“Retreat! Retreat!” Wes yelled, throwing up a shield around them as they ran away. Nat stood stock-still as the flames grew taller and wilder around her. The white fire was stronger now—hotter, but she felt no warmth. Instead, a current of electricity ran through her body; she was alive, awake, energetic. Without Wes to hold it back, the ball of flame was now a hurricane of fire, a tower that stretched up and out over the bloody fields and into the drone-filled sky. It leapt up into the clouds, turning them to mist. It billowed still higher, shedding a light as pure as starlight, illuminating the field of battle. A wondrous, fearsome sight. The light shone upon the faces of the soldiers, making their pale faces turn a shade whiter. They looked like ghosts, their mouths gaping, eyes staring in wonder. Protect them from me, she had told Wes as the hurricane became an even greater storm, a tempest beyond imagining. She watched as the survivors hurried to Wes’s side, as he stood in the middle of the crowd, eyes closed, focusing on his magic.
