“Olsen!”

  Amia’s voice tore through the trees.

  No answer. Only the fading thunder of hooves.

  She moved before she could think.

  Belt first. Around her waist. Tight.

  Katana sheathed.

  Backpack slung over her shoulders.

  Cape thrown on without care.

  The whetstone-

  There.

  She snatched it from the rock it was laying on and shoved it into her pouch.

  The small campfire died under a flurry of dirt and frantic kicks.

  Then she ran.

  The forest swallowed the sky, branches clawing at her shoulders as she cut parallel to the road. Her breathing stayed steady. Running was easy. Running was survival.

  The air wasn’t.

  Smoke thickened with every stride. Gunpowder. Charred wood. And beneath it-

  Magick.

  She could still taste Raze Incantation No. 6 on the wind. Acrid. Burning. Unstable.

  Then came the sound.

  Steel striking steel.

  A horse screaming.

  A man shouting - cut short.

  Silence.

  Amia skidded to a halt.

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  She inhaled carefully.

  Blood.

  Fresh.

  Open.

  Male.

  Her chest tightened.

  She didn’t think anymore.

  She sprinted.

  The trees thinned.

  And she saw him.

  Olsen lay in the dirt, armor split open like torn hide. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into roots and leaves. Four men in dark green military gear stood several paces away, their backs turned, laughing amongst themselves.

  Amia dropped beside him.

  Her hands hovered before finally touching his chest.

  The wound was catastrophic. A diagonal gash had nearly separated his arm from his body. Others carved across his ribs and abdomen, armor shredded where blades had punched through.

  “O-olsen…” Her voice broke.

  His remaining eye fluttered.

  “A…Amia…”

  He was already dying. She knew it from the smell alone.

  “Why didn’t you leave?” he rasped.

  Tears blurred her vision.

  “I—”

  His bloodied hand rose and touched her cheek. Weak. Trembling.

  “I’m glad… I saw you grow.”

  His breath faltered. Hitched.

  “My pocketwatch… General Wai—”

  The words died with him.

  His hand slipped from her face. Leaving a trail of blood that slid off her cheek,

  Silence pressed in.

  Amia didn’t sob.

  Not yet.

  She pulled the chain from his pouch and clutched the watch to her chest.

  That was when one of the soldiers turned.

  “Well now.” He muttered.

  The others followed his gaze.

  Four sets of eyes settled on her. Their expressions shifting.

  Not wary.

  Amused.

  “Well, look at that.”

  They started walking toward her.

  Amia didn’t move.

  Her tears stopped.

  …and the air changed.

  Humidity thickened unnaturally, pressing down like a weight. Pebbles trembled in the soil. The bark of the nearest tree split with a sharp crack.

  One of the men chuckled. “Pretty little thing to stumble into the wrong place.”

  The smell of blood faded beneath a stronger scent-

  Intent.

  Amia slowly rose as a single cherry blossom twisted and turned through the air and landed right by her feet.

  Her breathing went quiet.

  The world narrowed.