It failed again. A blur of movement collided with the Dire Wolf mid-leap, sending both forms tumbling across the forest floor in a chaotic tangle of limbs. Old Mackenzie drove his dagger deep into the wolf's belly with savage determination. Agonizing pain sent the wounded beast into a frenzy of thrashing and snarling. "Now! Now!" Old Mackenzie bore down on the hilt, using his entire weight to pin the creature. "Kill the damn thing!"

  An arrow whistled through the air, striking the wolf's skull with deadly precision. The creature convulsed briefly, released a final wheezing breath, then went still.

  "Back off!" Old Mackenzie held his dagger out, stepping back. He felt eyes on him, like they could melt him.

  "Ivan, right flank!" Raymond Noytra bellowed. Three wolves converged on him simultaneously. The swordsman had dispatched the first attacker with a clean strike, but the second beast ignored his throat in favor of clamping its massive jaws around his steel blade. Raymond's attempts to dislodge it proved futile; the frenzied Dire Wolf only bit down harder as the edges lacerated its mouth, blood spilling over metal. The third wolf, sensing opportunity, launched itself toward Raymond's exposed throat.

  To the right. Ivan pivoted, catching only a glimpse of Raymond's back. Within a heartbeat, twin amber orbs materialized in his field of vision. The archer loosed two arrows in perfect synchronicity, extinguishing those predatory lights instantly.

  The wolf crashed to earth between their three mounts, causing the horses to shy forward in alarm.

  "Mount up! Now!" Ivan Northes urged the old courier. Raymond remained half-slouched in his saddle, locked in a brutal contest of strength with the wolf that refused to release his sword. The Dire Wolf's raw power was overwhelming—moments away from dragging the elite knight from horseback.

  "Down!" Raymond Noytra commanded. Ivan flattened against his saddle while Old Mackenzie, mid-mount, ducked instinctively. With both hands clenched white-knuckled around the sword hilt, Raymond torqued his entire body, hurling the wolf backward like a trebuchet stone. The beast finally released its grip, sailing through the air before its spine connected with an ancient oak trunk with a sickening crack. It collapsed in a lifeless heap. A lightning bolt of pain shot through Raymond's lower back.

  "Damn it all—threw out my back."

  The alpha bared its gleaming ivory fangs, each twice the size of a common gray wolf's. Its guttural, staccato growls summoned the remaining pack members into a tightening circle. Its eyes promised that the next assault would be the final one.

  "Full frontal charge incoming," Ivan Northes reached instinctively for his quiver. Ice flooded his veins as his fingers met near-emptiness. (Only three arrows remain.)

  Emerald radiance suddenly suffused the forest canopy. Every eye turned skyward involuntarily, glimpsing ethereal shafts of green light spearing through the foliage. The unearthly illumination fractured the wolves' formation, many cowering and whimpering in primitive fear.

  "Now's our chance!" Ivan Northes drove his heels into his mount's flanks. The black stallion, previously stoic, reared with a thunderous whinny before launching into a headlong gallop. The others followed close behind, kicking up clouds of disturbed earth in their wake.

  The alpha stood defiant amidst the chaos. It howled—a commanding, primeval sound—attempting to rally its scattered forces. Judging by the continued exodus of its subordinates, the effort proved largely ineffectual.

  In the end, only two loyalists remained beside their leader.

  The alpha's lips curled back in a grotesque snarl, rumbling communication emanating from deep in its throat as it conferred with its remaining allies.

  Three votes of affirmation. The alpha led its diminished hunting party in relentless pursuit of the couriers' escape route.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Both predator and observer believed completion of their mission remained possible.

  The arcane conflagration ignited in that precise moment. Azure flames erupted from her beak, a concentrated pillar of primal energy that cleaved through the living ocean of bats. The Crimson-Eyed Bats scattered in panic, forming a rotating vortex around the periphery of the inferno as they continued their ascent. The brilliant blue magical fire possessed an almost sentient quality, its concentrated beam fracturing into hungry tendrils that consumed everything they touched. Countless bats vanished upon contact with these ethereal flames, leaving no residue behind—no ashes, no smoke. They simply ceased to exist, as if their very essence had been erased from reality.

  The surviving bats abandoned direct confrontation, instead choosing to circulate beneath Aethelwing before rising to attack from her vulnerable rear. The striped white wyvern maintained constant visual contact, her head pivoting with fluid precision to track their movements. Another cluster incinerated instantly. The remaining swarm hesitated at the periphery, torn between continuing their assault and avoiding certain annihilation. The night sky had transformed into a cerulean sea of otherworldly fire.

  The Belonis Stone was approaching exhaustion. The magical flames began to fluctuate erratically, resembling a banner caught in tempestuous winds. The Crimson-Eyed Bats renewed their strident screeching, reorganizing just beyond the fire's diminishing reach. Then, abruptly, the flames extinguished completely.

  The bats surged forward with redoubled ferocity, their collective shriek a deafening wall of sound. They moved as if the deadly blue fire had never existed, converging in an undulating black mass that continuously reformed and shifted. Aethelwing's throat convulsed spasmodically, producing only a hoarse, labored croak. The magnificent raptor appeared overwhelmingly outnumbered—like a lone elephant confronting a million ants.

  Yet she remained unperturbed. She waited with predator's patience for the swarm to enter optimal range, her massive wings beating methodically to maintain her aerial position. (They've reached the threshold.) The striped white wyvern angled her head downward, parting her beak slightly. Another stone—this one jagged and multi-faceted—dropped from her maw.

  The Crimson-Eyed Bats continued their headlong charge, heedless of danger, like suicidal zealots. The crystalline stone descended to the level of Aethelwing's chest, achieving perfect alignment with the advancing horde.

  The stone began emitting a pulsing radiance, surrounded by a nimbus of pale violet particulate matter. With precise timing, Aethelwing beat her wings powerfully toward the glowing artifact.

  The resulting gale struck the bat swarm with apocalyptic force—not merely wind, but countless invisible blades of air. The concentrated pressure didn't simply disperse the bats; it dismembered them wholesale. Thousands of Crimson-Eyed Bats disintegrated into black confetti, scattered remnants drifting into the depths of the forest below. Trees caught in the magical tempest splintered instantly, transformed into wooden shrapnel that mingled with the verdant debris of shredded foliage.

  The Winters Stone vanished without trace, its power utterly spent.

  Aethelwing released a triumphal screech as she soared into higher altitude. For her, the world contracted to its purest elements: only moonlight and the infinite tapestry of stars.

  Stellan bolted upright from Lannord's chest with a strangled cry. Clutching his temples, he found himself drenched in frigid sweat. (Cold... unbearably cold...) He stared at his outstretched hands in horror. The glacial sensation lingered in his fingertips like phantom limbs.

  "Finally awake, are we?" Lothar drawled, supporting his chin with evident boredom.

  Stellan startled again. "What in hell are you doing there?!"

  "Oh, I was just..." The Shadowgreen Knight looked for the right words. "Watching your... noble games."

  "Games?"

  "Indeed. Fascinating, really." Lothar rose to his feet, undisguised amusement in his voice. "Not content with merely cuddling while unconscious, you both delivered quite the vocal performance." He began an exaggerated imitation. "Lannord here alternated between guttural growls and these delightful 'Wooo~ Ahhh~' sounds. While you," he continued with a disconcerting smile, "you produced the most remarkable hissing—precisely like a viper preparing to strike." Lothar attempted to reproduce the sound several times. "Can't quite capture it," he shrugged. "You're well, I presume?"

  "Perfectly," Stellan replied tersely, fingers surreptitiously seeking the hilt of his weapon. "We're fine."

  Lannord, however, contradicted this assertion spectacularly. Without warning, he collapsed face-first onto the earth. The Shadowgreen Knight stumbled backward in alarm. "Hmm... hmm..." The prone figure emitted inhuman snarls, teeth bared in feral aggression. Lannord's limbs contorted unnaturally, his spine arching in a way that suggested imminent pouncing.

  "He certainly doesn't appear fine!" Lothar exclaimed, gesturing frantically. "What in damnation is happening to him?!"