I turn, sword ready. The strange figure before us is covered in blood. Arrows and a spear stick from her body in all directions. Heavy chains wrap around her limbs, making her stagger. She stiffly inches out of the doorway into the inner chamber.

Her fingers are raw and dark, like she clawed her way out of a pit. No sign of a weapon, but her clothes are too tattered and bloody to truly tell. She advances towards us despite her mortal wounds. The fact she’s moving at all means my sword will be useless against her, but the alternative—

Styre jumps in front of me. His fingers fly in sweeping motions. A gust of icy wind roars towards the woman with a flurry of frost. She is pushed back, a diagonal line that doesn’t fall.

“I need to get closer,” Styre says as he widens his stance.

He’s trying to stop her so he can see her thoughts. My chest tightens. He’ll never get close enough this way.

I grip the hilt of my sword and rush past him. “I’ll distract her, you get what you need.”

“Wait!” His voice echoes through the Vault. The woman turns her head in his direction. Her eyes are full of broken blood vessels that turn black at the edges.

“Great Mother,” I grumble.

She sways like a snake trying to walk upright. Her head bobs loosely on her neck. Her thin muscles strain against her restraints. The air is tinged with death and rot. Black lines are carved into her skin. The gashes are bruised and rage-red with words I cannot read but have seen before.

Styre rounds on the right, a foot behind me. His sheet has fallen away. I see the glint of a blade in his hand and wonder if he knows how to use it.

The woman’s head wobbles between us. Her blood soaked eyes thrash with madness or fever. I hope she isn’t infected. There is so much blood.

I yell to draw her focus towards me, buying Styre time to get into position.

She snaps her head in my direction. Chains rattle as she hops at me. I dodge and kick at her ankles. She swings towards me. Her jaw drops releasing a loud howl. A gust of wind rips through my hair, and forces me back an inch. Her voice turns from a low howl to a shriek that pierces deep into my ears. I draw my hands instinctively to guard my eardrums.

She dives like a striking snake. I jump out of the way, managing a blow to her back with my pommel. She thumps to the ground. With a grunt she rolls towards the moat. Her legs kick against her chains sending splatters of blood into the air and across the floor. Arrows dig deeper into her skin. Some break off. The spear sticks into a crack in the ground, stopping her from the water’s edge. A stomach turning rip echoes through the Vault as her body slinks further against the spear.

I dive to catch her. Styre reaches her first.

The woman howls. Blood and spit splatter across Styre’s face. He doesn’t flinch. His eyes are wide and focused on hers.

Another gust of air rips through the woman pushing me back. Styre draws a hand to block the blast while grabbing onto her with the other. I push against the invisible force. My steps are slow.

Too slow to reach him.

Styre grips the chain around her chest. Her voice is a constant wail. The wind grows stronger, pushing him back. His muscles struggle against the force. His legs constrict against her hips and keep him from flying away.

My eyes water from the gusts. My footing shifts. I press my toes into the cracks of the floor to gain purchase. I blink away tears. I lean into the wind, but my bulk is too broad. I am pushed back another foot.

Howls turn to gags and gurgles. The wind falls away. My vision clears.

The woman’s mouth foams with spit and blood. Her eyes bulge. Styre grips her between his thighs. His fingers lace through her wild brown hair forcing her gaze to his. His dagger is useless in his hand. He tugs her hair, pulling her head further back forcing her to stare at him.

My ears ring. My head pounds. I slowly make my way back to Styre. The distance is greater than I realized. My sword is at the ready. I step carefully, silently, so as not to attract her attention. Styre needs to keep her eyes focused on his.

“Arí’s Breath,” he curses as he draws his head closer to hers. Her bloodied hand rises. The chains have loosened from her arm. Blood weeps from the lines of words carved into her skin. A tiny dagger glistens under the crimson stains of her ripped fingertips.

My sword is useless at this distance.

She draws the blade an inch higher. Her movement stiff. The blade trembles in her tight grip.

Styre! My heart howls.

She lowers the dagger towards his back.

I sheath my sword and pull my flute to my lips. Music fills the Vault.

The woman’s hand stops, gripped by an unseen force. Styre struggles to keep her eyes on his. Her head jerks towards the sound of my playing. Styre lowers his face so close to hers it’s like they’re kissing. The dagger remains frozen in her trembling grasp. Hovering above him inches away from his skin.

I cannot lose him!

I play harder. Faster. A song taught to me by the forgotten Dryads in the Great Forest.

The dagger clatters to the ground. Her reddened fingers tense like dead spider legs. Her hand falls. Her body stills.

Styre turns to me. His eyes grow wide as he sees my secret.

My magic.