I thought of Emil.

  My feet were already moving before I'd fully processed the decision, carrying me down the narrow hallway toward the small bedroom. It didn't take long—I wasn't that far from Emil's room.

  Jorik was already there by the time I arrived, standing protectively in front of the bed where Emil sat upright, the wooden horse clutched in his hands. The boy's face was pale but his eyes were sharp, alert.

  Jorik's eyes met mine as I burst through the door. His hand gripped the dagger at his belt.

  "What's happening?" he asked.

  "The town's being attacked,"

  Jorik's jaw tightened. "Is it Drakmoor?"

  "I don't know.”

  The alarm bell continued its frantic tolling, each clang driving spikes of urgency through my chest.

  "They found us," Emil said quietly. His fingers tightened on the wooden horse. "I thought we'd have more time."

  "You saw this?" Jorik asked, turning to look at him.

  Emil shook his head. “Not exactly. The visions don't show specifics like this. But..."

  He trailed off, before he could continue another shout from outside, closer this time. The clash of steel on steel was getting louder.

  "We need to move," I said. "Get Emil out through the back before—"

  The sound of splintering wood cut me off. Someone had broken through a door somewhere in the building.

  Jorik moved immediately, scooping Emil up despite the boy's protests. "The back exit. Now."

  But even as he said it, we heard boots in the hallway. Heavy, armored footsteps. Multiple people.

  Too late.

  They are here.

  "Damnit."

  I had no choice. The footsteps were getting closer, maybe seconds away. There was no time to run, no time to hide, no time to do anything except fight.

  And I only had one way to do that.

  The transformation began.

  Dark, organic matter materialized across my skin, flowing like liquid as it covered my body.

  The symbiotic creature wrapped around me, forming a second skin that was both armor and weapon. My hands became clawed, my senses sharpened—hearing, sight, smell all amplifying as Virel's enhancements took hold.

  "Vera?" Jorik's voice came out strangled, his eyes wide. "What—"

  The dark matter covered my face last, forming a mask with glowing amber eyes. I could feel Virel's presence at the edge of my consciousness, as augmented everything I was.

  Strength flooded my limbs. Speed. Power.

  The bedroom door exploded inward.

  Black armor. Red trim.

  The unmistakable colors of that fateful night. In Millbrook. When everything burned.

  Drakmoor.

  Three knights pushed through the doorway, swords already drawn. Their helmets obscured their faces, but I could see their heads turning, assessing the room, finding their targets.

  One of them pointed at Emil. "The prince. Get him."

  I glanced back and saw Emil pressed against the headboard, his small body rigid. His blue eyes were locked on the knights, pupils dilated, breath coming in short, quick gasps.

  Jorik made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a choked cry. His dagger came up, but his hand was shaking.

  The memories were written across both their faces, the horror of that night playing out again in their minds.

  I stepped forward, placing myself between the knights and the bed. Virel's form rippled across my body, the dark matter shifting and adapting. Claws extended further. The armor thickened across my vital points.

  A low, inhuman growl built in my throat—half mine, half Virel's.

  The lead knight's attention finally shifted to me. He paused, his sword lowering slightly as he took in my transformed state.

  "What in the hells—" His voice was muffled behind the helmet.

  The growl deepened.

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  Then I moved.

  Virel's enhancements made me fast. Faster than I'd ever been. Faster than they could track.

  I closed the distance to the lead knight in a heartbeat, my clawed hand already swinging. The strike caught him across the throat, just above his gorget where the armor plates joined. My claws punched through the gap like it was parchment.

  Blood sprayed hot across my armored form.

  He went down gurgling, hands clutching uselessly at the torn metal and flesh.

  The second knight reacted, bringing his sword up in a defensive arc. Too slow. I was already inside his guard, my other hand driving into his chest plate. The claws screeched against steel for a fraction of a second before punching through, finding the soft flesh beneath.

  He made a wet, choking sound and collapsed.

  The third knight stumbled backward, his sword shaking. "Demon—"

  Glass shattered behind him as Nox crashed through the window.

  My wolf hit the knight from behind, massive jaws clamping down on the back of his neck. The armor crumpled under the pressure. Bone snapped with a sound like breaking branches.

  The knight's scream cut off abruptly.

  Nox released him, letting the body drop. Blood dripped from his muzzle as he padded over to stand beside me, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

  The whole fight had taken maybe ten seconds.

  Three Drakmoor knights lay dead on the floor, their blood pooling across the wooden boards.

  Behind me, I heard Emil's ragged breathing. Jorik's too.

  I turned to look at them, still wrapped in Virel's dark form, claws dripping red.

  Jorik's face had gone from white to gray. His dagger hung forgotten in his hand as he stared at the corpses, then at me, then back at the corpses.

  Emil's blue eyes were wide, but there was something in them besides fear. I didn’t knew what.

  "Vera..." Jorik's voice was barely a whisper. "What are you?"

  I didn’t answer him. “We need to move. Now."

  I moved to the window Nox had crashed through, glass crunching under my feet. The wolf was already there, ears pricked forward, listening.

  "Can you walk?" I glanced back at Jorik.

  He jerked his head in a nod, then bent to scoop Emil into his arms. The boy didn't protest, just clutched his wooden horse and pressed his face against Jorik's shoulder.

  I climbed through the window first, the dark armor making movement fluid and effortless. Nox followed, landing beside me with barely a sound.

  Jorik came next, more awkwardly with Emil in his arms. I caught him as he stumbled, steadying him with one hand.

  "The back alley," I said, pointing. "Stay behind me."

  We moved quickly through the narrow space between buildings. The sounds of combat echoed from the main streets—steel on steel, shouts, screaming, the Drakmoor forces weren't being subtle.

  We made it maybe twenty feet before two knights rounded the corner ahead of us.

  They saw us immediately.

  "There!" one of them shouted, raising his sword.

  I didn't give them time to coordinate. I crossed the distance before they could properly set their stances.

  The first knight's armor had gaps at the joints. My clawed hand found the space between breastplate and pauldron, punching through. He made a choked sound and went down.

  I felt nothing.

  No horror. No regret. Just the simple observation that he'd stopped being a threat.

  The second one swung his sword at my head. I ducked under it, the blade passing through empty air where I'd been a heartbeat before. My other hand came up, claws raking across his throat above the gorget.

  He dropped.

  Still nothing. No guilt churning in my stomach. No sick feeling at what I'd done.

  I'd really changed.

  The thought flickered through my mind briefly—too briefly, because three more knights were already charging down the alley toward us.

  Flesh shifted across my back, responding to instinct more than conscious thought. Four long tendrils erupted from between my shoulder blades, whip-fast and sharp as spears.

  The lead knight barely had time to raise his shield before two tendrils punched straight through it. The metal crumpled like parchment. He went down choking on blood.

  The other two tried to flank me. I retracted the tendrils and felt my hands shift, the claws melting and reforming into long, curved blades that extended past my wrists.

  I caught the first sword strike on one blade, deflected it, then drove the other through the gap in his cuirass. He staggered back. The tendril from my back finished him before he could fall.

  The last knight turned to run.

  A tendril caught his ankle, yanked him off his feet. He hit the ground hard. I was on him before he could scream, blade through the back of his neck.

  Behind me, Jorik had stopped moving. I could feel his stare even without looking at him.

  "Keep moving," I said, already heading forward again.

  We encountered four more knights before we reached the edge of the clinic's property. The tendrils made it easier—I could strike from multiple angles at once, keep them off balance, exploit the gaps in their armor while they were still trying to figure out where the next attack would come from.

  My hands shifted constantly. Claws for ripping. Blades for cutting. Once, my entire forearm extended and hardened into a spike that went straight through a knight's chest plate.

  Each kill registered somewhere in the back of my mind. A tally that kept growing.

  And I felt nothing about it.

  The town square was in chaos. Buildings burned. People ran screaming. Drakmoor knights moved in formation through the streets, cutting down anyone who resisted.

  And there, in the middle of the square, I saw what they were really doing. Not just raiding. Destroying. Setting fires. Killing indiscriminately.

  They were trying to burn Oakenford to the ground.

  Anger flared in my chest at what they were doing to this town. These people had taken us in. Fed us.

  No.

  I wouldn't let them destroy this place.

  But first, I needed Jorik and Emil somewhere safe.

  I reached out through the bond, calling to Fei. I could feel him circling above the town, agitated by the smoke and violence.

  He descended in a rush of wings and wind, his massive form blocking out the firelight as she landed beside us with a screech that cut through the noise of battle.

  "Jorik," I said, turning to face him. "Get on."

  He stared at me, then at Fei, then back at me. "What?"

  "He'll take you and Emil up. High enough that no one can reach you." I gestured urgently. "You'll be safe there."

  "What about you?"

  "I'm staying." I looked toward the square, where another building had just caught fire. "I'm going to stop them."

  "Vera, there's too many—"

  "Get. On." I set Emil down and practically shoved Jorik toward Fei's back. "Now."

  The eagle lowered himself, making it easier. Jorik hesitated for one more second, then climbed on, pulling Emil up in front of him.

  "Hold tight to her feathers," I told Emil. The boy nodded, his eyes wide but focused.

  Fei didn't need more instruction. He knew what I wanted. With a powerful thrust of his wings, he launched into the air, carrying Jorik and Emil up and away from the carnage below.

  I watched until they were high enough that no arrow could reach them, then turned back to the square.

  Nox pressed against my leg, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

  "I know," I said quietly. "There's a lot of them."

  Twenty knights at least, maybe more. All armed and organized.

  And here I was, one person covered in some kind of armor that made me look like something from a nightmare.

  The tendrils on my back shifted, ready.

  Good.

  Let them be afraid.

  I stepped out into the square, Nox at my side, and the nearest Drakmoor knight spotted me immediately.

  "What in the hells—"

  I didn't let him finish. The tendrils shot forward, faster than he could raise his shield, and punched through his chest.