The giant swung.
Stone fist met black armor.
Golden fire exploded.
The creature disappeared.
For one terrible second, hope returned to the square.
Then the northern tower shattered.
Something enormous climbed over the wall.
A second giant.
Almost the same size as the Guardian.
But corrupted.
Its stone body had turned charcoal black.
Jagged horns rose from its skull.
Cracks across its chest burned red.
Black flame poured from its shoulders like smoke.
The golden Guardian made a sound Elias felt in his bones.
Not anger.
Grief.
“My brother,” it said inside him.
The horned creature looked across the city.
Past soldiers.
Past nobles.
Past the king.
Its burning eyes found Elias.
It smiled.
“At last.”
The voice rolled through every street.
The creature pointed.
“The lost prince has returned.”
Silence.
Even the battle seemed to pause.
Elias could not breathe.
King Aldric stared from the balcony.
Prince Corvin turned toward his father.
The queen whispered, “What did it say?”
Aldric’s face had become something Elias had never seen on a king.
Afraid.
The golden Guardian stepped between Elias and the horned giant.
Its voice came again.
Run.
Elias looked around.
“Where?”
The Guardian swung one arm.
Golden light erupted across the pavement, blasting a path through the Forgotten soldiers without touching the living.
East.
Elias understood.
He ran.
Behind him, the horned giant roared.
“Do not let him leave the city!”
The dead moved.
So did the living.
Aldric turned toward his captain.
“Take the boy!”
Master Oren stared.
“Your Majesty?”
“Now!”
The old scholar’s eyes narrowed.
“Alive?”
The king did not answer quickly enough.
Oren understood.
So did Chancellor Malrec.
The captain shouted orders.
Royal Guards rushed down the stairs.
Elias sprinted through alleys he had known all his life.
This was his advantage.
Kings knew halls.
Orphans knew exits.
He cut behind a butcher’s shop.
Jumped a low wall.
Crawled beneath a broken cart.
Three skeleton soldiers passed the alley mouth.
Elias held his breath.
A hand grabbed his coat.
He spun.
A young girl stared at him.
Mira.
Twelve years old.
Red hair cut roughly at her shoulders.
Another street child.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“A mountain bowed to you.”
“I noticed.”
She looked toward the smoke.
“Everyone’s looking for you.”
“I noticed that too.”
Mira pulled him through a cellar door.
Inside, three more children huddled among barrels.
One whispered, “Are you really a prince?”
Elias glared.
“I don’t know.”
Mira shut the door.
“Then find out later.”
Heavy footsteps passed outside.
Royal Guards.
A voice shouted.
“Search every building!”
Mira looked at Elias.
“The king wants you.”
“That should be good.”
“No.”