Chapter Three Vo Conclave

Chapter Three Vo Conclave

Elloren Guryev

Voloi

I know something is wrong the moment we reach Voloi. As we soar over the grayed Vo Forest, a disconcertingly large number

of Eastern Realm soldiers close in around us. Quoi Zhon is pressed to my back, the new Vu Trin high commander and I astride

Hizar’drile’s broad, scaled dragonback, my branch weapon confiscated, leaving me disturbingly unarmed.

Yvan and I exchange a wary lash of fire through our bond as he soars close to my side, every spark of his fire poised to attack

if the Vu Trin make even one violent twitch against me.

Our grouping swerves toward the Vo River. The translucent shielding that Tierney, my cousin Or’myr, and their allies cast

over both the river and a wide swath along its banks remains fixedly in place, their shield’s long, domed surface dotted with

Deathkin runes limned with what I sense to be my cousin’s purple energy, the rune-work designs built to repel not only Shadow

but any attempt to siphon the river’s elemental power. Soaring down over the Vo Forest, we pass through the Vo shield’s cloud-high

eastern wall, and I’m filled with a sense of the energy of the dome-shield’s two runic origin points to the far north and

south of us, as well as a tidal wave of Asrai water magic.

Finding the Vo so protected floods me with profound relief, but my solace makes a rapid turn toward unease as I view the restored runic border wall lining the Vo River’s western bank. It’s made up of sapphire Noi runes, with emerald Varg runes interspersed throughout. Rising twice as high as it did previously, the wall is now emblazoned with a giant depiction of Noilaan’s dragon goddess, Vo, in her bright white manifestation, Vo’s starlight bird messengers emblazoned around her.

The religious image sends an ominous shiver through me, Gardneria’s aggressive use of the Ancient One’s white messenger bird

leaping to mind. My disquiet intensifies as I scan the refugee camp on the border’s western side, which has more than quadrupled

in size. Yvan’s fire shudders against mine, his equally surging concern palpable as he flies in beside me.

The Vu Trin forces usher us over the runic wall’s towering pinnacle, and we soar out over the Vo River, a chilly breeze whipping

at my hair as we speed toward the Wyvernguard.

It’s a jarring sight, the military academy made up of just one upthrust island now, the other a charred heap poking up from

the Vo’s dark blue waters.

My gut clenches as I’m hit with a memory of the last time I flew over this river. Pain knifes through my heart as it all comes

roaring back—being taken over by Vogel and forced to conjure a great Shadow tree to attack Voloi. Then being freed from Vogel’s

control by Yvan’s fiery kiss, and moments later, witnessing Lukas’s death, then believing Yvan to be dead as well, as I plummeted

toward the river’s surface only to be rescued by Ariel.

Devastation slashes through me and tears sting my eyes as my final vision of Lukas sears into my mind, my fastmate defiantly

holding his wand aloft, Yvan’s and my combined fire burning hot in his eyes, I love you on his lips.

Lukas...

Clearly sensing the rise of my lacerating grief, Yvan pulses a consoling rush of fire through me, the depth of feeling in

both his power and his eyes burning so blazingly strong that I’m able to force back an edge of the grief, knowing Lukas would

want me to move past it and persevere despite the impossible odds.

I’ll fight to the end, Lukas , I vow as we all soar toward the stone terrace encircling the Wyvernguard island’s base and land on its polished, obsidian

stone.

Quoi Zhon and I dismount from Hizar’drile, and Vothe’s father morphs into his human form. Yvan closes in beside me, his hand

pressed to the small of my back and one of his wings arcing around me as we survey our surroundings.

A huge bas relief sculpture of the Dragon Goddess Vo is marked on the stone wall before us, and Vo necklaces adorn the necks of every surrounding Vu Trin soldier, white dragon goddess and starlight-bird-messenger pendants in the center of each. An uncomfortable tension grips hold, the religious jewelry and omnipresent Vo images triggering a resurgent remembrance of the Gardnerians’ silver Erthia orb necklaces and the Watcher bird images emblazoned on every Mage flag and uniform.

Several Vu Trin soldiers appear inside an arching doorway, the uniform of the tall, spiky-haired Noi soldier in the lead bearing

the silver-dragon insignia of the Wyvernguard commander on her shoulder, the woman’s expression stern.

“Nor Ung Li,” Trystan calls to her, my brother’s rush of relief over finding this sorceress here palpable in both his tone

and in the flow of his power.

Commander Ung Li gives Trystan a conflicted look as both she and the soldiers behind her halt before us. Her dark gaze slides

over me with such probing force that my firelines kick up into a more fitful heat before she rigidly salutes High Commander

Quoi Zhon. Quoi Zhon orders Ung Li to be at ease, and Vothe’s father and brother step forward to greet her.

Beside me, I catch Diana tossing her hair over her shoulder, one hand on her hip, my Lupine sister’s intimidating amber eyes

staring Ung Li down as Ung Li scans our varied yet unified force. Her expression takes on a questioning air, perhaps over

how altered so many of us are by our linkage to the Forest, our winged kindreds massed around us.

“I am Wyvernguard Commander Ung Li,” she announces, calmly meeting Diana’s intimidating stare. “Noilaan’s Vo Conclave will

hear your petition for alliance in the Wyvernguard’s Conclave Hall.”

My concern resurfaces as my mind lights on the Conclave’s new religious name.

Ung Li sets her gaze on me with probing force. “Before we allow you to enter, you must be marked with a Noi tracking rune.”

Yvan and I exchange a grave look, both of us aware of why she’s demanding this. And aware that we have to forge an alliance with these people fast, despite the risks.

Ung Li draws a dark rune stone glowing with a single sapphire Noi rune from her tunic’s pocket and holds out her hand for

mine.

Reluctance sizzling through me, I extend my hand.

She grips my wrist and turns my hand palm up, then presses the rune stone to my forearm. A sting ignites that has me wincing

before she draws it away, a small sapphire rune identical to the stone’s now glowing on my skin.

Ung Li releases my arm and scans my Dryad’khin. “We will need to confiscate your weapons.” She waves a hand toward a weapons

rack beside the doorway. “You may reclaim them after your meeting. And your ravens and eagles must remain here .”

Unease ripples through my allies’ magic. We exchange wary looks as my ravens let out low, protesting caw s, an angry light in the fiery eyes of Alder’s giant eagles. Our gazes flit pointedly toward the Wyverns and Lupines amongst us, who have no need of weapons, as well as to Mavrik and Gwynn, who can summon runes to their hands using only their twinned magic. Unspoken agreement simmering between us, those with runic blades and wands and styluses release their weapons to the Vu Trin.

High Commander Quoi Zhon thrusts her hand toward Trystan. “We’ll need to confiscate your Vo’lon necklace before you enter,”

she snaps, scowling.

Both Trystan’s and Vothe’s invisible lightning bursts into crackling disarray, blue and white forks of it flashing through

my brother’s eyes.

“I’m a citizen of Noilaan and a convert to the Vo’lon faith,” Trystan calmly outlines, his tone belying none of the fitful

rise of his power.

Quoi Zhon’s face twists with offense. “Your citizenship has been revoked . All Westerners have had their citizenship rescinded by our new ruling Conclave. As well as their acceptance into our Vo’lon

faith.”

“What?” Bleddyn blurts out, her emerald eyes tight with outrage.

“Have you forgotten that my husband was a Westerner?” Soleiya snarls, Yvan’s fire running as hot as his mother’s.

I notice that Ung Li’s expression is one of intense disapproval as she glares at Quoi Zhon, Ung Li’s dislike of her new high

commander seeming to vibrate on the air.

“Pay no heed to this, Trystan,” Ra’Ven cuts in, his livid gaze fixed on Quoi Zhon. “I grant you, and anyone else so cast out

of Noilaan, full citizenship in the Sublands.”

“The Sublands are no longer yours to command,” Quoi Zhon shoots back. “They are part of Vo’s Sacred Land and runically walled

off until your people accept our sovereign power over Noilaan’s Subland Territory.”

Ra’Ven’s aura of verdant power gains an incendiary brightness. “So, you’ve imprisoned my people?” he challenges Quoi Zhon.

“Like the Alfsigr did in the Sublands of Alfsigroth?”

Sage levels a damning finger at Quoi Zhon. “You’ve trapped our children and my younger sisters there, amongst thousands !”

“And Effrey!” Thierren exclaims, condemnation firing in his eyes. “A child I swore to keep safe!”

“This is unforgivable!” Vothe’s great-aunt Sithendrile hisses.

“You’re turning into the West,” Yvan snarls, the flow of his fire and mine echoing Sithendrile’s outrage.

“What of our pack?” Rafe levels at the high commander, his tone low and dangerous, an intimidating energy flowing off both my eldest brother and Diana beside him.

“The Gerwulf pack is currently in the Vo Forest north of Voloi with the Amaz and the Kelts,” Quoi Zhon snaps, “engaged in

a military standoff with our forces. Which we will win.”

Angered murmurs rise as Rivyr’el spits out an Alfsigr curse.

“You do not want a war with my people,” Freya Zyrr cautions Quoi Zhon, her gaze lethally narrowed. “We will tear you apart

and deplete both sides’ magic in the battle, allowing Vogel to sweep right in .”

Quoi Zhon glares back at her, unmoved. “We have given the Lupines, Amaz, and Kelts a day to agree to our plan for their repatriation

back to the Western Realm before we force them from Vo’s sovereign land.”

A low growl works its way from Diana’s throat and is quickly taken up by Naga and the rest of my horde, claws forming on Rafe

and Diana’s fingers.

Several surrounding Vu Trin draw swords, while Quoi Zhon unflinchingly stands her ground. “These are Conclave matters,” she

bites out. “You’d best take it up with them.”

“What of the Fae Wyvernguard units?” Vang Troi demands. “What of all those Westerners who risked their lives during the Magedom’s

attack on Voloi?”

Quoi Zhon rounds on her. “Noilaan is for the Noi , as is the Wyvernguard.” She casts a violent look at me, as if she’d strike me down right then and there if Noilaan’s Vo

Conclave granted her leave to, before she reaches toward Trystan once more. “Hand over the necklace, Gardnerian .”

Trystan yanks off his Vo’lon necklace and thrusts it toward her, his invisible lightning crackling with angry power as she

swipes it from him.

“Vo doesn’t reside in that necklace,” Trystan calmly levels. “Or your flags.” He turns to Ung Li, his expression shifting

to one of raw worry. “Where is Priest Wyn Juun? Did he survive the Magedom’s attack on Voloi?”

“He did,” Ung Li states, a flash of conflict in her eyes as she gestures west. “He’s on the other side of the border wall.”

Trystan’s eyes widen. “Has the Conclave deported him?”

“No,” Ung Li returns with a stiff shake of her head. “He’s aiding Western refugees trapped there, many of them sick with the

Red Grippe.” She glares at Quoi Zhon. “He told us, ‘That’s where Vo resides now. Not here.’ ? ” Ung Li looks to Vang Troi, her expression tightening with what seems like an edge of reluctance. “Vanglira, you’ve been relieved of all rank and dishonorably discharged from the Vu Trin.”

Without hesitation, Vang Troi swipes off her horned headpiece and lets it drop to the terrace’s stone with an emphatic clatter,

her violet eyes afire. “Rank means nothing compared to the threat the East is faced with if you destroy the Dyoi Forest and Zonor River.” Her piercing gaze falls on

Quoi Zhon. “No more talk. Let us through.”

Quoi Zhon stares Vang Troi down for a protracted moment before she brusquely gestures us forward. Yvan, Soleiya, and I exchange

intense glances before my allies and I follow Quoi Zhon through an arching stone entranceway and into the Wyvernguard, Vu

Trin soldiers filing in at our sides.

We enter the Conclave’s huge circular hall. A colossal Noi flag hangs there, Vo’s white dragon form emblazoned on sapphire.

Noilaan’s sapphire-robed Conclave sits behind a curved, obsidian table on a slightly raised dais, white dragons embroidered

on every robe encircled by sewn images of Vo’s white bird messengers. I count twenty Conclave members as their eyes zero in

on me with palpable hostility. We still before them, Yvan’s hand gripping mine, one wing arcing around me as he gathers defensive

fire.

Introductions ensue, Quoi Zhon stiffly naming Conclave members before introducing, with a reverential dip of her head, the

Vo Conclave’s majority leader, Niko Luun.

As I take in his yellow eyes, black hair and angular features, Bleddyn spits out a curse from behind me. I angle my head toward

her in question and am caught off guard by the haunted look in her eyes.

“Remember when I told you about Noilaan’s Vo’nyl movement?” she whispers. “Well, Niko Luun is their leader.”

The blow connects, hammer hard—the Vo’nyl responsible for all those signs in Voloi when I was in hiding in Mora’lee’s rune

ship— Noilaan for the Noi .

“Damn them,” Rivyr’el mutters under his breath from beside Bleddyn. “Damn them all . They’re truly turning Noilaan into the West.”

Every nerve alight with tension, I note that only Noi are serving on the Conclave now. The Noi people are varied in skin and hair tones, but they share similar dress, hair, and makeup styles, kohl lining every man’s eyes. And each Conclave member wears the Vo’lon religious necklace with its twelve multicolored beads and central white Vo-dragon bead, a white bird pendant hanging from it.

Vang Troi steps toward the Conclave, her shoulders squared, her aura shivering to powerful, sapphire life. “Nor hyoi’lir Noi’khin,”

she formally greets them. “We bring urgent news of the Magedom’s strike on Erthia’s wilds and an offer of emergency alliance.

Alliance not only with the Icaral of Prophecy, Yvan Guryev, but also with his revered mother, Soleiya Guryev. Along with our

entire Dryad’khin force and the transformed Dryad’kin Witch, Elloren Guryev.”

Harsh murmurs break out amongst the Conclave members at the announcement of my new name. Except for Niko Luun, who remains

still and silent, his hands clasped before him, his penetrating, pale yellow eyes fixed unwaveringly on me.

Naga steps toward the Conclave in human form, her movements full of powerful, serpentine grace. She gestures toward Yvan and

me with a black-clawed hand. “The Icaral and Dryad Witch are united as Wyvernbonded mates,” she states with formal import.

“They are bound to our horde, by blood and by fire, and we can read their noble intent.”

The Conclave’s looks of hatred remain unchanged, the ensuing silence volatile.

“The last time we saw you, witch,” Niko Luun smoothly states, breaking the silence, “you were leading an invasion of our lands

that almost destroyed Voloi. And now, here you are again.”

I will myself to remain calm, Yvan’s fire and that of my entire horde blazing through me. “I was forced to move against the East,” I clarify, remorse tightening my throat as I convey the full story of how Marcus Vogel took hold

of me with his Shadow Wand before I was freed by the Great Tree of the Northern Forest and transformed into Dryad’kin. “And

now,” I tell him, “my allies and I seek to stand with you against the Magedom’s Shadow.”

“Yet you and your army would keep us from sending a storm band west to wall that very same Shadow out,” Niko Luun counters.

“Have you listened to nothing Elloren just said?” Soleiya cries, her invisible fire rearing.

“The storm band you’re preparing,” Sylvan interjects. “It is imperative that you do not send it out over the Dyoi Forest and Zonor River.”

“If you do,” Yulan adds, the floral magic coursing through her lines shivering with tension, “you’re as good as placing a

powerful weapon right in the Magedom’s hands.”

“Tell us, then, Tree Fae,” Niko Luun stonily offers both Yulan and Sylvan, “how could it possibly work against us to send out the strongest storm band we have ever conjured to blast Vogel’s forces and corrupted storm bands back West, destroying them en route?”

Tension crackles through Sylvan’s power. “For centuries,” he growls, “all your power has come from Nature’s Matrix. Because

a critical mass of Forest has always existed, you have taken this wellspring for granted. You used the Natural World’s elemental

gifts to fight your Forest-destroying wars as well as to gut the Forest’s root-supporting Sublands with your lumenstone mines.

So much of our Forest remained as a buffer to your ignorant destruction that the Continent’s Natural Matrix survived.”

Sylvan’s piercing gaze sweeps over the Conclave. “But now, Vogel has murdered III, the Life-anchoring Heart Tree of the Forest,

only its Verdyllion branch remaining. His Magedom has razed our kindred Northern Forest, along with most of the Forests of

the West and the South. He has killed and poisoned too much .” Sylvan’s elemental power burgeons, rising to storming heights within him. “If you destroy the Dyoi Forest and the Zonor

River,” he warns, “your power, as well as ours, will be decimated as the Matrix comes undone. You will tip the Natural World

into an Unbalancing that will unleash the greatest Death Reckoning Erthia has ever seen .”

Troubled murmurs rise among the Conclave members, the sapphire-robed officials leaning toward each other, their faces tense

with agitated concern.

All except for Niko Luun

“Which will do what ?” he presses.

“Your weather will come unhinged,” Hazel answers as he slides forward, his eerie voice shot through with the weight of a nightmare

foretelling. “Your seasons, unmoored . And a storm of Death will follow.”

Vothe’s father lets out a scoffing huff. “You stand in the East , Death Fae. We control the weather here.”

Sylvan’s gaze swings to Hizar’drile, his expression like the slash of a sword. “No,” he sharply counters. “You merely amplify

or suppress natural cycles. If your storm band obliterates the Dyoi and the Zonor, even the Zhilonile Wyverns of the East

will be unequal to the chaos you’ll unleash.”

“Your crops will wither and die ,” Yulan warns, her melodic voice trembling. “Your seas, rivers, and air will spin into mayhem.” She glances mournfully at the bedraggled heron hugging her side. “And our animal and plant kindreds—their worlds and lives will be torn apart .”

All the light in the room pulses Dark, mist in the shape of silver-glowing snakes rising around Hazel’s dark-clad form. “Death

will come in ways that surpass your greatest nightmares,” he warns, his subterranean voice vibrating through my bones. “Disease.

Famine. Swarms of insects. Plagues of every kind .”

Hazel takes a menacing step toward the Conclave, his Darkness pulsing through the room, harder this time. “We Deathlings will

do what we can to hold off Nature’s Great Unraveling, but if you tip the Balance too far, we will not be able to stop what

will come. And then the Shadow will pour into the chaos to consume everything .”

“All we are asking,” Yulan pleads, arms outstretched, “is that you come to the Forest with us and listen to the trees to gain

understanding. If the East joins with the Forest before its foliage power goes dormant, we can merge and amplify our collective

might and swiftly move against the Magedom together .”

Another tense silence descends before Niko Luun almost imperceptibly raises his palm.

Two Vu Trin sorceresses, one on each side of the Conclave dais, raise sapphire-glowing styluses. I flinch as a translucent

dome snaps into being over the Conclave, cutting out all sound.

Yvan and I exchange a wary glance as the Conclave members speak to each other with emphatic gestures, Niko Luun’s expression

stern as he confers with them all.

After a prolonged moment, Niko Luun nods to the Vu Trin stationed beside the dais, and they raise their styluses once more.

The silencing dome vanishes, and my heartbeat accelerates as we await their decision.

“We are not guided by trees,” Niko Luun calmly states.

His words set off an explosion of energy through our combined Dryad’khin power, sounds of alarm and outrage rising as Hazel

hisses, his Darkness strobing through the hall.

“We’re not asking you to bind to the Forest as we have,” Yvan snarls, anger scorching through his power.

“Just to hear the Forest out!” Oaklyyn growls, just as furious.

“You plot the East’s doom,” Vang Troi levels at them all.

“Silence!” Niko Luun booms back, his gaze fixing on Vang Troi. “You forget who you are, Vanglira! True Noi’khin put their trust in Vo on High !” He jabs his finger at the white dragon marked on the huge flag at his back. “ Not in trees !”

“You will bring Death to your people,” Hazel hisses, his voice ratcheting in from every direction, my gut clenching as I take

in the belligerence in every Conclave member’s eyes.

“Then bring your Death Reckoning, Fae’kin,” Niko Luun snarls back at Hazel. “Vo will lead us straight through it . And then, she will restore this land with her Blessed Awakening after you have all been struck down !”

“I have seen Vo’s Watchers inside the trees,” Vang Troi rasps at Niko Luun, her tone shot through with ballistic urgency.

“They stand with the Forest !”

Niko Luun spits out a furious sound. “You imagine yourself a Vo’lon priest ?”

“Vo does not require the priestdom,” Vang Troi snarls back. “Vo cannot be controlled. Just like Vo’s Ahxhil Watcher birds

cannot be controlled.”

The Lupines and Naga’s horde close protectively in around my allies and me, low growls rising, and I tense against the seismic

power building in the room.

Yulan suddenly launches herself toward the Conclave, falling to her knees before them. “Do not do this thing,” she begs, her

kindred heron rushing to her side, the bird’s wings agitatedly flapping. “Please, I beg of you, Honored Noi’khin,” she raggedly

implores, “ do not send this storm band out over our Forest and Water’kin .”

“It is already done,” Niko Luun quietly responds. “The order has been sent.”

My Dryad’khin and I are caught in a split second of frozen shock as every Vu Trin soldier in the hall draws their weapons,

the entrance doors behind us snapping shut, the click of locks sounding.

Our communal Dryad’khin power ignites like a multitude of wildfires, my horde’s firestorm exploding through it. Naga’s hissing

voice singes through our horde flame as she morphs to dragon form— We will fight our way out to that storm band and destroy it!

I catch my brother Rafe’s wild amber gaze, then Diana’s, unspoken understanding passing through us all as Mavrik and Gwynnifer

draw twinned might into their palms, forming battle runes there, and Yvan gathers a cataclysmic level of fire power.

Naga whips her head back, opens her mouth and roars out a blast of fire at the hall’s ceiling at the same moment that Mavrik

and Gwynn thrust their rune-marked palms forward.

A translucent golden dome-shield blinks into being around us, a gold rune marked on it that allows our magic to pass through.

Stone and wood rain down and Vu Trin snarl out commands from every direction, rapidly conjuring thick, sapphire-glowing beams to stabilize the portion of ceiling Naga incinerated.

Seizing on their distraction, Yvan thrusts his violet-glowing palms forward, a snarl bursting from his throat as he hurls

two fireballs through our shielding and into the hall’s huge, locked doors, instantly exploding them.

Yvan grabs my arm, and we lunge through the flames, our shield moving with us as we rush into a curved hall, while Mavrik

and Gwynn force back Vu Trin with wind power. Yvan blasts through the door before us, and we race out onto the Wyvernguard’s

terrace, wind now buffeting our forms, the mighty Vo River coursing past us. Mavrik and Gwynn bind the Vu Trin stationed there

with golden vines as my allies swiftly retrieve their weapons, Sylvan tossing me one of his branches while Ra’Ven conjures

a shimmering emerald Varg barrier inside the terrace doorway’s decimated entrance, walling off the Vu Trin inside the Wyvernguard.

“The storm band has yet to be released!” Vang Troi cries, pointing west.

The killing storm band is poised over the half-decimated Vo Mountain Range. I tighten my grip around my living branch, the

chromatic power of the Dyoi Forest flooding my lines.

Errilith lets out an ear-splitting CAW as he rushes to me, a call that’s soon echoed by my other Errilor Death Ravens and joined by the rasping cry of Alder’s giant

eagles as the Wyverns among us in human shape morph into dragon form.

I leap onto my kindred raven’s back, lift my living branch and murmur spells along with my fellow Dryad’khin to hold our shielding

around us as we swiftly take to the air as one on raven-, Wyvern-, and eagleback, Yvan soaring beside me.

A blast detonates behind us, and my head whips around to see Vu Trin soldiers streaming from the Wyvernguard, the non-shifters

amongst them taking to the air on Wyvernback, all in hot pursuit.

Clutching Errilith’s stiff black feathers, I duck down against the wind as we accelerate west over the Vo, making a beeline

toward the killing storm band.

Naga roars a warning as Vu Trin on Wyverns and military skiffs soar toward us from all sides and we fly toward Noilaan’s runic

border. Rapidly approaching the border wall, I join my allies in hurling out wind spells to force back the incoming Vu Trin

as well as those guarding the border’s apex.

We soar over the border and the crowded refugee encampment, horror rising in my throat as the lightning spitting through the storm band takes on a cataclysmic energy, the power churning in its internal line of siphoning runes intensifying as the terrified Vo and Dyoi Forests begin to rustle spells through my mind.

I raise the branch in my hand and murmur the words to the storm-blasting spells the Forests are sending me, readying every

last shred of my foliage-amplified power, the static tang of magic mounting on the air.

“Release your power!” Vang Troi bellows.

Together, we release our Dryad’khin storm.

Multiple bolts of our magic blast toward the storm band, our assault holding enough power to sweep up the storm band, reroute

it into the sky and explode it to smithereens.

A split second before our power slams into the storm band, a sapphire Noi rune blinks into being, hovering in front of it,

cathedral huge.

Horror punches through me.

“It’s a reflection rune!” Mavrik, Gwynn, and I scream in unison, our magic about to hit the rune and double back toward us.

“Conjure a shield!” Ra’Ven bellows.

I frantically murmur spells, all of us throwing out every ounce of shielding energy we can muster, multihued magic bolting

from my outstretched branch. A prismatic, arcing shield-wall blasts into being before us, and our entire horde throws fortifying

fire into it, Hazel and my Errilor Ravens sending ropes of Deathling Darkness to pulse through its expanse.

Our initial bolts of magic collide with the storm band in an explosion of raying, prismatic foliage light magic before it’s

boomeranged back, our collective might now spearing toward our shield-wall in thick bolts of multihued light and storm and

fire.

The storm band’s roar turns deafening as our collective might collides with our shield.

The collision slams pain through my branch hand, and I cry out, my ravens caw, Alder’s eagles shriek, and Wyverns and Lupines

growl as our shield explodes out of existence and we’re hit by our own magic. A groan forced from my throat, I’m hurled off

Errilith’s back and pinwheel into a free fall through the air.

Yvan’s snarl splits the air as his arms slap around me, halting my descent, while the storm band gains roaring power and releases,

its apex dropping as it barrels down the western face of what remains of the Vo Mountain Range.

“Nooooooooo!” Yulan screams, her petite form gripped in Naga’s talons as gravity itself seems to tilt.

The scene before me blinks out of sight, replaced by what the Dyoi Forest is experiencing from every terrible angle at once—trees screaming as they’re ripped out of the ground; kindred animals shrieking and fleeing as they’re swept up in funneling winds or incinerated by Wyvern-crafted lightning; the Vu Trin storm band siphoning up the Forest’s elemental energy as it goes, my heart shredding with agony.

The storm band collides with the Zonor River’s shield and siphons up its power before taking hold of the Zonor itself. The

river’s water power is rapidly sucked up into the churning storm, the river and its kindred creatures sending out combined

wails of anguish as Trystan, Vothe, and Sithindrile scream out their agony and the Zonor is destroyed.

I flail against Yvan’s hold, pain knifing through my every rootline as millions upon millions of plants and animals—along

with scattered refugees making their way East—are whipped into the Vu Trin storm band’s tornado of force.

A scream bursts from my throat as the scene around me snaps back into focus, our shielding over the East blasting out rays

of chromatic light as it’s consumed by the storm band’s mounting power.

The clouds above us shift into chaos, building unnaturally, lightning bursting fitfully through them in strange shapes.

I scream as Yvan fights the killing wind, his wings battling against it, a curse erupting from his throat. Hazel’s wrenching,

all-encompassing cry sounds, followed by Wrenfir’s wail of anguish, and then the defiant, distant growls of Viger Maul and

Tierney’s kelpies, and my ravens’ tortured CAW s as all the Deathkin explode into black mist and vanish.

The world pulses Dark and my connection to the Dyoi Forest severs, pain screaming through my rootlines as my vision cuts out

and Erthia’s Natural Matrix comes undone.