As they stepped outside, the cool night air greeted them. Astaroth stood by the carriage, speaking quietly with Von, the coachee. The two black-coated Percheron horses busied themselves with a grassy patch on the ground, their tails swishing back and forth in rhythmic contentment.

Azazel moved ahead, opening the carriage door and helping Azalie inside. She settled on the plush bench seat, her gaze drifting to the small window. Watching Astaroth step aside to pull out his Calling Stone, her mind wandered, but a persistent unease remained.

“Zalie?” Azazel’s voice brought her back to the moment. He was settling beside her, raking his hands through his hair and straightening his suit jacket before adjusting the fur coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. As always, his appearance was immaculate. It was amazing how he always kept his coat from falling away from his shoulders. Even when he was reclined in the lounge, it had stayed in place.

“Hmm?” She turned from the window to face him. A questioning look in her furrowed brow.

“I asked if you still wanted to go to Café Luna.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. If I’m going to be doing nothing, I might as well do nothing somewhere nice.”

Azazel laughed softly, though it quickly morphed into a polite clearing of his throat as Astaroth climbed into the carriage. His presence brought an immediate weight to the atmosphere, though Azalie couldn’t place why.

“Astaroth, is everything alright?” she asked, trying to sound casual as she glanced at him from her seat.

He pocketed his Calling Stone, giving a short nod. “Nothing to worry over.”

Azalie’s lips pressed into a thin line. That just makes me worry more, she thought. His vague reassurance only deepened her unease.

With a light rap of his knuckles on the carriage window, Astaroth signaled Von to move. The reins cracked, and the carriage lurched forward, the horses’ hooves clopping rhythmically against the cobblestones.

Azalie returned her gaze to the passing scenery, trying to distract herself from everything that’s happened so far. The streets were nearly empty, gas lamps casting their orange glow in uneven patterns against the inky black sky. From the moon’s position, she figured it was around three in the morning. She could see the faintest outlines of stars through the clouds, and started recalling the names of the constellations she saw. She had always loved mapping them out in her mind, a quick and easy distraction from darker thoughts.

But something flickered in her peripheral vision, a movement that disrupted the quaint night sky. She squinted, her eyes sharp but unable to fully make out the object.

“Azazel,” she whispered, tapping his arm gently.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, turning away from his own window scenery.

“What is that?” She pointed out the window, her eyes narrowing at the fluttering object in the sky, hovering high and far, just barely discernible against the faint light of the moon.

Azazel leaned forward, squinting as well. 

Astaroth, opening his eyes, turned his gaze to the window, his purple eyes sharpening with interest.

“Looks like… a kite?” Azazel guessed, shrugging.

Azalie frowned, doubtful. “Who flies a kite at this hour?”

Astaroth, silent until now, raised his brow ever so slightly. “A kite, indeed,” he said. “Most impressive, Master Azazel.”

Azazel beamed from the praise, about to offer his thanks, when something heavy collided with the carriage, and they were thrown violently to the side as two of the wheels lifted off the ground.

Azalie let out a startled gasp, her hands instinctively gripping the edge of the seat as the carriage lurched violently, tipping sideways. 

Azazel instantly grabbed her, pulling her against him as Astaroth wrapped his arms around both of them.

The carriage wobbled precariously as it tilted, then with a thunderous crash, the carriage slammed into the ground. 

Her head throbbed painfully, her vision blurred as stars danced in front of her eyes, and the panicked, high-pitched neighing of the horses rang in her ears.

Azazel groaned beneath her. His arms slackened as he tried to move, but Azalie could only manage to lift her head. She felt Astaroth coughing at her side, his form a shadowy blur in the chaos. He grunted as he braced himself on the bench seats, levering his body upward. With a swift kick, he slammed his boot into the metal carriage door above them. It was bent inward but gave way easily under his strength.

Astaroth pulled himself up through the opening.

Azalie quickly scrambled to right herself. “Wait!” she cried. Without thinking, she lunged at him, tackling him down into the carriage as she summoned her power. The ground beneath them chilled instantly as she erected a thick ice wall around the ruined carriage.

The sound that followed was deafening—like cannon fire crashing against stone. The impact shook the earth, rattling her bones as the force reverberated through the air. The world spun as Azalie’s ears rang violently, the sound overwhelming her senses. She sagged against Astaroth, her limbs weak, as all the strength and energy suddenly drained from her body. 

“Azalie!” Astaroth’s face hovered above her, blurry and distant as he patted her cheek, shaking her gently. She blinked, willing her mind to function through the chaos. Her ears still buzzed, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath her. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her head.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the world fell eerily quiet.

Azazel scrambled to his feet, grabbing Azalie and hauling her up with him. He jumped up through the door hole, leaning back down with an outstretched hand. “Zalie, come on!” His voice cut through the lingering quiet. She reached up, weakly taking his hand, and he lifted her with a swift pull.

Azalie staggered, her body feeling heavy as she braced herself against the broken carriage. Her ice wall loomed around them, cracked and splintered, with large iron cannonballs embedded in the thick surface. Her ragged breathing filled her ears, grounding her as her vision cleared.

Azazel and Astaroth were by the horses now, trying to free them. She stumbled closer, regretting not having drank more.

“What the hell is going on?” she shouted, her voice raw. Her mind raced, unable to comprehend the chaos that had erupted around them. “Are those cannonballs?”

Azazel’s wide-eyed panic mirrored her own. Even Astaroth, usually expressionless, looked shaken.

“Azalie, we need to get out of here,” Azazel urged as he freed one of the horses from its tangled reins.

“Oh, do you really think so?” she snapped, packing as much sarcasm into the question as was humanly possible.

“Azalie, now is not the time for your human dramatics,” Azazel hissed back.

“WE WERE JUST ATTACKED BY CANNONS!”

“We don’t know if it was really meant for us,” Astaroth said quickly.

Azalie gestured toward the ice wall, her hand trembling with exhaustion. “I’d believe that if there weren’t ten cannonballs lodged in my ice wall!” 

“Whether or not we were the target, we can’t stay here!” Astaroth barked, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. “Azalie, take down your ice wall so we—GET DOWN!”

Before she could react, Astaroth lunged toward her, pulling her away from the carriage just as another barrage of cannon fire crashed down from above. The sound rang like thunder, and a large piece of debris struck him in the shoulder. The force knocking them off balance. Azalie stumbled, her limbs numb and unresponsive from the exertion. She collided with Azazel, sending them crashing to the ground. He quickly rolled on top of her.

“AZA—” Astaroth’s shout barely reached her ears as Azalie forced herself to summon what little strength she had left to create another ice wall, extending a protective dome over the first barrier. The ground flash froze beneath her as she drew the energy from every available source, the sheer force of the creation shaking her core. 

The cannonballs pounded against the dome, drowning out every other sound—the cries of the horses and Azazel’s desperate words. 

She gasped, each breath a shallow rasp, feeling her heart race erratically against the overwhelming exhaustion coursing through her veins. Azalie’s head pounded with the effort to remain conscious as darkness crept into the edges of her vision. Don’t pass out. She couldn’t. If she did, the ice wall would disappear, and they’d be defenseless. 

As the cannon fire finally ceased, silence returned, broken only by the frantic thudding of her heart and the ragged sound of her breathing.

“Zalie! Zalie!” Azazel’s voice cut through the haze. She blinked, her vision swimming as she turned her head toward him. His expression was etched with the same horrified look that haunted her dreams. 

“Zel…” her voice cracked. 

He nodded sharply, understanding her silent plea. Scooping her into his arms, he raced over the ice slickened ground toward the panicked horses.

Azazel practically threw her onto the back of the tall black Percheron, jumping up behind her in one swift motion. His arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her upright. Astaroth mounted the other horse, cradling his injured arm. He shouted something, but Azalie couldn’t make sense of the words.

“Azalie,” Azazel’s voice was urgent, pressing against her foggy thoughts. “You have to take down your ice wall. We can’t get through it.”

Her vision wavered. Taking down something she’s created required the same amount of energy as creating it—energy she no longer had. She gave the water in the air a physical form. If she passed out, the wall would just start melting and crumbling on its own, but they didn’t have time for that.

Crumble to dust. She thought fiercely at her ice creation. It was so hard to focus, her strength barely there.

Crumble to dust. Crumble to dust. Crumble to dust!

Pain shot through her as the ice wall began to tremble, then exploded outward into a flurry of a billion snowflakes.

The horses lurched forwards without a moment’s hesitation, their hooves pounding against the cobblestone streets of Rome. The night air rushed past them, the noise of their escape fading into the background as Azalie’s world dimmed. Humans emerging from their homes, awakened by the commotion, but a woman’s shocked gasp at the sight of the wild racing horses was the last thing Azalie saw before she blacked out.