm. Her magic shimmered around them like a barrier, desperate to hold back the Crown’s Wrath, but the fight was slipping away from them. She had no time to grieve. They all had no time for grief.

  Emmet’s eyes closed again, the weight of his body pulling him down toward oblivion. His mind drifted, thoughts fragmented, flashes of memories flickering like embers. The serpent—his first summon—was dead. He would never hear its hissing roar again, never feel its coils wrap around him in battle. It had been his companion since the earliest days of the apocalypse, and it was gone.

  A sharp pain jolted him back into the present. He could feel Doramm’s cold fingers tightening around him, a reminder that he was not alone. The death knight moved with an unnatural speed, his presence like a shadow across the forest floor. Emmet’s mind was fading in and out, and he could only focus on the heavy beat of his own heart, the pain that rippled through his body, and the silence that surrounded them.

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  Tabitha’s magic glowed faintly as she moved to keep pace, her robes billowing behind her like a stormcloud. Her face, usually calm and collected, was marked with grim determination. There was no room for fear. They had no time for doubt. The only thing left now was survival.

  Her eyes flicked over to Doramm, and her lips moved in a silent incantation, a protective shield flaring up around them as they moved deeper into the forest. She wasn’t sure how much longer it would last. The enemy was closing in fast, but she was determined to get them as far away as possible. Haven’s Reach was gone. There was no going back.

  The crackle of magic in the air surrounded them, the dim forest light fading as the canopy above thickened. The world was both eerily quiet and deafening at the same time, the sounds of their hurried flight drowned by the muffled thudding of their feet and the clashing of distant weapons. For a brief moment, it felt like they had escaped—but the truth was more bitter.

  Emmet’s body shuddered in Doramm’s grasp, his breathing shallow and ragged, and Tabitha felt her heart twist in her chest. She needed to get him to safety. Needed to buy them time to recover.

  Her steps faltered as they moved deeper into the forest, the strain of magic beginning to tell on her. Every incantation drained her strength, each shield flickering and weakening with each passing moment. She could feel the pull of her energy, but it wasn’t just her own she was concerned about.

  “I’m not leaving you behind, Emmet,” she whispered, more to herself than to him, as her magic flared once more to keep the incoming soldiers at bay. “You hear me? We fight for those we lost. We fight until we can’t.”

  The forest seemed endless as they ran, pushing through the underbrush, their feet slipping on the wet ground. Each step was a struggle. Every breath Emmet took was labored, as if his body were at war with itself. It didn’t matter. He would fight. He had to. But his body had given up on him, and there was nothing left but the gnawing ache of loss.

  Then, from behind them, the sound of galloping hooves reached their ears. The Nemean Lion was on their trail, faster than the wind, its powerful limbs propelling it forward with a terrifying speed. Tabitha didn’t dare look back, not yet. If she could just get a little further, just past the forest edge, she would—

  A shout rang through the trees.

  “Get ready,” Doramm’s voice was low and dark. He sounded more like a shadow than a man now, the rasp of his voice merging with the wind.

  Tabitha knew what was coming. She had no more magic to spare, no more strength left to fight. They were out of time. But Emmet needed them. They couldn’t stop.

  The sound of the Nemean Lion’s roar echoed through the trees, its guttural growl cutting through the stillness of the night. Tabitha looked back just once, her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach.

  There was no turning back now.

  “Emmet,” she whispered, her hand brushing his damp brow as she crouched next to him. “I need you to wake up.”

  But Emmet was silent, his breathing shallow. He had nothing left to give. And even though they were still alive, part of him had already given up on the fight.

  The world around them blurred once more as Doramm began moving again, pushing them forward, away from the threat that was closing in.

  But even as they fled, one thing was clear. The battle was far from over.