A/N: Lucky chapter 13, here we go! Thanks as always for your awesome comments, they mean so much to me :)

Tap.

Tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—

Adora's fingers drummed out a rapid, nervous rhythm against the smooth crystal slab, eyes glued to the overhead screen showing distorted images of the battle taking place just outside the castle walls. The battle that would determine the lives of her friends.

The battle she couldn't join.

The speed of the tapping increased.

On the screen, Catra's blurry form finally came into view, leaping onto the back of the massive beast—and then was almost immediately thrown, skidding to a stop near Glimmer and Bow. It took a moment before she rose to her feet, but she did.

Adora realized she'd stopped tapping her finger. And breathing. She resumed both.

The constant dodging, near-misses, just-in-time teleports… the tension was going to kill her. She tried taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, but they flew back open instantaneously. She couldn't affect the outcome—weak, weak, something cried within her—but she needed to know.

The tapping sound drummed into her head. Shadow Weaver had hated it, she remembered distantly. Adora used to bounce her leg in cadet classes, too full of nerves and energy to ever sit entirely still. Not even realizing she was doing it until ordered to cease. It was so hard. She couldn't think anymore, couldn't concentrate without the calming motion. Her scores fell. So did her good standing with Shadow Weaver.

It took a long time in Bright Moon for her to learn that discipline didn't always mean pain.

The finger-tapping was a good compromise, she found. One hand holding her writing stylus, one hand tapping out a constant rhythm on her leg. The desk hid the motion, and the muffled sound was soft enough not to be noticed.

Not here. Here, each tap echoed against crystal walls, mocking her uselessness.

Tap-tap-tap-tap—

Her gaze refocused on the screen. Catra and Glimmer hadn't been visible for some time now, hidden in the depths of the trees that framed the clearing. Fighting each other, probably, instead of the beast. If she could just be there to explain—

She slammed a fist onto the cool crystal. Pain shot through her hand, reverberating through fragile ribs and intensifying the stabbing ache of the hole in her side. She inhaled, wincing. That wasn't a great idea. But she hadn't had a lot of those lately.

Ever, maybe.

"Light Hope?"

The hologram flickered into existence with a vaguely perturbed expression.

"Yes, Adora."

There were more important things to worry about right now than Light Hope's annoyance. "Can you see where Catra and Glimmer are?"

Simulated eyes narrowed at her. "In case I was unclear, the repair of the sword is a delicate process that requires careful monitoring—"

"Please."

A mechanical-sounding sigh. "Very well." Instead of turning to look at the screen behind her, Light Hope's eyes became distant for a moment before returning their focus to Adora.

"I cannot. They are beyond the visual sensing range of the castle's security system."

Adora deflated, sagging against the wall. The motion hurt. Everything hurt, actually, all the time—she was getting numb to it.

Her slouched position sent a fresh stab of pain through her side, and she flinched.

Well. Almost.

Bow was the only one left on the screen, managing to keep the beast distracted with a confusing combination of exploding arrows and ones that left behind a quick-hardening green goop. Somehow, he was holding his own, but…

Her fingers started tapping again.

"How long until the sword is repaired?"

"Until I was called here," Adora winced guiltily at the force of the words, "I was overseeing the repair of the transformational circuitry. The overall process is nearing 87% completion."

Adora perked up. "That's good, right? It's close! I could probably use it—"

"You cannot."

"Why not? I'm feeling better!"

It wasn't a total lie. She could barely stay conscious when they'd first arrived in the castle, but the raging burn of infection had receded to a slow simmer, and the pain of the wound itself had become much more bearable. Agonizing, certainly, but not all-consuming. She could work with that.

"No," Light Hope repeated with an air of finality. "Your healing powers have been aided by the castle and the partial restoration of the runestone, but neither you nor the sword are yet fit for battle."

"Oh, and I suppose Catra was?" Adora said, bitterly.

Light Hope tilted her head. "She is not She-Ra."

Cold anger settled in Adora's stomach. "She is my friend."

"She-Ra is—" Light Hope began, then abruptly cut off, image flickering.

Well, that was different.

"Light Hope?" she asked, cautiously. "Is something wrong?"

When her gaze returned to Adora, it was stern. "Adora. I have accepted the presence of the Horde in this castle at your request. I have even permitted you to physically disable the castle's safety measures, but I must insist that your friend immediately returns the sword to its station. The repair process is not yet complete, and the runestone is still unstable."

Adora blinked. Friend? She glanced back up to the screen—there were three forms on it again, spotted with the golden glint of Bow's arrows; pink bursts of Glimmer's magic; and lithe, agile movements from a third form that could only be Catra.

"Friend?" she repeated aloud, brow creased in confusion.

"Yes. Her insignia indicates that she is also from the Horde."

Realization struck Adora. Panic rose in her chest, constricting her throat with cool fingers.

"Light Hope." She could feel heat draining from her face. "Does… does this person have green skin and tentacles? An eyepatch?"

"Yes."

"She is not a friend! Turn the security measures back on!"

Adora pulled herself to the edge of the crystal slab as she spoke, feet on the ground, trying to let the adrenaline coursing through her body fade her pains to a distant ache.

"That will be difficult to accomplish without the control crystal," Light Hope replied, a flat irritation coloring her synthesized voice. "Several key systems must be rerouted. It is a time-consuming process."

Adora squeezed her eyes shut. She could kick herself. In the heat of the moment, neither of them remembered the control crystal Catra had tucked in her pocket as a sign of Adora's trust.

The rules of the Horde had followed her, it seemed. Try to do something nice, and it'll get you killed.

Or maybe if she just wasn't an idiot—

No, no time for that.

"Figure something out," Adora said to Light Hope. A clanging sound caught her attention, and she whipped her gaze toward the entryway of the small room, listening intently.

Heavy footfalls.

A faint ringing, scraping sound, like someone drawing the point of a blade over smooth stone. Louder. Closer.

"Figure something out fast," Adora whispered. Light Hope disappeared.

A shadow darkened the doorway.

"Hello, traitor."

This was bad.

This was very, very bad.

Octavia simply stood in the doorway, wearing an unsettling smile as Adora pushed herself up onto shaking legs. A short gasp of pain escaped her and Octavia's smile twitched wider, one blue-green hand tightening on the hilt of the sword.

Her sword.

Anger joined the adrenaline flowing through Adora's veins, and she managed to straighten somewhat. One hand remained curled protectively over her abdomen.

"Well?" Adora challenged. "What are you waiting for?"

"Oh, don't rush me," Octavia replied, running a talon along the edge of the sword's blade. It rang softly in the silence. "I'm savoring the moment. Do you know how long I've been chasing you pathetic children?"

"I have an inkling," Adora said, dryly.

"Always so clever, little Force Captain. Must be how you kept your special sword away from me." She cut herself off with a theatrical gasp, raising the weapon between them. "Oh, wait! You didn't." She smiled again, jagged teeth on display.

Lingering heat flashed through Adora's body along with a fresh stab from her side, and she barely managed to stifle a gasp. Her mind raced. Should she try to fight? Even she knew that was a pretty terrible idea right now. Escape? Adora glanced past Octavia's hulking body, toward the main room just visible beyond the archway. The exit there led into the clearing where the battle was taking place, but… she liked her odds in an open space, with the support of her friends, a lot better than being trapped alone in a tiny room with a vengeful Force Captain wielding her own sword.

Escape, then. Except Octavia blocked the only exit.

Time to draw her in.

"Give it a rest, Octavia," Adora said in as uncaring a tone as she could muster. She took a halting step forward. "I'm surprised Hordak ever trusted you with his beasts. Seriously, what kind of Force Captain loses an eye to a six year old?"

Octavia snarled in rage, crossing the distance between them in an instant and fisting a hand in Adora's shirt before she could even stumble backward. Okay, well, shit. A little TOO close.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you bleed," Octavia hissed. "And then I'm going to do the same to her. After I cut her eyes out with your precious sword."

Adora struggled weakly backward, but Octavia's hand held her firmly in place. The tip of the blade lifted slowly toward her stomach. Bad bad bad—

Then something caught her eye: A soft red glow from the crystal floor, directly beneath Octavia's feet. The glow intensified, growing rapidly brighter and brighter until Octavia finally glanced down—

—and the floor dropped away.

Adora wrenched herself backward just as Octavia fell, an enraged scream splitting the air as her talons ripped through Adora's shirt. She dimly registered the screech of those talons gouging into the floor as Octavia barely caught herself on the edge of the newly created pit, followed by the metallic clang of the sword bouncing near the edge.

It teetered and fell before she could reach it.

No time. The castle would catch it, if Octavia didn't.

Adora sprinted—well, lunged into a rapid, pained shuffle—past Octavia's enraged cries and into the short hallway beyond. By the time she entered the main room, there was silence save for the sounds of her own movements and harsh breathing. It should have been reassuring.

She moved faster.

Daylight spilled through the ruined door to the outside, cracked and crumbled into a gaping tear in the smooth walls. She could just see the motion of the battle outside. If she could get there—

Something curled around her ankle and yanked, and the floor dropped out from under her.

She landed hard on her stomach, muscle memory slapping her forearms to the ground in a belated attempt to absorb some of the impact. It wasn't enough. Her forehead cracked off the smooth, hard surface just as a searing pain lanced through her abdomen at the awkward impact. Flashes of light sparked in the sudden darkness, slowly fading to a dim haze as she blinked the crystal floor into focus. A piercing ache thudded in her head, but the floor… the floor was pleasantly cool. Warmth once again flowed from her side; trickled down across her face from a fresh cut above one eye.

Brain damage, Catra's teasing voice echoed through her aching head.

Great.

Adora took a wheezing breath.

Get up.

She pulled her arms closer and pushed up to her hands and knees, vision fading out and in again as nausea curled in her stomach. She breathed as deep as the pain in her ribs would allow and willed herself not to vomit. There wasn't time for this.

Footsteps echoed in the empty hall, and she managed to lift her head enough to see Octavia's approaching boots.

Maybe she'd throw up on them. That'd be pretty funny.

The boots stopped a short distance away, and a familiar golden rope hit the floor. Tripped by her own sword, then. Of course Octavia had stolen it while the transformation ability was being repaired.

"Nice trick. I can see why you like this little toy," Octavia said, a sick satisfaction coloring her voice. "Think I'll hang onto it."

There was a golden flash of light, and Adora looked up to see Octavia's expression twisting into confusion and anger as she stared at the sudden appearance of a bejeweled gravy boat in her hand.

A snort of pained laughter escaped Adora. "Yeah, have fun with that."

Octavia lowered the dish, staring with that unsettling smile. "Oh, I wouldn't get cocky, princess. I could kill you with my bare hands any day."

"Now who's getting cocky?" Adora thought, dimly.

"Today, though…" Octavia continued, giving her an appraising glance. "I could probably do it with one thumb."

Well, that might be accurate. Her shirt was dampening again, sticking to her side. She couldn't do this alone. Not today.

"Light Hope," she whispered. "Now would be a really good time."

The flooring beneath Octavia began to glow red again, but Octavia slid to the side before the floor dropped away.

"The same trick twice? Sloppy. I'd expect more from Shadow Weaver's prodigy."

The words may still have cut on a different day, but now… they just slid away. There were more important things to worry about. Like not dying.

Adora glanced upward. A few steps away, Octavia shook the misbehaving sword angrily and then bashed it against a crystal pillar. A golden flash of light, and it shifted into a frying pan. She growled in frustration.

"Adora." Light Hope's voice filled her mind. "I will do what can to help you, but my abilities are limited. I hope these will be of service."

The cool flooring beneath Adora's hands began to warm, suddenly, taking on a soft glow. The glow shifted before her eyes, extending into two long, thin shapes before fading.

In its wake, Adora's hands rested on the hilts of twin crystal knives. The blades were curved and sharp, just shorter than the length of her forearm. A slight smile tugged her lips upward. Not bad, Light Hope.

Her fingers curled around the hilts and she pushed upright, forcing down her nausea and rising unsteadily to her feet. She spun one of the knives into a reverse grip, blade following the length of her forearm, edge outward.

Remember, cadets, the voice of their old sergeant rang in her mind. A knife can defend as well as attack. A good soldier knows how to make full use of every weapon.

A good soldier. That's what she was raised to be. A good soldier never gave up, even when the room spun around them and they could feel their heartbeat thudding in their skull. Even when their blood seeped into a stain on their shirt; trickled down their face and into their eyes.

The howl of a beast echoed into the crystal chamber, evidence of the battle happening just outside.

Even—no, especially—when their comrades were still fighting.

Adora met Octavia's gaze and smiled, hoping her wavering stance wasn't as noticeable as it felt. Sweat made the smooth grips of the knives slick in her grasp, and she tightened her hold.

She could work with this.

She had to.

That might have been an optimistic assessment.

Know your enemy. Know yourself. Find their weakness, and exploit it with your strength.

Tactical assessment, Adora's fuzzy mind supplied. Opponent has advantage in height and weight. Superficial injuries, no apparent impediment to movement. Strong, but slow.

Octavia lunged forward and Adora sidestepped, barely managing not to fall into a gaping hope in the floor. Light Hope had opened more of them. She wasn't sure it was helping.

Additional assessment: Cranky.

She fought the urge to laugh. Giddiness probably wasn't a good sign.

Now for my strengths, Adora thought.

Well.

There didn't seem to be a lot of those right now. Physical strength? "Running on fumes" seemed like a generous description. Speed? Difficult to manage with a hole in your side. Magical sword? Currently in the hands of her enemy, being used against her.

If she could just get it, though, everything would change.

The sword, now in the form of a large golden candlestick, swung toward Adora's head and she barely managed to duck out of the way, swiping toward Octavia's arm with one knife as she slid a step closer to the exit. Maybe if she was lucky, Octavia wouldn't realize she was slowly driving Adora toward the opening.

Of course—Adora slid to the side again, watching her sword taking on the form of some sort of farming sickle in Octavia's grasp—she had to stay alive to get there. That would be a task much easier accomplished if her vision didn't keep shifting into double.

Something trickled down her arm, and she realized the sickle must've scratched her. A shallow cut. Just a reminder that she wasn't moving fast enough.

Golden light flashed before her again and Octavia growled in frustration, now holding a gilded… panflute?

Adora's mouth quirked upward despite herself, remembering her time training with the sword—except it hadn't been a malfunction of circuitry, then, just her own issues with connecting to She-Ra.

"Gonna play me a song on that thing?" she asked, risking a lunge forward with both knives—a piercing strike aimed for Octavia's abdomen, plus a sweeping slice toward the neck. Octavia managed to bat away the first by the flat of the blade and catch the other against the panflute with a resounding crack of crystal on metal. The blade splintered, but held. Octavia smiled.

"A song for your funeral."

Adora could see every blackened crack in Octavia's jagged teeth.

Bad.

They were too close.

Adora pushed back, making a sweeping attack with the undamaged blade to deter Octavia from closing the distance, but she wasn't there. Instead, she had leaned back, spinning into—

—the heel of a heavy boot impacted Adora's sternum, and something cracked.

Every thought left her mind as the breath left her body. Knives fell from numb fingers, clattering to the ground as she dropped to her knees, wheezing in shallow gasps. The pain squeezed, stabbed at her ribs, tore into her lungs.

Very bad.

Tactical assessment: Failure.

"Hold still," Octavia said, the smile still evident in her voice. Adora blinked away tears of pain to see her towering above her, raising a golden fire poker for a killing blow. Not a weapon, perhaps, but its weight and hooked end was more than enough to get the job done.

No.

She wasn't going down without a fight.

And she certainly wasn't going down alone.

Her hands stretched out to the side, feeling desperately for—there. Her hand closed on the hilt of one of the knives just as Octavia struck downward, and she flung the blade up in defense.

A crash of shattered crystal, shards raining down around her, Octavia's weapon driving home.

That's what she expected.

Instead, she felt a gentle whiff of air, followed by Octavia stumbling off balance. She opened her eyes. The sword had shifted yet again, now taking the form a large flower vase. Octavia cried out in rage.

Now. Adora snatched up the other blade and swung toward Octavia's off-balance form, unable to reach her body but slicing through a waving tentacle. Blue-black blood spattered onto the floor, and Octavia howled in pain.

If she could just get the sword—

Adora struck out with a kick, vision whiting out at the pain of using her damaged abdominal muscles. She hit Octavia just below the hips and something crunched beneath her boot—but it wasn't enough. Octavia stumbled backward but maintained her hold on the sword, clutching a hand over her pocket and whatever had broken from Adora's kick.

"I'm going to kill you!"

Octavia swung the weapon down toward her, and Adora tried to strike upward at Octavia's arm—but metal struck crystal again, and the weakened blade shattered. The brunt of the blow hit Adora's shoulder, and she cried out as the force reverberated through broken ribs.

She hit her knees again, world tilted away before five points of pain drove into her shoulder and wrenched her violently upright. Blood welled beneath Octavia's talons.

"Oh no, princess," she hissed. "You're going to see this. Who knows? Maybe I'll leave you alive just long enough to watch me kill your friends."

A flash of gold. Adora couldn't see what the sword had changed into—couldn't get her eyes to focus. Octavia, however, looked down at her hand and gave a short, dark laugh. "Then again. Maybe not."

Octavia's hand thrust forward.

The world fell away, her entire existence focused to a singular, blinding agony in her stomach.

Oh.

The hilt of a golden dagger jutted out from just below her ribs.

It felt… strange. It should have been the worst pain she ever felt, but instead, the initial ache had faded to just… a terrible, wrong pressure in her body. A distant sense of horrible dread.

Her reflection stared up at her from the runestone in the hilt. Distorted by the curve of the stone, split by the break that had now healed to only a hairline crack. Somewhere above her, Octavia's distorted voice was saying things she couldn't understand.

Trembling fingers touched the metal of the hilt. The buzzing wrongness of the magic was gone. Instead, it now pulsed with every rabbit-fast beat of her heart.

Well, she got her sword back.

Somehow, she laughed. The blade moved with the motion, numbness fading as pain danced like lightning through every nerve. The laugh turned to a cough that sliced the blade into her even more. Blood spattered from her lips to the iridescent floor. She was dying, probably. It didn't matter.

"Big mistake," Adora rasped, barely more than a whisper.

There was blood on her teeth, coating her tongue. The metallic taste filled her mouth, her nose.

Her shaking hands tightened on the hilt, and she knew this was a bad idea, a terrible idea, an idea that would probably kill her, but… her vision grayed, the cord holding her mind to her battered body fraying. She was going to die anyway. Terrible ideas were all she had left.

And she wouldn't—she couldn't let Octavia get to anyone else.

She didn't quite know how she managed to pull the knife out, but as soon as she did she knew how bad an idea it was. A sick, cold feeling sank through her body as blood flowed from the wound far too quickly, and she was fully struck with the reality that this… this was how she died. Not in some far off, distant battle. Not decades from now, old and gray. Here. Now. With her blood staining the floor and Octavia gloating above her.

With her friends fighting for their lives just outside.

Not yet.

From somewhere above her, distant words solidified into a barely coherent form: "If you wanted to die faster, you could've just asked."

Octavia's face swam in her vision, twisting and curling like smoke above an endless abyss.

She was fading. She could feel it. She smiled, and for a moment, the confident look on Octavia's face faltered.

"For the honor… of Grayskull."

Pain melted away into a sea of comforting, familiar molten gold. No more aches. No more unnatural warmth. No more sickening feeling of her life's blood dripping down her legs, staining the floor.

The fog over her vision lifted, and she could think with clarity for the first time in days. The familiar stretch of transformation pulled at her, not uncomfortably, as her essence poured into a form larger, taller, stronger than herself.

The golden flash of light faded, leaving She-Ra in its wake. White uniform pristine and unbloodied. Sword, once again in its true form, held at her side.

She felt… incredible.

She looked up, and Octavia gaped.

"How? You—you should be dead! I—"

"I'm not." Adora hefted the sword, reveling in the familiar strength that coursed through her limbs, giving Octavia a dangerous smile. "And now it's my turn."

She stepped forward, and Octavia stumbled backward in a mirror movement—right into one of the many pits that Light Hope had opened in the crystal floor. She wavered and flailed at the edge in a desperate attempt to regain her balance. In another time, it would have been comical.

Today, it wasn't.

She-Ra's hand fisted in the front of her shirt, holding her over the edge, blade aimed at her throat. Octavia stilled.

"Go on then," Octavia hissed. "You won, didn't you? Kill me."

Adora stared at her through She-Ra's eyes, and in that moment… oh, oh, she wanted to. All she could remember was the pain Octavia put her and Catra through; first as children, now as adults. The desperate rage that lingered, simmering, under Adora's skin when she thought of Octavia holding Catra's still form underwater. The pain of the dagger as it entered—

The sharp point of the sword pressed in, drawing a bead of dark blood from Octavia's neck.

Her single, yellow eye closed in acceptance… and Adora froze.

No.

This wasn't who Adora wanted to be. She chose to leave the Horde and its ruthlessness behind. But the reason she had been able to make that choice in the first place… all along, Adora thought she was training to protect others. It just turned out that the Horde was the absolute wrong place to do that.

And now she was here, about to kill someone in cold blood.

That didn't feel like protection.

The blade pulled back, and Octavia's eye opened in confusion.

"No," Adora said in a hoarse whisper. Then, stronger: "I'm not going to kill you."

It took a moment for the words to register.

"Then you're a fool."

Adora ignored her, lifting Octavia off her feet with one hand and She-Ra's strength and then forcefully depositing her on the floor. She landed hard on her rear, wincing.

"Get out." Adora's voice was low, dangerous.

Octavia blinked. "What?"

"I said, get out." She-Ra stepped to the side, giving a clear view of the exit.

"You're… letting me go?"

"I'd bring you back to Bright Moon for trial myself, but thanks to you, I have more important things to deal with." She-Ra glanced behind her, the fight against the beast still raging in the distance. "Now move."

Octavia stepped forward, cautiously at first, then walking faster until she reached the crumbling ruin of the doorway. She turned, then, just beyond the archway, and in the confusion her expression seemed almost… open.

Then it slammed shut again, hard as stone. She drew herself up, the picture of a merciless and contemptful Force Captain.

"Your mercy is your weakness, Adora," she called back. "It always has been. It'll be what gets you killed." Her face twisted into a cruel smile. "Both of you."

Adora was very, very tired of threats.

Anger, frustration, and impatience surged beneath her skin and she lifted the sword, letting the emotion coalesce into a bolt of energy she sent racing along the length of the blade. The blast landed just off to Octavia's side—harmless, but showering her in a spray of dirt. She jumped and squawked, reeling back a few steps before giving a final snarl and jogging off in the direction of the woods.

"Coward," Adora muttered, striding toward the doorway.

A wave of exhaustion crashed over her, fading as quickly as it had appeared, and she stumbled in confusion. She twisted the sword in her grasp. The runestone held its steady glow, hairline crack barely visible.

Okay, maybe she should hold off on the energy blasts for a while. She glanced up to the clearing again, coming to a sudden, belated realization.

That blast hadn't exactly been subtle.

Which meant the beast in the clearing noticed it.

Its massive head whipped toward the sound, eyes wild and jaw slavering, until it saw Octavia's form and cowered. In the distance, Adora could just make out Glimmer and Bow pulling back in confusion.

Octavia saw it then, too, and froze.

When seconds passed and nothing happened, the beast slowly unfurled, staring at Octavia with an expression that Adora could only describe as… calculating. It took a step forward.

Octavia pulled something from her pocket, and Adora recognized the ruined mass of an electronic device-the thing that controlled the electric devices implanted in the skull of the beasts, allowing Octavia to cow and control them through shocks of pain. Adora suddenly remembered their fight, and the crunching feel of something breaking beneath her boot.

Oops.

Octavia stabbed desperately at the button. The beast shrank back again.

And again, nothing happened.

This time, the beast coiled tighter, death in its eyes as its muscles tensed in preparation to lunge forward. Octavia stepped backward slowly, too slowly, panic rolling off of her in near-tangible waves, as her back approached the treeline.

Adora took a hesitant step forward. She should… do something. Letting Octavia die would be almost the same as killing her, wouldn't it? And Adora did destroy the controller, intentionally or not, so that only increased her . Right?

So why couldn't she make herself move?

Octavia was almost at the treeline.

Too late.

Something burst from the trees, all teeth and claws and shimmering waves of something almost visible, dragging Octavia into the greenery with the same brief ferocity as a shark pulling its prey beneath the waves. A muffled shriek rose up, then the sound of something heavy being dragged through the underbrush. Adora dashed out the door and toward the trees, but they were already far beyond her reach.

All she could do was listen, heavy with a strange mixture of guilt and relief, as the rustling and cries faded away.

Something pricked at her neck and she suddenly remembered the other beast, whirling and lifting her sword into a ready stance. Unnecessarily, it turned out: It, too, was staring into the forest. The beast's enormous head swung from side to side, looking at its opponents, at She-Ra, at the gap in the trees where the invisible beast and Octavia had disappeared. It took a limping step backward, then sent up a deafening howl that reverberated in Adora's chest—and broke into an uneven run into the trees after the other beast, thundering right past her.

For a moment, the only coherent thought in Adora's head was a very confused: "Huh."

Her next thought wasn't so much as thought as a feeling, an outpouring of utter relief at seeing three distant forms staring in her direction as though they couldn't believe their eyes. Tears of happiness clouded her vision. They were alive. They were okay.

Her hand rose to ghost over the phantom pain where the dagger had pierced her stomach. It was gone, and She-Ra's shirt was a pristine white, but… she could feel it. Something was leaking through, like smoke curling under and around a sealed door.

It didn't matter. Her friends were okay.

Even if she wasn't.