Flames explode out from me in every direction. The Order team in charge of this area is gone. I don’t know if they were able to regroup with another squad or if everyone was taken down, but the thought that they might all be dead just adds fuel to my fire.
The rebels around me scramble back, and I let my flames die down. I want to kill them with my own hands.
I charge forward, halberd ready, but one of the rebels blocks my thunderous swing with his spear. I feel the shock reverberate through our weapons and push harder. At the same time, I bring my knee up in between our weapons and nail him in the stomach. He gasps and loosens his grip. My halberd finishes him off.
Two people run up behind me and swing, but I duck under their weapons. When I straighten, I bring my halberd down against one girl’s axe. The other whirls around behind me and pulls back her spear for a hit. I sidestep and the spear nearly takes out the other rebel, but she jumps out of the way with a shouted “Hey, careful!” at her friend.
“Sorry!” the other girl says as they regroup, weapons raised.
I tighten my grip on my halberd. I charge.
They raise their weapons in defense, but this time when I swing, flames wrap around my weapon. One of the girls shrieks as the flames crawl up her arms. The other tries to run, but my fire catches her before she can make it.
White-hot pain splits my back. I stagger forward and whip around to face the newcomer who struck me, but as I do, two other rebels close in on my sides. They want to go? Let’s go.
I release my flames again, murderous with rage, but the rebels don’t back down. When my fire reaches them, it doesn’t touch them at all. They must have neutralization power crystals.
Fine. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way. I heft my halberd up. My back cries out against the movement. The attack from earlier caused some damage, but I’ve been through worse and made it out before. This time won’t be any different.
The rebel on my left attacks first. He charges forward and swings his sword, but I easily block him with the shaft of my halberd. The other two race in to try to take advantage of my distraction, but I shove off from the rebel’s sword to duck under the other two’s weapons. One of them brings her bladed brass knuckles down and they graze my arm as I jerk back out of reach. The third rebel comes up behind me and I whip my halberd around. He blocks with his sword, and the other two rush at me from behind. Shit.
The air shifts beside me. Someone grabs my shoulder and then my stomach twists into a knot as all the air is sucked out from inside and around me. My vision blurs to black.
Then, just as fast as it happened, it stops, and the grip on my shoulder releases and I collapse to my knees, wheezing for air. What the fuck? Did I just die? Is that what death feels like?
But when my vision stops swimming, the pain in my back still registers. I look up and see the battle I’d just been in still raging on below. A sheer cliff face plunges down in front of me, not tall, but not short enough to easily scale.
I can’t take my eyes from the scene. The rebels, all in their black uniforms, are obviously winning. The Order is scattered, small teams standing together in the face of overwhelming numbers. This is how bad it is? This is what we’re fighting against? How did it get to this so quickly?
“Are you okay?” someone asks from behind me.
But it’s not just someone. I know that voice. I whip around despite the pain in my back and raise my halberd.
My brother stands in front of me. He lifts his hands in peace, dark brown eyes heavy and sad as he watches me.
“You,” I snarl. I swing my halberd around and catch him in the chest with the pole end of it. I hear the rush of air as he loses his breath. Then I’ve got on him his back, kneeling into his stomach to keep him from getting up, one of the blades of my halberd against his throat.
It takes every ounce of my willpower to not immediately kill him. The only thing that holds me back is my need for answers. “What did you do? What’s happening?”
“Good to see you again, too,” he croaks around his lost breath. He flicks one of his wrists out to indicate a bracelet. When I look closer, I see that it’s not just any bracelet—it’s strung with multi-colored power crystals. “One of our members,” he says slowly, “has a gift of teleportation. It’s very useful. We traded crystals.”
“You—you saved me?” I can’t believe it. “How did you even—?”
“Your flames are easy to recognize,” he says with a small smile. I can’t believe he’s smiling right now. I want to punch it off his damn face. “You lose your temper as quickly as always. I’ve been watching the fight from here, but when I saw your fire, I was worried, so…” He looks away.
Every muscle in my body is telling me to bring down my weapon. Attack. Kill. Now, finally.
But I don’t. All I can think about is Irina saying there’s no point in revenge. Even if I kill him right now, nothing will change. He’s an enemy—a rebel—and I need to kill him anyway. But there are things I want to know before that. “Why?”
He tilts his head. “Why?”
I don’t even know where to start. Years of pent-up rage and grief and betrayal I hadn’t even known I’d still been holding onto pour out as I shout at him. “Why did you kill our parents? Why didn’t you explain yourself that night—why did you run?” I bite back tears of fury. “Why did you save me just now?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and I almost swing my halberd at his head. The longer he takes, the more my friends are suffering down there in that lost battle.
“I didn’t kill them,” he finally says, quietly.
“What do you mean, you didn’t kill them?” I ask. “Their blood was on your hands! You ran.”
“A Nyte killed them—someone in Sector Eight’s military.” He looks straight at me. “I don’t know what he was after. I didn’t know what to do. He escaped, and by the time you came home and saw everything, I’d already decided. I’d go after him, find out why he did it, and then kill him.” His eyes are unwavering. It makes my stomach lurch. “But I panicked when I saw you. I ran away without saying anything, but by the time I realized how that looked and went back, you were already gone.” He smiles wryly. “In some ways, I thought it might be for the best. I didn’t want to get you involved in all this. I never imagined you’d join the military and come looking for me.”
“Yeah, that’s all a likely story,” I say, but my stomach is plummeting. Because as stupid as it is, I actually believe him. Stupid, stupid, stupidly looking into the same eyes of the older brother who always comforted me and told me he’d never let anything hurt me and believing this dumb crap.
But I know him—or at least, I know who he used to be. I could never imagine why the kind, gentle brother I’d always known had suddenly turned into a murderer. And I know his tics. Whenever he lied, his hands would fidget and he could never look someone in the eyes.
He’s not doing any of that now.
My heartbeat is so loud he has to be able to hear it. Could he actually be telling the truth? Or has he just gotten better at lying since then, gotten rid of his tics? I can’t believe myself right now. Why is this even a debate?