"Come on, then!"
The roar tore loose from Orion's chest. Heart locked to will, will to spirit, spirit to the blood in his veins—this was the strength he'd banked from his last turn inward, every hard-won hour of looking deep into himself.
It began in the heart and ended at the point of the trident. A single thrust, plain as that, driven straight down and in, a dragon breaking from the deep to strike. Nothing more than a thrust—and behind it lay every year he'd ever spent.
"This is—"
Something monstrous gathered across the three prongs. For one instant the heavens turned over: rivers of stars ran backward, time folded, space crushed inward.
The shadow hadn't so much as moved, and already Commander and Kaidric—neither of whom had lifted a finger—felt the weight of it.
Bending every force to his own hand. Light flickered through Commander's eyes and was gone. The boy worked that out alone? There was a trace of his own blade in that strike. Not pure enough yet. But it was there.
