The noise was still echoing in Nzambi's ears when survival instinct spoke louder than any order. He turned in the same second the smoke from his own musket was still rising, his eyes wide, searching for the only direction that mattered: the breach. Up ahead, in the midst of the yellow dust and artificial mist, Pedro's silhouette was disappearing. The path west.

  Run. Just run, hammered in his brain, a primitive mantra that drowned out the noise of the battle.

  He was the last in the Regulars' line to move. The others had already turned their backs and started running toward the escape, discharging their weapons in a final act of covering fire before fleeing. Nzambi shoved the man in front of him, a young boy who seemed frozen, and launched himself out of the collapsing dome.

  The world outside was a nightmare of contradictory sensations. The air, once stifled, was now sharp and dust-charged, making him cough instantly. The grey dawn light, filtered through clouds of dirt, created long, treacherous shadows. And the cold... an unnatural cold emanated from the path ahead.

  He understood why. As he ran, bumping into low branches and stumbling over roots, he saw the edges of the path being outlined by ice. Pedro and the gloved boy were shaping the escape route, raising low, irregular walls of bluish ice that served both to mark the path and to hinder pursuers. The ground under his feet was slippery and cold, even through the worn soles of his boots.

  To his right, a violent orange flash lit up the haze, followed by a deep, guttural BOOM that made the very ground tremble. Léo, the fire adept, was fulfilling his part. He wasn't throwing improvised jars, but grenades. Rough iron balls, the size of a large orange, which he held with a mix of care and familiarity. The Republic, with Carlos's "otherworldly" knowledge, had managed to forge these terrible weapons: iron casings stuffed with smokeless powder and a shrapnel core. The trick was in the activation. Léo, with his command over fire, would activate the fire gems contained in the grenades and throw them over the ice barrier. The result was a controlled, precise, and devastating explosion.

  They didn't explode with a simple burst, but with a brutal decompression that launched iron fragments in a deadly radius. The muffled sound of the explosion was followed by the sharp whistle of shrapnel cutting the air and the dry thud of them hitting wood, earth, and occasionally, flesh. One grenade detonated near a cluster of bandeirantes trying to flank the group; the screams that followed were no longer of order, but of pure agony. Another exploded high, above the mist, and its rain of metal forced the attackers to duck and seek cover, breaking their organized advance. The smell in the air now changed, adding the metallic, acrid odor of hot iron and burnt flesh to the already dense cocktail of gunpowder, earth, and fear.

  Nzambi ran, his heart beating like a drum of panic against his ribs. He passed like a shadow by the earth adept women. The five women, now pale, trembling ghosts covered in grime, performed their final act. With exhausted gestures that seemed to cost immense pain, they destabilized the last pillars of what had been their dome. Not with the previous force, but with a controlled collapse. Sections of earth collapsed behind them, partially blocking the path and raising another curtain of dust, cutting the line of sight from immediate pursuers and adding more chaos to the bandeirantes' déjà vu.

  It's working, thought Nzambi, a fragile spark of hope warming his icy chest. We're going to make it. I just need—

  The pain was sudden, deep, and animal. A weight clamped onto his left leg, followed by a crushing pressure that made his bones groan and a wet heat that flooded his pants. A hoarse, triumphant bark echoed in his ear.

  He looked down. One of the hunting dogs, a lean, muscular animal with a muzzle stained with blood, had slipped through the mist and sunk its teeth into the muscle of his calf. The pain was sharp, acute, and brought with it a wave of nausea.

  "AHHH! SHIT!"

  The cry was involuntary, laden with more terror than pain. His hand shot toward the dagger at his waist, his fingers seeking the familiar hilt. Everything was reduced to that blade, to that single hope of power.

  But before his fingers could touch it, something hissed in the air beside him.

  Thwack!

  A fist-sized rock, thrown with surprising force and precision, hit the dog's muzzle with a dry smack. The animal let out a sharp yelp of pain and surprise, releasing Nzambi's leg and backing away, shaking its head.

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  Nzambi, panting, turned. Tainá was a few steps away, still standing, but looking like glass about to break. Her staff was lowered, some earth still clinging to the tip.

  "Thank—" he started to say, the word sticking in his dry throat.

  The movement to his left was a blur. A second dog, larger this time, leaped from the mist directly at his face. Yellow teeth gleamed in the faint light.

  Nzambi froze. Fear held him in place, paralyzing his muscles. He could only see that open mouth coming at him.

  Thwack!

  Another rock, this time from a different angle, hit the dog in the flank mid-leap, deflecting its course. The animal brushed past Nzambi's shoulder and fell rolling on the icy ground.

  Tainá's voice cut through the air, rough and breathless, but relentless:

  "Just run, you idiot!"

  She herself then turned and began to run, her steps heavy and unsteady but determined, in the direction of the ice path.

  The command, the action, broke the spell of panic. Nzambi swallowed the blood and fear, ignored the throbbing pain in his leg that now left a warm, wet trail behind him, and ran after her. The others were already far ahead, small silhouettes disappearing into the mist between the ice walls that glowed eerily.

  They had barely taken twenty steps when the plan fell apart.

  The ice barrier to their right didn't crack—it exploded. Sharp shards of ice flew like glass shards, hissing through the air. From the steaming hole, a man leaped out.

  He was tall, wearing a worn leather jerkin and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat faded by the sun. But what drew attention were his hands. Or rather, his gloves. They were made of black leather and shimmered with a pattern of stitched copper wires, and on the back of each, embedded like malevolent eyes, pulsating orange gems. From them, small tongues of fire danced and crackled, fueled not by wood, but by will.

  "Hehehe!" the man's laugh was a dry cackle. "Old Albuquerque is paying per head, and handsomely! Looks like I'll make a killing here today!"

  His eyes, small and bright, landed first on Tainá, then on Nzambi, assessing, pricing.

  Tainá, even with a face pale as wax and arms trembling, reacted. It was pure instinct. She stopped, planted her foot on the ground with all the strength she had left, and, spinning her body, swung her staff at the ground.

  THOOM.

  A head-sized stone tore free from the ground and shot in a straight line toward the pyromancer's chest.

  But it never reached him.

  Mid-flight, a strong, sudden wind smelling of dust and dew blew sideways. It wasn't natural. It was precise, cutting. The stone veered off course as if hit by a bat, passing inches from the fire man and shattering against a tree behind him.

  A second man descended smoothly from the top of the still-intact ice barrier. He wore high boots and a worn vest, and around his neck, hanging from a leather cord, glowed a gem of a clear, translucent blue. The wind gem. His shoes, Nzambi noticed, had strangely thick soles and similar patterns.

  "Everything alright there, Firebug?" the aeromancer asked, his voice surprisingly soft, almost amused. "Almost became one with the earth."

  The pyromancer spat on the ground, where the saliva evaporated with a small tss.

  "Deal with the earth witch, Zé Vento. The reward for her alive must be different." His eyes roamed over Tainá's exhausted body with a greed that made Nzambi's stomach turn.

  The so-called Zé Vento followed his gaze and a slow, unpleasant smile spread across his face.

  "A warrior woman... and a strong one." He took a step forward, and the wind seemed to carry him, smoothing his movements. "Looks like we don't need to kill her right away. We can... negotiate a little before handing her over. If you know what I mean."

  Tainá tried to raise her staff for another attack, but the movement was shaky and slow. Her arms faltered. There was no more strength, no more connection. Her energy well, the "mana" as some called it, was dry, scraped to the bottom by the superhuman effort of maintaining the dome. Instead of an attack, she staggered. The staff, heavy as a mountain, slipped from her strengthless fingers. She fell to her knees on the cold ground, panting, using her own hands on the ground to avoid collapsing completely. She was conscious, but defeated. Her gaze, once of iron, was now only of profound weariness and a fear she could no longer hide.

  The pyromancer laughed, a horrible sound. Zé Vento advanced, his hand reaching out to grab Tainá's hair.

  Run, whispered a cowardly voice inside Nzambi. She's done for. You can't do anything. Run! It's your chance! The pain in his leg throbbed in unison with this thought. He looked at the escape path. It was so close. The mist Celina had created still hid the final stretch.

  But then he looked at Tainá. At the woman who had thrown rocks to save him from dogs, twice. Who was there because she had held a shield for all of them. Who now knelt, defenseless, with that look of fear.

  Something inside him snapped.

  It wasn't courage. It was a dull anger against himself, against his own history of looking down, of accepting, of surviving at any cost. A moral nausea as strong as the physical one.

  Live... but abandon the one who saved me? The thought came clear and cold. No. Enough. I've been a coward my whole life. An obedient slave, then a soldier not because I wanted to, but because it was the option given to me. But if I'm going to die in this stinking forest... at least I don't want to die as the coward who abandoned his allies. At least that choice will be mine.