The sky split open.

The impact came seconds later. A sickening crunch of branches and earth, somewhere deeper in the trees. Birds erupted from the canopy in a panic, scattering into the darkening sky.

They moved through the underbrush, boots crunching on fallen twigs and moss. The smell grew stronger—iron and ozone, and something else. Something golden. Sweet. Like incense left too long in a church.

She was crumpled against a moss-covered log, wings bent at unnatural angles, feathers scattered like fallen snow around her. Her skin was streaked with blood—golden, glittering, catching the last rays of dying sunlight. Her hair fanned out around her like a halo, tangled with leaves and dirt. And her eyes—her eyes were open, staring at them with a fear so raw it cut through the silence like a blade.

He didn't think. He just moved. The three men behind him remained frozen, shock rendering them statuesque.

She flinched. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but he saw it.

Beyond him, the sound of shouting grew closer. His men. The enemy.

The forest held its breath. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed. And on the ground, broken and bleeding and everything you never thought you'd become, you looked at the stranger's hand—and made your choice.