Kienna backs up the steps, her eyes hard but not without a flicker of fear. A hint of desperation touches her words. “You know it’s cursed, don’t you? Take that blade, and you’ll die before graduation. It’s how it always goes.”

"I've been cursed my whole fucking life," I reply, advancing on her.

Her air magic condenses around her blade, extending its reach to twice its normal length. It slices toward me in a glittering arc, faster than most eyes could track.

But I see it. I've been training for this moment since I was old enough to hold a weapon. I sidestep, pivoting inside her guard, and drive my elbow into her sternum with enough force to lift her off her feet. My free hand sprays an inferno of fire across her body. I see the blue light flash through the flames and cut off the spell.

The quarry falls silent except for the relentless drumming of rain and the distant rumble of thunder. Magical flames still burn in several areas, hissing and refusing to dim despite the rain.

I turn to the dais where the ceremonial blade awaits—a simple thing, really, for all the blood spilled over it. A length of polished steel with an Empire crest on the hilt.

I climb the steps, each movement a fresh agony for my battered body. My hand closes around the hilt, and I feel a pulse of ancient magic respond to my touch.

The moment I lift it from its resting place, the world around me erupts in blinding light. Magic surges, disorienting and powerful. When my vision clears, I'm standing in the central courtyard of Confluence Academy, the ceremonial blade still clutched in my hand.

One by one, I see the air distort and twist as other students appear around me. The stasis has lifted, and they’re all disoriented, straining to get back to their feet or staring wide-eyed at the courtyard in confusion.

The Crucible is over.

Instructors move among the students, cataloging survivors, treating the wounded. There will be questions about the dead windborne, about what happened in the forest, but those can wait.

Only one thing matters.

"Nessa," I rasp, desperately scanning the courtyard for her. "Where is she?"

I push through the crowd, ignoring the thick-voiced congratulations, the hands that reach for me, the voices calling my name. Through our tether, I can still feel her, but it's weak, dangerously so.

And then I see her.

She's lying on her side and Typhon hovers over her in his flying fish form. The disguise is probably useless, though, as I’m fairly sure half the school saw him raging as a massive dragon during the Crucible.

I drop to my knees beside her, reaching for her hand. It's cold, too cold.

I gather her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. "Nessa," I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers. "Come back to me. Please."