Iowyn
I hit the ancient oak with enough force to shatter ribs. Pain exploded through my chest as frost armor cracked, exposing flesh beneath. A thousand winters of battle, and still these creatures moved faster than I could track—void-made abominations that shouldn't exist in any realm.
Focus. Adapt. Survive.
Frost knit back across my torso as I staggered upright. Twenty feet away, Kalel was drowning in shadows, his black wolf form barely visible beneath the writhing mass of Hunt soldiers. The golden circle where Lysander worked had shattered, its protective barrier in ruins.
And at its center stood the Shadow Queen herself.
Seven thousand years walking between realms, and still the sight froze my blood. Her form shifted constantly—beautiful and terrible, crowned with anti-stars that
