It was halfway through the day when she first heard steel on steel and the sounds of combat echoing through the winds of the pass. Serien shivered, suddenly cold despite the jungle’s heat.

Aldrik.

She wanted to run, to sprint, her heart beginning to race with a wild beat. He needed her. He did. She just knew it. Vhalla could feel it through the Bond.

Neither Vhalla nor Serien were prepared for the moment the troops rounded a curve in the pass. Fire burned the treetops as soldiers engaged on the opposite side of the pass. It was an all-out assault, and she was uselessly far. Vhalla searched frantically to try to find Aldrik among the chaos.

The North, however, was taking no chances with what side their query would approach from, and the Imperial soldier’s shock was the ideal opportunity for a second surprise attack. Men and women, warriors in boiled leather, charged from the brush before them.

The Emperor frantically tried to call out orders but they were too disorganized and flat-footed. The Northerners cut through the front of the ranks with ease. The Imperial soldiers tried to compose themselves, the second and third rows of men and women drawing their swords. But shock made them clumsy and the points of their blades chipped off their enemies’ magic stone skin.

What was an organized unit was quickly devolving into chaos. Trained soldiers tried to call for the new recruits to hold the line, but the battlefield was already stained with blood that was turning men mad. The Emperor shouted from atop his mount, trying to reclaim order. The might of the North pressed upon them, determined otherwise.

An odd calm had overtaken her. The bursts of flame across the ravine shone in her eyes, illuminating a deeper truth resonating within her. You are a symbol, Baldair’s words echoed through her subconscious. Vhalla’s fingers went to the belt strapping on her sword, dodging the first Northerner’s blade in the process.

She would not meet these people in terror. If she was going to die, then she would die with dignity. Vhalla dashed backward and pulled off her gauntlets, feeling the wind beneath her fingers as they unlatched her plate. She would not die as Serien. If she was going to die, then she would die as the Windwalker.

The Northerner who had been attacking her charged forward and Vhalla’s hand thrust forward to meet the woman. It was as if the wind had missed her commands and it responded in full force, knocking the woman off her feet and several other Northerners along with her. Vhalla swung another arm, sending the Northerners tumbling.

“The Wind Demon!” one shrieked, pointing at her.

Vhalla didn’t shrink away, she charged forward. The wind was under her feet, and Aldrik’s heartbeat in her ears. She drew from his strength. Together they would confront their foes. Together they would be invincible.