Two hours: part 2

​We fell back behind a cluster of boulders, Toma half-conscious between us, Sana still inert, though her breathing was thankfully steady.

​“Plan,” Rafe said, his voice trembling but determined. “We need a plan.”

​“Survive,” I replied. “That’s the only plan left.”

​Ilya nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on his quiver—he only had four arrows left.

​The dragon searched for us, weaving its massive bulk between the rocks, sniffing the air. It wasn’t fast—not like an agile predator—but it was inexorable. Every step made the ground shake beneath our feet.

​I tightened my grip on my blade, that same cold, inert metal that still refused to respond.

​Come on. Wake up. Like in the room with Joe.

​But the rage that had surged through me that day wasn’t there. Just cold, clarifying fear, and the weight of three comrades relying on me.

​It’s not rage I need this time.

​I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, searching for that warmth buried somewhere deep inside, just as Vann had taught us. Not in my muscles. Deeper.

​I refuse to let them die here.

​It wasn’t anger. It was something else—a dull, stubborn determination, so intense it was almost painful.

​The warmth came.

​Faint at first. Barely a spark, like an ember being blown on in the dark. Then it grew, spreading into my arms, my legs, my chest. The blade in my hand quivered, and a faint blue glow began to trace along the metal.

​It’s working.

​“Rashford!” Rafe stared at me, eyes wide. “Your blade...”

​“I know.”

​I stood up, feeling my muscles swell with newfound strength—not unlimited, not overwhelming like Joe’s, but real. My legs felt lighter. My arms, sturdier. The world didn’t slow down like it had for Joe in Caster’s story. Nothing so spectacular. Just... a body that responded better, faster, stronger.

​This is all I know how to do. Reinforce my body. Nothing else.

​It had to be enough. It needed to be enough.

​The dragon pinpointed us the moment I stepped out from behind the boulders.

​“Ilya, aim for the eyes! Rafe, stay with Toma and Sana!”

​I didn’t know where that sudden authority in my voice came from. Maybe from fear. Maybe from that warmth still coursing under my skin. Rafe nodded without argument and positioned himself defensively in front of our two unconscious comrades.

​I charged toward the dragon, and for the first time, my legs responded with a speed I didn’t know I possessed.

​It wasn’t an elaborate strategy. My style had never been—in the Ruins, I had learned to fight with raw physical effort, not finesse. Strike, take a hit, repeat. It was brutal, direct, graceless.

​I dived beneath a massive paw coming down on me, rolled across the stony ground, and struck the beast’s flank with all my reinforced strength.

​The blade sank deeper than Toma’s had. The dragon roared—in pain this time, a higher-pitched sound than the paralyzing roar from before. Almost simultaneously, an arrow from Ilya embedded itself near its left eye, making it take a heavy step back.

​But the wound was already closing.

​Of course it’s closing.

​I couldn’t kill it. I knew it now with chilling certainty. None of us could, not with what we had, not in the time we had left.

​So we don’t kill it. We survive.

​The dragon charged again. I threw myself aside, rolled, forced myself back up, and absorbed a tail swipe that sent me sprawling despite the reinforcement—pain exploded in my ribs, sharp, but manageable. I got back to my feet once more.

​“RASHFORD!” Rafe was shouting something, but the blood was pounding too loudly in my ears to make out the exact words.

​I ran. I dodged. I struck whenever I could, just enough to divert its attention, never enough to cause real harm. Ilya shot his final arrows, sparse and precise, always targeting the most sensitive spots to buy a few extra seconds of breathing room.

​Time blurred, stretched out by adrenaline and pain. Every minute felt like an eternity of dodging, striking, and gasping for air.

​At one point, Toma regained enough consciousness to crawl toward Sana and drag her behind a sturdier rock, his hand pressed tightly against his broken ribs. I caught it out of the corner of my eye, and it gave me just enough strength to take the next hit without collapsing.

​They’re alive. That’s all that matters.

​When the signal went off—a piercing alarm that tore through the air, followed by a mechanical voice announcing time was up—I collapsed to my knees on the rock, the blade slipping from my grip.

​The dragon froze instantly, as if shut down by an invisible switch.

​I stayed there, panting, my body covered in superficial cuts and bruises that were already starting to throb as the heat of mental energy ebbed away, leaving me hollow, trembling, and exhausted to the bone.

​Rafe ran over, helping me to my feet.

​“We survived,” he said, his voice raspy from exhaustion and something bordering on disbelief. “We actually survived.”

​Toma, leaning against the rock with a hand still pressed to his ribs, let out a pained laugh.

​“We didn’t kill anything.”

​“We’re alive,” I replied. “That counts.”

​Sana, having woken up only minutes prior, stared at the motionless dragon with dazed eyes.

​“It... it’s not moving anymore?”

​“It’s over,” Ilya said, sheathing his empty bow. “For us, at least.”

​I looked down at my hands—still trembling slightly, still marked by the residual heat that had flowed through them. It wasn’t much. Simple bodily reinforcement, nothing more. No blade of pure energy like Joe’s. No control over time.

​But it was mine. The first spark that had truly answered my call.

​This is just the beginning.

​The helicopter appeared in the distance, a dark silhouette against a sky still gray with ash, coming to retrieve us.

​We hadn’t slain any dragon.

​But all five of us were still standing.