Using the precious few seconds it takes the dragon to spit out its flames, Hector pumps magic into his legs once more, and he makes for the top of the pillar closest to him.

The floor drops away. He feels his stomach lurch as he realises just how high his target is. Where he had been standing only moments ago burns like a furnace.

Hector hooks an arm around a stone gargoyle's outstretched claw and steadies himself by gripping its horns tight with his free hand. There's not much room, but as long as he's careful, he won't fall.

The Blackscale seems to understand that its prey has escaped as the fire finally dies down. Its head whips side to side, and upon finding no Hector, it raises its long neck to appraise the room from a higher angle. There!

Magic blasts from Hector's hand as the Blackscale's tender weakness is exposed once more. The magic streaks towards its target—a comet of blue light. Hector smiles to himself. He may lack Alex's close-combat strength and technique, but he knows he's as sharp as any sniper.

As the light comes just within piercing distance, the Blackscale clamps a paw over its neck and sends the magic skittering off its scales. Useless sparks. The Blackscale turns its gigantic head in Hector's direction—

And laughs.

Or at least, Hector thinks it does. The rumbling sounds reverberate around the room, shaking Hector's heart. A chill shoots through his veins, wondering for the first time if he's just being played with.

The Blackscale ducks its head again and rams the pillar with its horns, its spring-loaded neck driving it forward.

Almost instantly, the pillar begins to crumble. Hector swears, lunging for the pillar to his right, the space in between so frighteningly open, leaving him vulnerable in mid-air.

He latches onto the leg of that pillar's inhabiting gargoyle and pulls himself up with a frustrated grunt. The trajectory of his throw had been perfect: was it his speed?

Shaking the debris from its horns, the dragon turns to Hector's new perch with a puff of smoke. It doesn't even wait to see Hector’s reaction; it simply rams its head into the pillar once more, turning it to rubble.

Hector is already moving, leaping for the next pillar and landing securely behind its gargoyle. He gasps, feeling the statue’s sharp spine scratch at the side of his armour with a grating sound. If it had pierced through the metal, he would have lost valuable magic repairing the wound. 

He looks around, sweating hard. Only five pillars left, including his. Five chances to get a proper shot from above. Otherwise, he's going to have to risk it all again from the ground.

What he needs is something that'll get him past the Blackscale's defences before they're even put up. But like the beach, there's nothing else in the room that can help him. Think, Hector, think.

He sends out another blast of magic, mostly out of desperation. This time the Blackscale bats it away with infuriating ease. Still too slow, still too obvious. The dragon runs at his pillar, and Hector jumps.

Four left.

'Too slow?' Hector whispers. 'Me?'

It comes to him then—the answer.

What did those dusty tomes and bruising training sessions amount to? This? It's a bitter thought, but Hector pushes past it. What else did he have in his arsenal that wasn't Alex's brute force or Eliav's stalwart defence?

Speed.

His speed.

Throwing harder was only part of the solution. His magic, in an abstract sense, is knife-sharp and lightweight. That's why it tears space so well. It’s also why he can never hope to deal damage or defend against the world like his brothers.

But none of that matters. His magic isn't what's standing in his way—nor is it the Blackscale.

It's me, Hector thinks. It's me, and I have to get it together.

One hit, after all, is all he needs.