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I gaze at Castletree, or what remains of it. Sira sits amid the rumble, consumed in her own shadows and twisted roots.

“We make for Castletree,” I order.

A Winter soldier clutches his spear, hands shaking. “How are we going to get past the horde?”

The strength of the realms drums within me, and as I press my hand to my chest, then stretch it outward, palm extended, light glows across my skin. My rose-gold armor materializes, cladding me in a brilliant shimmer. My breastplate clinks tight, my greaves crawl up my legs, and the helm settles over my hair.

And last, a brilliant burning skitters over my spine before erupting, golden wings bursting forth from my back.

I rise, my voice carrying across the blood-soaked ground. “I will guide you.”

Soldiers sprint below me as I fly. The earth freezes beneath their feet as I feel magic surge in the Winter fighters. My breath frosts in the air.

I look down into their eyes; they believe in this.

They believe in me.

Goblins shriek, forming a jagged wall of claws and iron before us. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I pull back my bow, shooting into the fray. The Winter fae draw their spears, crashing against the front lines.

A cry cuts through the air, sharp and avian. Harpies.

Their wings slice through the dark sky like blades, talons glinting, mouths curled in hunger. One swoops low, too fast to dodge.

I brace, lifting my arm to shield my face.

But it never lands.

A golden blur slams into it midair, and he’s there. The High Prince of Summer.

He crashes onto the earth, a comet of Summer flame. His trident spins with deadly grace. The harpy screeches once, then is gone, a smear of feathers and smoke. Another descends, and Dayton turns, stabbing it with a roar, then tossing it into the mud.

He glances over his shoulder, panting, blood on his chest, grin wild. “Thought I’d drop in before you did something reckless and heroic.”

My heart stutters. I want to kiss him and scream and fall into him all at once, but there’s no time. “I’m already doing something reckless and heroic.”

He flashes that roguish grin, falling into step below me. “You are taking after me.”

We’re moving again. A host of Summer soldiers joins us. The Huntresses of Aura swoop overhead.

Delphia flies low and gives me a wink. “Guess you don’t much need a horse with wings now, do you?”

I smile at her. “Hey, I’ll never say no to riding with you and Drusilla.”

“I’ll take you to the Dustsand Isles for a race.” Delphia draws her bow, striking down a harpy in midair. “After we deal with all this.”

A promise of the future. That’s what we’re fighting for.

The battlefield is chaos: blood and steel and shrieks. But I can see glimpses through the throng.

Castletree.

What’s left of it.

It rises from the smog, jagged and blackened, the air around rippling with Sira’s shadows. Between us and the rubble stands a wall of goblins, trolls, and beasts born from the rot itself. Hulking shapes stomp through the carnage, bellowing war cries. Blood-streaked tusks and rusted armor gleam through the murk.

A troll, three times the height of a man, lumbers forward, its fists the size of boulders. It charges.

“Dayton!” I scream.