The world was fire and thunder.
Yara coughed, her lungs burning as dust choked the air. Around her, shadows moved in the thick smoke—panicked smugglers, freed creatures, the outline of the storm wyvern thrashing against its chains.
Somewhere in the distance, men screamed. Metal screeched. The scent of burning wood and singed fur filled her nose.
Her fingertips tingled from the mana where the enchanted shackles had snapped apart, but she ignored it.
Survival came first.
A firm grip yanked her upright. Val's golden eyes burned through the haze, scanning her for injuries.
His touch was rough, a little too tight, but she could feel the tension behind it—the protective instincts he never voiced.
"I'm fine," she snapped, jerking away.
Val exhaled sharply, relief flickering across his face before he turned to Rian.
