A silence fell across the room and Quenti tightened her hand around the handle of her club. She felt separate from her body as she watched the small army of mages shift, turning to face the new arrivals, weapons in hand.

Cruz and Khuna stood on either side of Quenti, and she let out a breath as she swept her hair back from her face. That she was there at all was… strange. She had never been one to jump headfirst into a physical altercation, and yet this is what she had practically begged the network to do. To join them in the struggle against the Council.

What in Sol’s name was she thinking?

At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to grab Khuna’s hand to turn and run.

But there was nowhere for them to run. Unless they succeeded, there was no escaping the Haven.

And then, not with a clear cry or a single surge, but with a disorganized shuffling, the two lines moved forward, converging into a clashing of wood and metal. And Quenti was back in her body, all too aware of the spear being thrust forward toward her stomach.

It was Khuna who blocked the blow with her own club before cracking the middle-aged man across the knees. His cry of pain was lost in the hall's noise, but Quenti felt the crunch of his bones in her chest.

“Move back behind me!” Khuna yelled over the noise, pushing her body in front of Quenti’s. Before Quenti even had time to register Khuna’s words, the bruya was already moving again.

Parrying a blow from another spear, Khuna ducked under the mage’s arm, grabbing them by the shoulder and twisting until they fell. A second later, she had thrust the fallen mage’s spear into the thigh of another approaching mage before he could even raise his own weapon.

Quenti watched it all, club forgotten in her hand. Khuna moved like water around the fighters, ducking blows and twisting around mages, sending them sprawling before they could even turn. She was so mesmerized by the other girl’s movements, she didn’t see the dagger. Neither did Khuna. Quenti saw the blood afterward though, bright against the dark skin of the bruya.

She didn’t think. She only moved.

Her club cracked down onto the mage’s head and then his knee. He stumbled back, but raised his arms and she felt the crack of air around her, ears popping uncomfortably as he pushed her back. She dropped her club and raised her own hands, feeling the cool rush of her powers connect with the blessed water than ran around the worship hall in troughs.

The water hit the gray-haired mage hard in the chest. Before he could react, Quenti had twisted the water around his face. She held it there, watching his eyes go wide and his hands scrambling to move the water from his mouth and nose. But his hands only passed through the water, uselessly. Her powers rushed through her like a waterfall and she let them pour out of her. Every ounce of anger and fear she had been holding in these past weeks flooded from her. Her eyes never left the man’s own.

It was Khuna’s warm hand on her shoulder that finally brought her back to herself. The water fell to the ground along with the mage, heavy and forgotten.

Quenti turned to see the bruya leaning heavily on one leg, but standing. She expected a reprimand for going too far, but Khuna was smiling.

“That was amazing. A little scary, but amazing.” She nodded toward the center of the room. It was thick with fighting mages and rebels. “Now, perhaps you can use that aggression to get us to Alara?”

Quenti didn’t respond. She tugged at her powers and pulled back the water that had spread along the floor. The water whipped around Khuna and her, circling them.

Khuna grabbed the dagger that had stabbed her in her right hand, her club still in her left.

Quenti and Khuna moved together through the hall, jumping to the aid of their allies as they passed—presuming they could actually tell the difference between mage ally and mage enemy. For the most part, the scene was hard to distinguish to the untrained eye, which described the pair well enough.

Though when they could tell friend from foe, Quenti would send a ball of water around the enemy mage’s head while Khuna would break their knees with her club.

Fire, water, and air swirled around the hall in a confusing jumble, and the ground beneath them rumbled precariously.

Quenti truly couldn’t tell who was winning, though she knew the odds were not in their favor. Even with the network on their side, they were outnumbered two to one. And more enemies were on the way.

“If we can’t win fast, we won’t win at all,” Quenti said, stepping over the body of a young magite who couldn’t have been older than twelve. A piece of Quenti died inside for the young soul. She couldn’t even tell what side of the conflict he’d been on.

“Which is why we have to remember,” Khuna said, “that escape is our only way to win.”

The pair looked to where Alara and the others were fighting against the center pillar. They were only a few yards away.

A sharp cry caught Quenti’s attention. She turned around searching for a minute before she saw Ander—the young rebel who had first slipped her a note about escaping the Haven. He was crouching on the ground, hands up, barely holding back the flames that threatened to engulf him. She could see the smoldering sleeve of his yellow tunic from where his powers had slipped.

She looked between Ander and Alara for only a second.

“Go help Alara!” Quenti said to her partner. “I’ll be there soon.”

Khuna opened her mouth to argue, but Quenti sent a sharp wave of water pushing her away as she turned her attention to Ander.

She didn’t watch Khuna leave, only taking hold of the water again and throwing it with all her strength straight at the stream of flames. The air hissed as water turned to steam. It did little, but it weakened the flames enough for Ander to give a final push. The inferno veered off to the side and the young boy stood, pale and shaking.

Quenti stepped up beside him and faced the tall councilguard, who stood, glaring at the young magite.

“Picking fights with children?” Quenti said. “Is that what the Council trains you for?” She narrowed her eyes and tried to pull as much water from the air as she could. But the air was dry from the fire and she barely had enough to pull together a small globe.

“We’re trained to exterminate the threat of bruyas,” the dark-eyed man sneered, “no matter how small and insignificant.”

“Well, then. Let’s see how that works out for you.” Quenti shifted the grip on her club and lunged, channeling every piece of Khuna’s own grace she could muster. The councilguard moved with a trained ease as he knocked the club off course with his spear. Quenti stepped to the side and swung again. And again. Each time, her blow was blocked, but she kept moving, forcing the councilguard to swing and spin after her.

She had hoped to exhaust him, but it didn’t take her long to realize what a foolish wish it was. His breathing barely hitched as they continued, but Quenti’s club got heavier with each swing.

She tried to pull at the threads of her magia, but the air barely stirred with water, still dried out from his own powers. She let out a gasp of frustration as the liquid she pulled out dropped from her grasp.

“I thought this would be an actual fight,” the councilguard said, “but the kid seems better trained than you.”

That’s because he is.

The guard twisted his hand and thrust a jet of fire at her. Her sleeve smoldered as she gathered just enough water in the air to put it out. He was teasing her now. He could easily beat her with his powers. And he knew she knew it. His eyes flashed with malicious glee as she struggled.

“You may not be small, but you’re still insignificant.” The councilguard taunted her as they moved, his eyes dancing.

“I can still beat you with my club,” Quenti said, lunging clumsily toward him, knowing full well she couldn’t.

They moved again, twisting around each other. Every other sound in the room had turned to a dull buzz as Quenti focused on only him. He was almost laughing now, stepping around her with a relaxed ease, spear held loosely in his hand as he blocked each swing.

“Why are you pretending to be something you’re not?” She thrust forward, feeling the wood of her club just brush against his leg. He laughed. “Dressed like a mage, but you’re nothing.”

“This coming from a filthy bruya?”

Quenti stopped moving, breath heavy.

“That’s right. I am a bruya. And an aguen. And you?” A smile stretched across Quenti’s face. “You’re screwed.”

With that, Quenti pulled the water that had been gathering behind him as they sparred through the hall. The air had cooled as the councilguard had stopped using his magia, too busy taunting and dancing around Quenti.

Her arms may have been heavy, but it was enough. The water surged forward and wrapped around his face, just enough to cover his mouth and nose as his eyes went wide in surprise.

The councilguard tried to light the flint at his wrists, but to no avail. Quenti had splashed his sleeves earlier on in their struggle. It didn’t take long for the man to panic, though each time he tried to move his head outside of the water bubble, Quenti moved the bubble to match.

She walked past him as he fell to his knees, not bothering to watch him take his last breath.

He was insignificant. But she needed to get to Alara.