"Ugh!" One of Derek's men groaned as he drove his blade through a creature. It shrieked like a woman but flapped with vulture wings, a harpy—a twisted abomination of flesh and feather. The things poured from the frozen skies.
The Frost-Lock had come, and with it, monsters from the beyond.
A scream split the night. "Help me!" A soldier was seized and lifted into the air. The harpies tore him apart mid-flight, blood misting against the moonlight.
"In twos! Watch yourselves!" Derek bellowed. His shield smashed into one of the creatures, slamming it against the stone wall. Bone cracked; feathers scattered. Still, they swarmed, a storm of claws and beaks blotting out the sky.
"Why don't we just hide in the castle?!" I shouted over the chaos.
"Because then we'd be sitting ducks!" Derek snarled, swinging his axe through another harpy. "And don't fool yourself—the castle won't hold!"
Alpha answered with action, driving her spear through a harpy's chest and pinning it to the ground. "Out here, at least we can fight!"
Regina moved like flowing water, her dark blade slicing clean arcs through feather and flesh. Every strike was graceful, every motion seamless, though the blood that followed was anything but.
"Harpies," Jasmine spat, severing a head with one swing. "Ugly things."
Ugly didn't begin to cover it. One lunged at me, its rancid breath filling my nostrils as its talons raked the air. I shoved my sword into its path and felt the impact as it impaled itself on the steel. Its scream choked off as blood spilled across the stones.
The Catwoman leapt above the fray, claws flashing in silver arcs. She landed gracefully, carving through feather and bone with feline precision, every strike deliberate and merciless.
And then the elves drew their true weapons.
Discarding the common steel they'd carried, they unsheathed blades unlike any I had seen. Their swords shimmered with a strange orange-silver light, alive with power.
"What's so special about that?!" Mésos demanded, even as her spear punched through another throat with a wet crunch.
The Sun Elf, despite his missing arm, wielded his sword with dazzling grace. Every cut was smooth, elegant… and when the blades struck flesh, flowers bloomed in the wounds. Marigolds. Sunflowers. Bright, impossible blossoms sprouting from gore.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield froze. Soldiers. Harpies. Even Derek himself. All stared as a corpse fell at the elf's feet, its body transformed into a bed of golden blooms.
The Sun Elf smiled arrogantly, raising his weapon in a showman's flourish. "What's wrong? Never seen true art?"
The spell broke. The battle raged on. But the dread remained. Everyone fought with the sick knowledge that these elves could just as easily leave us blooming in the dirt.
Regina cut a harpy down beside me, her voice sharp. "Watch yourself."
The Night Elf delegate had not lifted a sword. Instead, she sat amidst the carnage, serene, an orb of light growing in her hands—a miniature sun. Around her, bodies did not fall as corpses. They vanished entirely, their blood and essence absorbed into the sphere.
It grew brighter. Warmer. Terrifying.
"Boom!" The orb pulsed. Like a solar eclipse at midnight, it expanded, a corona of searing light. Harpies dissolved into ash mid-flight, and the night warmed as if dawn had come early. The battlefield was suddenly less cold, less desperate. But that warmth was no comfort.
It was fear.
The fighting waned. The last shrieks of the harpies faded. Derek stood amidst corpses and shattered ice, his great axe dripping. His chest heaved, but his eyes flicked to the Catwoman's smug gaze. Her earlier warning echoed, sharp as a claw: Don't lose your head.
Then—
A scream.
Everyone froze and turned north.
Something stirred at the edge of sight. My breath caught. It clawed at the back of my mind, something deeper than fear, scraping at my soul.
The figure stepped into view. Young. Androgynous. Beautiful and terrible all at once. It had no face. Its body was made of light, swirling endlessly as if barely contained by human form.
It held a sword. Not steel, not silver—an impossible edge, sharper than thought, that cut the air itself.
"In the name of all that is holy…" a soldier whispered. "What is that?"
No one answered. No one could. Derek gripped his axe but did not move. The elves fell silent. Even Regina's legs trembled, though she forced her voice to remain steady.
I felt my lips move, though the voice was not mine. Cold. Absolute.
"The Page of Swords."
And then everything went black.