Wren tried to watch the duel as best she could.

Then the runic lines shut off, and the residual mana stopped flowing through them. The Arcara enchantments in the facility’s shielded plates shut off, exposing the entire structure to the whims of the lava river. Already, molten waves began to surge up against the structure’s base, eating away at the bricks and metal.

It distracted Wren for a moment, and she moved to the other side of the facility, so she wouldn’t have to worry about such distractions—at least, for a little while longer.

But, as she fluttered from a cargo crane to a rampart near the control room (where she’d seen a few flashes of white light earlier), a powerful tingle began to build in the back of her neck.

Someone was coming. Maybe earlier, it had been masked by the strength of Myrrir and Vayra’s presences, but now? It was undeniably someone stronger.

Nathariel. Unless another powerful God-heir from a distant arm of the galaxy was approaching, it was Nathariel.

Wren held her breath and ducked behind a pillar, as if it might keep her out of the old man’s sight. It wouldn’t.

“Not good,” she muttered to herself. Was Nathariel actually coming to help one of his students? “Never done that before. She’s that special, huh? If only you’d treated your other disciples the same…” Wren trailed off, then glanced around the pillar. Through the clouds of ash and black smoke, she spotted a distant dark blur bobbing up and down on the flats. A horse. “Well, Myrrir, hurry up and take her. And do it fast.”

But to hang around here? It’d be suicide, especially if Nathariel was coming. At least Myrrir would still suffer for it, and Wren would still…win. In a way.

Wren leapt up to the roof of the control room, then dove off the other side and glided on her wings. The air whistled around her. The closer she drew to the coast, the more it cleared, but the shore was still a long ways away.

What if Nathariel came after her next? She would need bargaining chips.

Wren couldn’t stop herself from smiling as her next plan bubbled up in her mind. There was a convoy of unarmed sailors and officers from the Mediator’s ship marching in the exact same direction she was headed. They’d make the perfect hostages!

“Oh, I love when it falls into place!” she cheered, fluttering in a loop. Then she flapped her wings harder and took off towards the gully where she’d last seen them.

[https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_2bcdeab6626a49c1bc2fa21d230a67c6~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_560,h_281,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/ship%20better.png]

Glade saw the flashes of starlight in the Narvelpeare Facility’s control room before he could make out the rest of the facility. It was like a lantern, beckoning them in the ashy fog.

He sat on the back of Nathariel’s horse, clinging on as the creature sprinted along the lava flats. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. “Vayra is there!” he yelled, pointing his other hand over Nathariel’s shoulder at the facility. “She is in there!”

When Glade could make out the details of the facility—its spindles hanging over the molten river and its harshly-sloped walls (was the lava eating away at them?)—Nathariel stopped the horse. It skittered to a halt on the flats, its hooves clacking on the stone.

“I’ll get Vayra,” Nathariel said. Then, he turned his gaze northwards, towards the distant shore. “The bounty hunter ran off that way.” He dismounted, then pulled his orange, glassy spear off his back. He ran a hand along its tip, and flame flickered over it. He smeared the sparks around like he was laying mortar. “Same direction the crew did.”

“You know what happened to the crew?” Glade asked, inching forwards on the horse and dropping himself onto the saddle proper.

“I can just barely sense their souls, now. Ride up the clear path in the forest until you reach a gully, then follow the gully’s path north. Go fast, and help them. That hunter is up to something.”

Glade dipped his head. As much as his duty was to Vayra, he would have to trust Nathariel for now. He wouldn’t be doing his duty if he left them with no crew. There would be no way off the planet.

“Yes, sir,” Glade said. He pulled his sword from its sheath, then grabbed onto the horse’s reins with his other hand.

The creature responded to his commands just as well. He tightened his legs against its flanks, as tight as he could, and it took off at a sprint.

He guided it north, across the flats and back into the woods. They wound through the trees, swerving back and forth. The horse did most of the work. It leapt over logs and trotted expertly through the tight trunks.

Until they arrived at a thin swath of land completely clear of trees. Maybe an eruption had once spewed a tongue of lava all the way up this direction. The ground began to slope downwards. He looked back and forth, searching for signs of the bounty hunter.

Nothing.

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The clear path turned, and steadily, it began to narrow, until it passed a massive boulder and split off into a broad, gravelly delta. A gully ran perpendicular to it.

With a confident trot, the horse leapt down into the gully. The ground at the bottom was flat, and there were only a few bits of wooden debris to dodge. At Glade’s command, the horse resumed its sprint.

The gully took an arduous path, winding side-to-side and growing steadily deeper. Glade took one last look up at the sky. The further they drew from the river, the clearer the sky became.

It was evening, and the real clouds were glowing purple and pink. A bank of them bubbled up on the horizon, washing the entire sky with colour. But, against the pale colours, he spotted a dark fleck in the sky.

It could have been a bird, but he’d never once seen a bird on Muspellar before. More likely, it was the mothfolk hunter.

She was following the path of the gully as well. Glade kept an eye on her. Gradually, with the help of the sprinting horse, he gained ground—now, he could make out her fluttering wings and her weapon. A trail of sawdust followed her through the sky.

She swooped down, and Glade lost sight of her behind the tree line. A second later, she emerged, hauling a sailor by the neck of his tunic and dragging him into the sky. She dropped him to his death.

Glade growled under his breath, then twirled his sword. She’d found the crew.

The gully turned, and the forest enclosed on all sides. Ahead, crowding the tiny canyon, was a caravan of sailors and officers. Their garb was dirty and tattered, but they all looked willing to fight. They had all halted. Some grabbed sticks, and others made fists with their hands.

They wouldn’t be any match for a God-heir bounty hunter.

Neither would Glade, but at least he had a weapon and a Fair Spirit. “Move!” he shouted. “Out of the way! Get back!”

The sailors whirled around, and for a second, they all stared at him. Again, he shouted, “Get back! I am here to help!”

The sailors all pressed themselves against the gully walls, forming a narrow canyon for Glade to ride the horse through. He navigated to the front of the column, holding his sword ahead of him.

When he reached the front, he dismounted, then handed the horse’s reins to a yellow-coated officer. “That is an Admiral’s horse. Do not let any harm come to it.”

“Yes! Yes, sir!” the officer called.

Glade ran to the very front, where Captain Pels stood, clutching a long stick and looking around.

“Captain!” Glade yelled, running to the man’s side.

“You?” Pels spun around. “Where’s Vayra? We could really use a hand right now! A…magical sort of hand.”

“I am all you will get,” Glade said. “Where is the bounty—”

Before he could finish, he heard a thud. The hunter landed in front of them in a crouch, then shook her wings out and groaned. “That was a long flight. Remind me not to do that again! Oh, oh, that’s going to cramp tomorrow…”

Glade stepped forwards, pointing his sword at her. “What do you want?”

She hoisted her short rifle up onto her shoulder, its axehead pointed up. “I mean, I’d appreciate it if you came with me. So Nathariel doesn’t incinerate me.”

“If you want safety, then run,” Glade stated. “Get as far from here as you can.”

“I take it you found Nathariel,” Pels whispered to Glade. “It went alright?”

“We will see,” Glade whispered back. “But we cannot escape without a crew.”

“I’d prefer the extra insurance,” Wren called, pacing across the center of the gully. She cocked her short musket. “No one else has to get hurt, if you just don’t resist.” She held out her other hand, revealing a pile of sawdust.

“Get back,” Glade hissed to Pels. “Get everyone back, and keep them safe.”

“I’ll do my best,” the captain replied.

Before Wren could point her musket, Glade leapt forwards. He led with a thrust, starting high and aiming downwards. Wren swung her weapon out to the side, deflecting the blade. She spun around and pointed it at Glade, then pulled the trigger.

Anticipating the shot, Glade had already ducked away. The stone pellets blasted harmlessly into the gully wall behind him. He leapt, preparing a heavy swipe to cleave her from head to hip. She swiped her hand upwards. A crescent of sawdust blasted in his direction. It struck before his sword could land, flinging him to the side. He skidded along the ground, and came to a halt just in front of a large stone.

With a flutter of her wings, Wren closed the distance in an instant. She hacked at him with her axehead. He stepped to the side and tried to slash her head, but she ducked. Before he could adjust, she struck Glade in the gut with a Bracing technique covering her arm. It sent him tumbling across the gully.

“For that insolence?” Wren drew a pair of wooden stakes out of her pouch. “Hm…Let’s say two of them die.” She turned towards the crew and pulled her arm back. She held two wooden stakes between her fingers.

Shouting, Glade sprinted towards her. He swatted the stakes out of her hand with his sword. She clenched her fist, calling up the scattered sawdust from the ground and forming it into a whip. An advanced Guide technique, Glade figured, though that didn’t change much. The whip attacked like a pack of angry snakes, and it took all his concentration to whirl his sword and defend himself. Each swipe scattered the dust, only for it to reform seconds later.

He spun around, trying to gain some breathing room while deflecting the last of the barrage with a behind-the-back twirl. But as soon as he turned back around, Wren’s sawdust whip wrapped around the blade of his sword and ripped it out of his hands.

He stumbled forwards, and Wren struck him in the center of his chest with a palm strike, knocking him onto his back.

Her sawdust enveloped the entire blade, reaching down and scouring even the hilt. It scraped away the leather bindings, leaving nothing but a steel hilt. She laughed, then tossed the blade down in front of him. “Oh, don’t go pouting, now! I’ve got a Fair Spirit, just the same as you, but I made it work!”

Glade narrowed his eyes. She had the resources of one of the most powerful families in the Elderworlds. He had a sword and the memory of his old master. There was a difference. But Elder Eman-Fa wouldn’t have let that be the reason he lost. Neither could Glade.

Glade lunged for his sword, then snatched it back up as he rolled. Wren swiped at him with her axe-musket, each blow carving off a chuck of the rocky ground.

As soon as he found his footing, he spread his stance and held his position. Her axehead collided with his sword, but he held his grip. She leaned into it, pushing with her enhanced body and a Bracing technique, and he began to slip backwards.

He tightened his grip, as if that might help. The bare steel of the hilt bit into his hand, mixing with his blood and grating against his muscles.

He began to pant, trying to assuage the pain. The panting became rhythmic, and he forced himself, on instinct, to breathe deeper. The little dregs of Arcara that he’d managed to purify raced out into his hands and…and wrapped around the sword.

The sword was his domain. It always had been, and it always would be.