With Sayid defeated, the storm around them began to weaken. The lightning was gone—cut off at its source—but the winds still howled across the battlefield. The sky overhead remained bruised and dark, though cracks of pale sunlight were starting to break through the clouds.

  Clive slid off Azura's back. His legs nearly buckled when his feet hit the ground. The vacuum sphere had drained more mana than he'd anticipated.

  Rider needs rest, Azura rumbled with concern.

  In a minute, Clive thought back. Check on the others first.

  He made his way toward Yarra. She was still on the ground where she'd fallen, half-propped against a chunk of rubble. Her bronze dragon lay nearby, breathing but unconscious. Blood streaked down Yarra's face from a gash above her eyebrow. Her left arm hung at an odd angle.

  "Are you okay?" Clive dropped to one knee beside her.

  "Define 'okay.'" Yarra's voice came rough. She tried to smile and winced instead. "My shoulder's dislocated. Few cracked ribs, I think. Nothing that won't heal." Her eyes found Sayid's motionless form in the distance. "You actually killed him."

  "I didn't have a choice."

  "I'm not criticizing." She shifted, hissed through her teeth. "That vacuum trick… where the hell did you learn that?"

  "Physics and desperation." Clive pulled out his palette and brush. "Hold still."

  He analyzed her injuries with [Artist's Eyes]. The dislocated shoulder was the priority. The joint had been wrenched forward and down, straining the surrounding tissue. He mixed Alizarin Crimson with Cadmium Red, adding a touch of Titanium White to match the healthy flesh tone beneath the bruising.

  [Paint: Restoration]

  His brush moved across her shoulder in smooth, precise strokes. The swelling receded. Color returned to the mottled skin. Yarra gasped as the joint slid back into place with a wet pop.

  "Gods," she whispered. "That's—that's incredible."

  Clive moved to the gash on her forehead next. The cut wasn't deep, but it was bleeding freely. He painted it closed with quick strokes. The skin knitted together, leaving only a faint pink line that would fade completely in a few hours.

  "The ribs will take longer," Clive said. "I need to—"

  "Later." Yarra grabbed his wrist with her newly healed arm. Her grip was firm. "Prince Sion."

  Clive looked up.

  Across the battlefield, Sion was still engaged with the black knight.

  Ignis dove low, and the prince launched himself from its back, spear-first. He descended like a meteor. The knight's greatsword came up in a brutal upward parry. Sion twisted mid-air, using the deflection to redirect his momentum. He landed hard, rolled, and came up just as his dragon swept past at ground level.

  The prince caught the dragon's extended claw and vaulted back onto its shoulders. They climbed again.

  "Gods," Yarra muttered. "He's relentless, but he won't last."

  Ignis banked sharply. Sion stood on its back. Then he jumped again.

  This time he came from the side, angling his descent to strike at the gap between helmet and breastplate. The black knight sidestepped and Sion's spear scraped across black plate with a shower of sparks. The knight's gauntleted hand shot out and caught Sion's ankle mid-landing.

  Sion hit the ground hard. He rolled with it, breaking the grip, but the black knight was already following him. The greatsword came down in an overhead swing. The prince threw himself sideways. The blade buried itself in stone where he'd been a heartbeat before.

  But Clive could see what Yarra meant. Sion's movements were still precise, but they were slowing. His jumps weren't as explosive. The black knight, on the other hand, wasn't tiring at all. Clive didn’t need his [Artist’s Eyes]. It was obvious who would be the victor in the end.

  "He's been fighting alone this whole time," Yarra said. "While we dealt with Sayid. That bastard in the black armor— We need to get over there."

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  "Can you fight?" Clive asked.

  "I'm a Dragon Knight." Yarra braced one hand against the stone and forced herself to her feet. "The answer is always—" She clutched her ribs, face going pale. The words died in a strangled hiss.

  "The answer is no," Clive said. "Stay here."

  "Like hell—" Yarra took one step forward. Her knee buckled. She caught herself on the rubble, breathing hard through her teeth. "Damn it."

  She stayed down this time, jaw clenched in frustration. "Two minutes," she said. "Give me two minutes to get my ribs sorted. Then I'll be right behind you."

  Clive glanced back toward Sion. The prince had just launched himself from his dragon again, spear leading. The black knight met him with that same defense.

  "Two minutes might be all he has," Clive said.

  "Then stop wasting them talking to me." Yarra was already reaching for her own medical kit. "Go."

  Azura nudged his shoulder with her snout. Together?

  Together, Clive confirmed.

  He climbed onto her back. She launched without waiting for him to settle. The battlefield blurred beneath them as they streaked toward Prince Sion.

  But as they approached, the sky darken.

  It happened in an instant. Shadow fell across the battlefield like a curtain. Azura's wings stuttered mid-stroke.

  Rider—

  Clive looked up.

  The moon hung directly overhead. It shouldn't have been visible at all. It was midday, or had been moments ago. But there it was, full and luminous, dominating the sky. Its light poured down in thick, tangible beams that cut through the darkness like pillars of silver.

  One beam fell directly in front of them.

  Azura pulled up hard, wings flaring. Clive grabbed her neck ridge to keep from sliding backward. The beam stood in their path like a wall.

  His heart hammered against his ribs.

  This has to be...

  A figure in white descended through the moonbeam.

  Clive's breath caught.

  The woman touched down on empty air, standing twenty feet above the battlefield. The moonbeam illuminated her from behind.

  "Clive." Her voice carried across the distance. "You shouldn't interrupt their duel."

  "Jill?" He cried out. "Is that you?"

  She remained silent, her face hidden in shadow, backlit by the moon. For a long moment, she looked at him. Then she turned. The moonbeam moved with her, a spotlight following her movement.

  "Come."

  She drifted away from the main battlefield, gliding through the air as if walking on invisible steps. The moonbeam carved a path through the darkness, illuminating her retreat.

  Clive's hands tightened on Azura's neck ridge. Behind them, he could still hear the clash of Sion's spear against black armor. The prince needed help. Yarra was injured. The battle wasn't over.

  But Jill was here. After everything. She was here.

  Rider? Azura's uncertainty bled through their bond. The prince—

  I know. Clive's throat felt tight. I know. But I have to... I need to...

  He couldn't finish the thought.

  The woman in white had stopped perhaps a hundred yards away, in a section of the battlefield where the fighting hadn't reached. Shattered pillars and toppled statuary surrounded them. She stood among the ruins, still haloed in moonlight, waiting.

  Clive made his choice.

  "Follow her," he told Azura.

  The dragon banked, leaving Prince Sion and the black knight behind. They descended toward the ruins. The moonbeam shifted to keep the woman illuminated as they approached.

  Azura landed on cracked stones overgrown with moss. Clive slid from her back. The woman in white stood perhaps thirty feet away, near a broken fountain that had long since run dry.

  She reached up and lowered her hood.

  It was Jill… yet different.

  The features were right. Her eyes, the shape of her jaw, the way her mouth curved slightly downward when she was thinking. But her skin had a faint luminescence. Her amber hair had taken on a silver cast.

  "Jill," Clive said again.

  She looked down at the ground. When she spoke, her voice was quieter than before. Almost hesitant. "Clive... it's been a while."

  It's been a while. As if they'd simply lost touch, instead of a whole death separating them apart… How did she get here? The last time he saw her, she was crying by his tombstone. Did she… because of him… No. It couldn’t be. Why?

  "What—" Clive took a step forward. "Why are you... How are you —" Clive couldn’t bear to finish the question. He wasn’t sure if he could face the answer.

  She didn't look up. "It's complicated."

  "Then uncomplicate it." There was desperation in his voice. He forced himself to breathe. "Did you... when I died, did you—"

  “I’ve missed you, Clive.” She looked at him with those silver eyes and spoke as if his question didn't matter, as if the only thing that mattered was the space that had grown between them.

  "Jill, that's not—"

  A shadow fell across them both.

  "Clive, take cover!" Lucia's voice cut through from above. Clive's head snapped up. The alchemist dove toward them on her dragon, vials in hand. She hurled them in rapid succession—one, two, three—and they rained through the air.

  The glass shattered against the ground between Clive and Jill.

  Fire erupted, spreading across the moss-covered stones. The heat hit Clive's face in a wave. He stumbled backward, throwing up an arm to shield his eyes. Azura moved to put herself between him and the flames.

  The wall of fire cut Jill off from view. Through the dancing flames, Clive could see only her silhouette, backlit by moonlight and burning potion.

  "Clive, are you alright?" Lucia's dragon landed hard beside Azura. The alchemist slid from the saddle, already pulling out another vial. Her eyes were locked on the figure beyond the flames. "Did she hurt you?"

  "What? No—" Clive turned back toward the fire. "Lucia, stop, she's—"

  "Clive." Jill's voice carried through the flames, harsher than before.

  Her eyes began to glow. Pure and blinding. Her hair lifted from her shoulders, floating as if underwater.

  Around her, Lucia’s chemical flames twisted and turned, but it could not touch her. The moonlight around her remained pristine. She stared at the pair. "Who.Is.That.Woman?"

  Some reunions are not homecomings but collisions. When two people meet in the wreckage of who they used to be.

  —The legendary Moonlight Artist