The fire screams over us as a jagged plume, bright yellow and blazing so hot in the middle, it appears white. The heat scrapes against our skin—singeing what feels like the very flesh off my face—and yet it’s gone in an instant. I hear the celeon scrabbling to their feet, and then a voice echoes in my ear.

“As if I’d let you take all the glory.”

I roll over to see Malachite sitting up, brushing the gravel off his chainmail. He…protected me?

He straightens and calls to the celeon, “Stand and take up your arms; the valkerax is here!”

I leap to my feet, and the celeon press in around me, drawing their swords and holding their halberds aloft. All of us stare at the tunnel where the fire came from, the tension making the musty air suffocatingly thick. I’d seen Evlorasin’s jaws, and the image of them haunts me now—that mouth could come barreling down the tunnel at any moment, open wide, the spiraling teeth ready to consume us all. There’d be barely any room to run or maneuver.

The tight knot of mortals and their scared breaths are dwarfed by Evlorasin’s broken, thunderous breathing, and a sound I recognize starts making itself known—the sound of valkerax claws scrabbling frantically over stone and dirt.

Out of the blackness, Evlorasin comes.

It’s just a white blur at first, but with every blink of mine, it gets rapidly bigger. The celeon growl, their hackles rising as it approaches at a breakneck speed. The lantern light catches the feathered mane flaring around its head, taking up the entire tunnel’s width. Evlorasin’s six white eyes catch the light, one of them badly bleeding, but its wounds don’t deter its speed as it scratches madly for us. Its mouth is open, its long spiral of shin-long teeth gleaming.

Malachite pulls his broadsword from his back and raises it high, waiting unflinchingly. The thought of the mortal celeon behind me has me walking forward, too, the heavy brass crossbow raised in my arms.

I can’t understand Evlorasin’s words because I haven’t drunk the serum, but I can hear its voice, screeching and hissing in equal measure as it barrels closer. I pray for it to stop, to the Old and New God to listen for once. Nervously, I check Yorl’s crossbow. Even though it’s not a weapon I’m familiar with, I think I can handle—

My finger catches on the trigger on the bottom, and a single vial shoots out, shattering on the stone floor.

“Vachiayis!” I spit the swear. I have only five of those! Yorl said it would take all five—

“Tragya!” Malachite shouts next to me, starting forward and pointing his hefty blade at Evlorasin with one spidery hand.