The wind stung Auri's face, heavy with the rising dome of sand. The battlefield below twisted in chaos. Auri hovered above it all, his breath caught between his ribs.
Lysira was nearly gone now—just a streak of motion whipping into the canyon with Timofey cradled against her.
She was slipping away. Again.
Auri's knuckles tightened around the brush's stem. There was no time to waste. He gazed down at Wrye, who met his eyes and gave him a confident grin.
"Go!" Wrye roared, voice hoarse but unwavering. "I've got this!"
His heart clenched. But he trusted Wrye.
Auri nodded and moved. The brush surged forward beneath him, trailing light as he angled for the narrow sliver of sky still open at the top of the rising sand dome.
Every heartbeat was a countdown.
Every gust of wind a prayer.
The light narrowed. But he was almost there.
