The northern ridge of the sanctuary looked like a warzone.

  Scorched trees, shattered stones, trails of smoke where the sky used to be calm. Magic still clung to the air like static.

  Umbwe landed with a thud, kicking up dust as his paws sank into scorched earth. His mane was streaked with ash. His eyes locked onto the figure pinned between cracked boulders near a broken cliff edge.

  The Owl.

  She didn’t move at first, just breathed slow. Her feathers were singed, one wing bent bad, but she was alive.

  Umbwe growled under his breath and moved fast. He shoved the rubble aside with a grunt and helped her up, nudging her gently until she found her footing.

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  “You’re lucky I found you,” he said, voice firm. “You shouldn’t have been fighting alone.”

  The Owl said nothing, but her gaze cut sharp and direct. Her presence always did the talking.

  “They’re not just hunting,” he continued. “They’re clearing the whole sanctuary. Cubs. Elders. Doesn’t matter.”

  He looked toward the treetops — where the smoke met stars.

  “Thessia’s still out there. Fighting. But she can’t hold them all. And I need someone I trust.”

  He locked eyes with the Owl.

  “Find Rell.”

  The Owl blinked once.

  “Follow his mana. Track him down. Get him back here. He’s the only one that can shift this.”

  Another pause.

  “Don’t ask questions. Just go.”

  The Owl unfurled her broken wing slowly, testing it. She winced, then folded it tight. The other flared wide.

  She took off without a sound — gliding lower through the trees where the canopy was thinner.

  Gone.

  Umbwe turned and sprinted toward the east — where more crashes echoed in the distance.