The party splits across the hill. Some tell stories around the circle, some drink mead by the camp near our horses, others retire for the night. It is easy to find the other eleven knights, because their eyes are still glowing silver with aether. Laughter finds us across the grass, and I can’t help but laugh back. I wanted to escape, and this is more than I could have asked for.

I feel like the blade tonight. Aether, forged into life.

Nick stands beside me smiling, his eyes twin orbs of silver blue. “This is…” When he sighs, aether leaks from his lips in a cloud of smoke.

“Amazing,” I whisper. And it is: every nerve in my body feels alive, electric. I relax into it, giggling, spinning, enjoying the sensitivity of my skin as I twirl through ambient aether everywhere. When I stop, still dizzy, and hold my arm out, wisps of mage flame draw themselves to my skin like a magnet. “I’m not even doing anything.”

Nick grins, and holds his arm out too—and aether wraps his wrist and bare hand in a smooth silver layer. Lancelot’s power flows over Nick’s skin and down to his palms, stretching into a pair of twin swords. Lancelot’s blades.

“It was easy for Arthur. It’s not easy for me. I pull too much, too hot.” I lower my arm.

“I dream about us, Bree. Fighting side by side. Together. But lately, I dream that one day, we won’t have to fight at all.” He releases the swords back to the air.

He closes the distance between us, palm hovering over mine. “Can I…?”

Nick grips my fingers, and I feel the power flow between us like the boulder to the circle. It leaves me in a wave, hits him, returns. “Oh,” I gasp.

His glowing eyes widen, find mine. “Your eyes are still…”

“Yours too.”

He glances over his shoulder. The camp is nearby. “I don’t remember this part.”

“Me neither.” I follow his gaze, and the memory has frozen again. “Which means—”

“It’s just us now.” His eyes sparkle with dark satisfaction, and my heart skips. He pulls me close, and sparks jump between my chest and his, zipping up my throat and wrapping his shoulders. His eyes fall shut. “God, B…”

“All this power,” I murmur, voice slurring. “Why is it like this?”

His hands slide up and down my arms, dragging fire in their wake. “Dunno. The ranks, maybe… Arthur first, then Lancelot second. Because it’s fresh, and what we feel in the real world is watered down, generations away from now?” He laughs, breathless joy in his voice. The first I’ve heard in a long, long time. “Or maybe it feels like this because it’s you and me.”