Page 76 of When the Moon Met the Sun

With my ability to see well in the dark, I could already see clouds forming a storm overhead—definitely courtesy of the weather wielders my father brought.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who could see well in the dark—all of the North could.

I tried not to focus on the falling bodies on the ground below as I plucked an arrow from the quiver slung across my back. I stuck to the edge of the group of Northern archers, so it would be easier to slip away when the time came.

Using the opportunity that came with aiming at a target—which I always seemed to miss—I studied the battlefield below and around me, full of wielders, griffins, and Titan Wolves alike.

The winged males near me whooped and cheered every time they hit their target, and I couldn’t stop the dread that pooled in my stomach each time. Did they hit anybody I knew?

I fired, continuing to intentionally miss, and readied another arrow as I continued to scan both the ground and air for specific movement.

I had fired six arrows, each one missing their mark, when I finally spotted what I’d been looking for.

The Northern army messenger, weaving between soldiers.

In the South, we simply used the corvids—the birds already flying about the field—but the North didn’t have that option. They still used somebody—likely not a wielder, or at least a lower class one—to scatter back and forth across the battlefield, bringing official messages between the captains, general, and king, so they could all stay aware of what was going on.

I readied another arrow to maintain my facade, this time aiming for the messenger.

I waited until he got closer to the edge of the woods, his eyes flickering around the battlefield, likely searching for one of the army captains, when I loosened the arrow.

And it flew clean through his left wing.

I dove towards the earth before he could even fall, appearing like any other aerial soldier, landing to finish off his prey.

I landed next to the wounded messenger, who was groaning in pain and pressing a hand to the wound. Not so gently, due to our size difference, I did my best to drag him behind a nearby tree.

“This is going to sting,” I said, picking up a rock the size of my hand, then swinging it to the side of his head. I silently thanked Quinn for showing me exactly which spot to hit back at Echen Bay.

He was unconscious before he could even register what was happening, and then I was stripping him of his outer garments that signified him to the North as their messenger. Fortunately, the North was accustomed to wearing layers, so I didn’t have to leave the male in only his undergarments.

It was an outfit of steel blue, silver, and black accents, with a symbol of three circles overlapping—signifying the three groups of males they serve on the battlefield—over the wearer’s heart. I made sure to snag his cloak to hide my hair, which had the same messenger symbol largely sprawled across the back.

With my new disguise, I ducked out from the forest and began making my way through the fray of soldiers, taking to the skies.

Nobody from the North paid me any mind, and the South was outnumbered, so they had more important things to worry about than the small figure breezing by just above them.

My wings carried me to about halfway through the battlefield without incident, staying closer to the edges so as not to get too caught up in the fighting. The night air reeked of iron from all the blood being spilled, and screams of the wounded rattled around in my skull.

Fortunately for the South, the dark sky was beginning to turn gray and brighter with every passing moment. Though, I could tell the downpour was going to start soon as thunder roared and lightning began to light up the clouds, occasionally striking the battlefield—and likely our soldiers.

I spotted Atlas and Lychen ahead of me, towering over their opponents and jumping into the air with snapping jaws, bringing down winged bodies with them.

Despite the time I’d lose walking instead of flying, I decided to land, so as to not become the wolves’ next meal in my disguise.

Making sure my hood stayed in place, I began my trek through the teeming bodies once again.

That was when I heard it.

The footsteps of somebody charging.

And it sounded like they were heading straight for me.

Whirling around, I realized I noticed his presence too late. The Southern male with an angry face was barreling straight towards me. He obviously didn’t seem to recognize his own queen, and he was now a meager six feet away with his sword raised, ready to slice me in half, when a streak of ginger flashed across my vision, intercepting the angry male.

Their swords clashed and slid, bouncing off of each other’s, when Quinn yelled at him, “You idiot!”

The anger on his face shifted into confusion, but he didn’t say anything to contradict his general.

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