The pride began to reform, warriors shaking off the shock like water from slicked scales. Shouts of encouragement and bravado surged across the ranks.

  Alpha Pawail’s voice boomed the loudest, laced with triumph. "Strike back, you wretched phantoms! This war will end today, and we will show you the meaning of fear!"

  The air split with a hundred shrieking roars as the Phantom Carnotaurs descended, skeletal limbs sprinting on air, claws scraping invisible ground. They came in dozens to each Liorex, an endless tide of fractured bone and ghost fire.

  By sheer numbers alone, they should have crushed the pride. And Idalia's heart stammered to the truth. How could even the Fangborn stand against so many?

  Then the pride moved as one.

  The Liorex were no scattered prey. At Alpha Pawail's signal, the Fangborns stamped into formation.

  Horned heads lowered in unison, tails leveled, claws dug trenches in the soil. They did not scatter or panic. They became the Hornborn Wall, an ancient formation perfected over countless hunts. Every Liorex was a scale in a greater body, roaring in rhythm, stamping as one unity.

  The Phantoms struck like a storm. But the wall held.

  Spatial Roars instantly detonated in bursts that rippled reality itself, scattering skeletal forms as though they were leaves caught in a gale. Horns gored through ribs, claws split fractured bone.

  Where a Phantom leapt overhead, a Liorex was already there, rearing to meet it, slamming it from the air with a roar that bent space.

  Idalia blinked, gasping at the sight. The pride was outnumbered. But not outmatched. Their collective roar rolled like a volcanic eruption, drowning out the phantoms' death-cries.

  But for every one Liorex, ten blinks of Carnotaurs fell. Still, the undead pressed on. Their roars rattled the sky, feeding on fear, lunging at any gap in the phalanx. One managed to break through.

  Idalia squealed and stumbled as one lunged toward her, its skeletal maw gaping, green light dripping like venom.

  She froze.

  But before the phantom could close, a blur thundered into it.

  A horn impaled through its ribcage, claws shredded its skull, and a single roar blasted the fragments into dust.

  "Mama!"

  Mama stood above her.

  "On your paws, Idalia!" she barked. "This is no place for freezing."

  Idalia scrambled up, her heart pounding in awe and embarrassment. Mama turned her gaze toward the phantom tide. Idalia looked away and noticed Pyra and Pyrokit were retreating with their own mother.

  She dashed after them when a Carnotaur suddenly appeared beside her, emerging from the ground like a ghost from a grave.

  "Idalia? Idalia! Idalia, where are you?!" Mama called out. She dashed forward, smashing through several Carnotaurs with her shoulder, and then swung her head in a frantic search.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  But Idalia kept quiet.

  Breathing hard after such a close encounter with fright, she stayed put, hidden. Her ears rang as she crouched behind the ferns, struggling to track the chaos.

  The Carnotaurs were terrifying, but it was her kin who shook the battlefield. Their discipline was brilliant itself. Then one towering figure broke from the line.

  Not a Fangborn. Younger, sleeker. But stronger than any Idalia had ever seen.

  Hirohowl.

  His mane bristled like fire along his spine, his roar cracked the air like splitting stone. With reckless might, he burst from the ranks, scattering Phantoms before him like they were brittle shells.

  His horn cleaved one in half, his claws tore through another, his tail lashed a third into splinters of mana and ash. Dozens collapsed where he charged.

  "Hirohowl!" voices bellowed behind him, Fangborns snapping orders. But he didn't turn back.

  His eyes locked on Rassith the Hollow.

  The Phantom leader loomed at the cliff's edge, larger, blacker, its skull twisted with horns like broken crescents. Its hollow gaze burned with purple flame; its skeletal jaw clicking in unnatural rhythm.

  Idalia's breath hitched. She saw the fire in Hirohowl's stride. He wasn't simply fighting Phantoms. He was charging straight for their king.

  It was a risk no youngling should dare. A challenge reserved for an Alpha!

  Her paws moved before her thoughts. She sprang from cover, weaving between the Fangborns' legs, her heart hammering louder than the battle.

  She slid beneath the jaws of a snapping Carnotaur, and then she vanished within her portal.

  "Hiro!" she shouted as she launched through the air, though her voice was lost in the dissonance.

  She landed and chased him anyway. If he was leaping into death, she would not let him leap alone. She trailed behind Hirohowl, who thundered across the battlefield, leaving crushed phantoms in his wake.

  Warriors continued to shout his name in a half-roar, half-warning, but he paid them no heed. His nasal horn gleamed like a crescent of silver fire as he charged toward the cliff.

  And there Rassith the Hollow waited.

  The Phantom lord's skeletal frame dwarfed the others, ribs gaping like a cage for some unseen beast. Its movements were calm, certain with doom, like a predator that knew it need not rush.

  The moment Hirohowl reached the cliff, Idalia halted. She then dashed away to hide between the cracks of a boulder to watch.

  When Hirohowl lunged, claws flashing, Rassith did not retreat. Instead, the Hollow Lord's maw unhinged wider than flesh could ever allow, and its roar lashed out like a gale. The sound struck Hirohowl like a wall of stone, shoving him backward across the blackened ground. Hirohowl snarled, shaking it off.

  He charged again, his horns blazing, and he rammed his full weight into Rassith's chest.

  The impact cracked bone, purple light splintered from the Hollow Lord's ribcage. The exclamations of warriors behind the lines roared in triumph.

  But Rassith only tilted its head. Unperturbed.

  With a motion too fast for its skeletal bulk, it brought a forelimb down and hooked its talons into Hirohowl's flank. The young warrior's roar turned to a howl of bloodcurdling pain as Rassith lifted him, swung him like a ragdoll, and slammed him against the basalt ridge.

  The battlefield stilled.

  Idalia's heart stopped. She watched Hirohowl struggle, his mane bloodied, his body pinned beneath the weight of the Hollow Lord's foot.

  Rassith's skull lowered, empty sockets burning with various hues. Its jaws opened to finish him.

  "No!" Idalia shrieked. She didn't think. She didn't even breathe. Instinct took hold, the raw force in her chest tearing free.

  She scampered out from her hiding spot. Her maw split, light warped, and she unleashed her first [Portal Breath].

  Space itself bent. The beam lanced into Rassith's side, ripping a spiral of distortion through its skeletal frame. It didn't harm. But disoriented, just enough. Purple fire flared, its roar scattering across the volcanic cliffs like a thousand broken echoes.

  The Hollow Lord looked at Idalia, momentarily enraged.

  That was all Hirohowl needed.

  With a snarl, he tore free, scooping Idalia up in his jaws by the scruff before she could even stand.

  "Wha—Hirohowl! Put me down!" she cried, thrashing in protest.

  But the young warrior didn't answer. His eyes were hard, his breath ragged, his body trembling with the weight of wounds and fury. He did not roar again. He fled.

  And with one last surge of strength, Hirohowl ripped a portal open before them, the air distorting into a spiral. He dove through, Idalia clutched tight.

  The world spun.