Nethira pushed herself up from the ground. Her arms shook under her own weight, and her head felt strangely hollow, as if part of her thoughts were still trapped in the visions that had flooded her mind. The aftershock of the ancient ritual still rang inside her skull. It was like walking out of a loud room and suddenly realizing that the silence around her was still moving.

  She took a few breaths before she trusted her voice. When she finally spoke, the words came out rough but determined. “I know what they did to stop him before,” she said. “I saw the whole ritual. I saw who stood against him.”

  Everyone in the warband turned toward her. Even Nezzarod, who had been standing very still at the center of the broken temple, tilted his head slightly. He looked curious, as if her weakness interested him.

  Nethira wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Dryads and dragons worked together,” she said. “They used a kind of magic that belonged to both of them. It was alive and bright. They made a cage that wrapped around him. It was not meant to kill him. I do not think he can be killed by anything we carry, but it held him.”

  Maruzan studied her face. He trusted Nethira more than most people, but he needed to understand. His voice was steady. “If that ritual trapped him once, can we do the same thing again.”

  “We can try,” Nethira said. She looked around the ruins the way someone might look at a room they had lived in long ago but only half remembered. “We will have to rebuild the binding using what is still here. And we have to work together. Winnum and I cannot do it alone.”

  Winnum looked uneasy. His hands were already trembling from the effort he had used to wake Azandra. Still, he nodded. He would not refuse her.

  Across the courtyard, Nezzarod let out a quiet laugh. It was a thin sound, almost dry. “You speak of ancient powers as if you carry them in your blood,” he said. “The dragons are gone. The old dryads who held me have long since returned to the earth. And the magic you have is a shadow next to theirs.”

  Nethira straightened her back. “Maybe it is,” she said. “But we still have enough to try.”

  Before Nezzarod could respond, Maruzan raised his voice. “Positions,” he ordered. His tone left no room for doubt. The entire warband moved quickly.

  Ennett signaled to Xonya. Xonya did not need any more explanation. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, pressed its head into the small fire that Farrin had lit earlier, and watched the cloth catch flame. Then she aimed at Nezzarod and released.

  The arrow flashed through the air. Nezzarod moved just enough for it to skim past him, but he had to shift his weight. That single movement was the opening they needed.

  Maruzan stepped between Nethira, Winnum, and the sorcerer as they knelt beside Azandra. His sword was ready. He could feel the pressure of Nezzarod’s power pushing against him like a heavy storm wind, but he forced his legs to stay steady.

  Ennett rushed forward from the other side. Her blade met the black staff with a loud ring. Sparks flew. She pressed in as hard as she could, using her strength to force him back a few steps over loose stones.

  Bram came in from the right with his hammer raised high. His feet pounded the ground. He aimed for Nezzarod’s side, but Nezzarod slipped away just in time. The hammer cracked the stone where the sorcerer had been standing.

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  Dust rained down from the pillars overhead. The entire ruin trembled. Xonya fired again, this time with a normal arrow. It deflected off a shield of shadow, but it forced Nezzarod to turn his attention for a breath.

  That breath was all Winnum and Nethira needed.

  They placed their hands on the stone beneath Azandra’s floating body and began to chant. Nethira spoke the dryad words she had seen in the vision. Winnum spoke the holy phrases he had learned long ago. Together their voices blended.

  Inside Maruzan’s mind, a quiet thought rose. If this fails, we may not survive the next few moments.

  The air around Winnum and Nethira started to glow. At first it was faint, like heat rising from a fire pit, but soon threads of green and gold twisted into long spirals. They wove together, forming a shape that hummed with energy.

  Nezzarod turned his head sharply. His voice was sharp. “You think you can repeat their work. You do not understand the forces you are touching.”

  He raised his hand toward them. A blast of dark energy shot out. It struck both Nethira and Winnum and sent them to their knees. The glow around them wavered.

  “Stay focused,” Maruzan shouted. He parried another attack and forced his body to move even though the pressure from Nezzarod’s power made his arms feel twice as heavy.

  Nethira pressed a hand to her temple. Pain blurred her vision, but she still forced the next words of the ritual out. Winnum followed her. Their voices grew louder even as their strength waned.

  The glow burst outward. It formed a half-circle around Nezzarod, rising from the ground like a net pulled into the air. Green light and gold light clung to each other, growing stronger.

  Nezzarod snarled. He swung his staff toward it, sending black fire at the growing shape. The fire struck the lattice but spread around it as if the spell refused to accept it.

  “You dare bind me again,” Nezzarod roared.

  The lattice tightened. The glow wrapped around him. His body flickered like a candle flame in wind.

  The spell completed.

  For a moment everything went still. Even the broken beams and loose stones seemed to hold their breath.

  Then Nezzarod was pulled backward. His form became a smear of dark color. The world folded around him as if he was being torn out of it. His voice echoed through the ruins, stretched and angry.

  “This is not the end.”

  Then he disappeared.

  The blue light around Azandra broke at once. Her body dropped. Maruzan lunged and caught her shoulders before she hit the stone floor. She was pale and cold, but her chest rose and fell.

  “She is breathing,” Maruzan said. “Barely.”

  Winnum crawled to her side, every movement slow. Nethira followed him, dragging herself with what felt like the last bit of strength she had left. They placed their hands on Azandra’s chest and forehead. Their joined magic glowed again, gentler this time. A warm wave traveled from their palms into her body.

  Azandra gasped. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked confused, frightened, then exhausted.

  Winnum and Nethira fell sideways at the same time. They were unconscious before they reached the ground.

  For a long time no one moved. The battle had drained everyone. The ruins felt uneasy, like they were listening for the sorcerer's return.

  Xonya lowered her bow slowly. Her voice was quiet. “He will come back. You all saw that. He did not sound defeated.”

  Maruzan looked at the empty space where Nezzarod had vanished. “No,” he said softly. “He is not finished. He chose not to use his full power on us. Perhaps he needs us still. He knows Velthur has the relic.”

  Bram tightened his grip on his hammer. “Then our time is short.”

  The warband stood in the broken temple, surrounded by silence. They had survived. They had saved the girl. They had pushed back a threat that had waited centuries to walk the world again.

  But no one felt triumph.

  They all felt the same thing.

  They had won a moment, not the war.

  And somewhere in the shadows between worlds, Nezzarod was already planning what would come next.