I FORGET ABOUT VOLKRIG. I forget about the stillwaters and the freezing wind.

Foxfire’s body is so alive beneath me. Her white wings beat with the sound of thunder. Her shoulders ripple as she lunges for clouds, each one higher than the next.

Dizzy, I look down to see the map of the overgrown garden beneath us. We fly above the barren rosebushes with their sharp briars. Above the broken fountain and hungry ivy. We fly above the hospital roof. We fly above the spectral shield that, without the comic book, shall never be quite finished, but that is okay. We are our own prism of light now.

I press a hand to my chest, but up here, the air is so clear that I don’t feel the urge to cough. I can pull air into my lungs, and there are no murky stillwaters, not one drip. The next time I look down, we fly even above Volkrig.

The Black Horse is nothing but a memory.

Foxfire beats her wings, and takes us even higher. I want to go high, high, as high as the sky.