Ashwing snarled.

    Not a small, decorative growl. A real one. From deep in the chest, coiled with heat and smoke. He stepped in front of Lindarion again, tail slapping the ground hard enough to crack ice.

    Lindarion didn''t stop him.

    ''Fine. Be dramatic. One of us has to be.''

    The monsters came.

    The sound changed first, wind replaced by dragging. Nails on frost. Bones on rock. Low, scraping pulses that shouldn''t echo but somehow did. Like the land remembered too much.

    The air stank of magic now.

    Old magic. Tainted. Not elemental, not divine, not even cursed. Just... wrong. Sour and warm and clinging to the throat like spoiled incense.

    Ren cursed again, low. No bite. Just acknowledgment.

    Meren whimpered. Louder this time.

    Ardan didn''t look at him. He just shifted one step forward and braced his stance like the ground was going to argue with him.

    Lira flicked her dagger once. Mist slid off the blade like oil in water. Her expression didn''t change.

    The monsters poured forward.

    Closer now, you could see their faces. What passed for faces. Most didn''t match.

    One had too many eyes, each set at a slightly different height. Another dragged half a ribcage behind it like it couldn''t decide whether it was part of the scenery or part of the body.

    One crawled sideways. Fast.

    Ardan''s sword met it mid-pounce. The blow snapped its jaw in three places.

    "Flank left," he said. Flat. Direct. Like traffic directions, if traffic included meat puzzles.

    Ren took that as permission. She charged, no grace, no flair, just straight motion and violence. Her frostline sword carved an arc through two monsters. The steam that hit her face turned her hair silver at the edges.

    "Two more on your right!" Lira called.

    Ren turned without looking. Her foot connected with a kneecap. Not hers. Something cracked.

    Lindarion stepped forward again. Heat poured out like breath. His hands didn''t shake.

    Fire licked at his sleeves but didn''t burn.

    ''Too many. Too fast. No time to overthink.''

    So he didn''t.

    A wall of fire roared up, low to the ground, bright orange, hot enough to ripple the snow backward in waves. It split the charging front line, forcing three of the beasts to stumble. One dropped completely, screeching as its claws caught flame.

    Ashwing moved next.

    He leapt over the wall.

    Tiny wings out. Smoke trailing.

    He slammed directly into a monster''s face.

    Tiny claws.

    Large teeth.

    The impact sounded wet and victorious.

    From the side, Raleth''s voice cut in, half-shouted, half-magic. "They''re circling the north! Reinforce the west! Cut the bottleneck!"

    Some villager screamed something about backup. Another yelled about missing livestock. Someone fired a crossbow into the sky.

    It was chaos.

    Cold wind mixed with ash. Burning meat. The distinct copper of panic sweat.

    Lira slid past Lindarion, slashing a tendril that had tried to snake around his leg. It split in two and dissolved instantly.

    "You''re welcome," she said.

    "Deeply grateful," he deadpanned.

    He caught sight of another beast pulling itself upright, bones clicking like dice in a bag.

    Lindarion sent fire down his leg. Kicked.

    The creature caught the full arc in the stomach and went airborne.

    Lira raised an eyebrow. "You''ve been practicing."

    "Mostly in self-defense."

    Two more creatures broke from the north end of the field.

    Ashwing turned.

    His eyes glowed faintly now.

    Not red.

    Gold.

    Lindarion felt it. A pulse from the dragon. Not a spell. Not a roar. Just pressure. Mana woven into heat.

    Ashwing opened his mouth.

    Fire didn''t come out.

    Light did.

    It hit one of the creatures in the chest, flaring white-hot for half a second, and then swallowed the thing whole.

    Ren yelled, "WHAT."

    Meren screamed, "HE HAS A BEAM?"

    Lindarion blinked.

    Ashwing wagged his tail.

    Then fell over.. Mid-battle.

    ''...Perfect.''

    Lira muttered, "That''s one way to handle a growth spurt."

    Lindarion flexed his fingers. His hands ached now. Skin flushed red from heat and cold colliding.

    The fire settled.

    But the monsters didn''t.

    More came. Still. Hundreds, maybe. Their shapes twisted more the longer they watched. The wrongness crept in slow, like something behind their eyes had never seen light until tonight.

    Ardan moved through them like a guillotine. No wasted strikes. No noise.

    Ren was behind him, flanking left, hair soaked, face cut, still grinning like a maniac.

    Lira had taken the far side of the field now. Her steps didn''t make prints. Her blades didn''t miss.

    Lindarion?

    He stood at the center of it all.

    Light and shadow and steam rising from his feet.

    And somewhere deep under the fire, he felt it—

    Another affinity.

    Knocking.

    Quiet.

    But there.

    Not yet.

    He stepped forward again.

    Fire met bone. Mist screamed. The night burned.

    ''Not tonight,'' he thought. ''You don''t get this village.''

    He didn''t say it out loud.

    He just made it true.

    —

    One of the village guards broke formation.

    Not on purpose. His foot caught a patch of ice and suddenly he was down, shield skidding, breath punching out of him in a panic that spread fast and loud.

    The monster didn''t hesitate.

    It pounced. A blur of twisted joints and too-long limbs, claws curved like sickles made for peeling skin.

    Lindarion turned, fire already sparking in his palm—

    Too late.

    A second figure slammed into the monster first. Ardan.

    No words. No warning. Just a clean, two-handed strike that cleaved through black mist and left the creature a puddle of failure.

    The guard scrambled back, wide-eyed, throat working soundlessly.

    ''He''s going to vomit,'' Lindarion thought. ''Or cry. Maybe both.''

    He didn''t get the chance.

    A second shadow leapt from the side and caught the edge of the man''s shoulder with a claw. Just a slash. Nothing deep.

    But deep enough.

    He screamed.

    Ren was there in two steps. Blade first. Talk later.

    Her sword came down in an arc of white-blue light that shattered the creature''s midsection. Ice flared and spread through what used to be its chest.

    "Get up," she barked.

    The guard fumbled upright, blood on his sleeve, eyes darting in every direction like they''d betrayed him.

    "Back," Ardan ordered, voice flat.

    He went.

    Another went down two heartbeats later.

    This time it wasn''t clean.

    A monster barreled into the right flank, knocking three men off their feet like leaves in wind. Lindarion turned in time to see one of them dragged screaming into the dark beyond the torch line.

    Then nothing.

    ''That''s two,'' he thought grimly. ''Possibly three. And we''ve barely started.''

    Ashwing roared beside him. Not big. But big enough.

    The little dragon''s teeth sank into the arm of a monster twice his size and did not let go. Smoke poured from his nostrils like a threat no one took seriously until their eyebrows were on fire.

    Lira cut down another with brutal precision. Her blade was black now, dripping with shadow magic that clung to the wound like rot.

    "They''re thinning," she said.

    "They''re swarming," Lindarion countered. "And we''re losing people."

    She didn''t deny it.

    Because she didn''t have to.

    Behind them, more villagers were rushing forward, half-trained, under-armed, fueled by desperation and the kind of courage you only got when running wasn''t an option.

    It wasn''t enough.