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So Lorcan listened. He didn’t bother to
shout to Gavriel, now half up the ladder,
before he plunged into the fray.
He’d been bred for battle. Regardless of
what queen he served, whether she was Fae or
Valg or human, this was what he had been
trained to do. What some part of him sang to
do.
Lorcan plowed his own path toward the
advancing khagan lines, some Morath soldiers
fleeing in his wake. Some falling before he
reached them, his magic snapping their lives
away.
Soon now. They’d win the field soon, and
the song in his blood would quiet.
Part of him didn’t want it to end, even as
his body began to scream to rest.
Yet when the battle was done, what would
remain?
Nothing. Elide had made that clear enough.