Dawn.

  A pale gray light filtered over the courtyard, cool and solemn, brushing the stone walls with the hush of expectation. Fog clung low to the ground like breath not yet exhaled, and somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled once, low and deep.

  The war council was gathering.

  Inside the main hall, the long table had already begun to fill with tension. Elders in ceremonial cloaks murmured low to one another. Advisors reviewed maps. Soldiers lined the walls like shadows, still and sharp-eyed.

  At the head of the room, two seats waited. One for the King. And one for the Queen-to-be.

  The great doors opened with a low groan that silenced every murmur in the chamber.

  Darius entered first, tall and composed in his dark embroidered coat, the sigil of his bloodline gleaming at his shoulder. His presence carried weight, not just as king, but as a man with resolve written in every step.

  Axel followed close behind, all muscle and quiet menace, scanning the room with that soldier’s sharpness that never quite rested. He was the storm that walked beside the throne.

  And just behind them, Imogen.

  She walked with her head high, her hair loose around her shoulders in soft waves, and wearing a deep crimson tunic trimmed in gold. The peppered diamond set in the same ancient silver that once graced a Queen’s finger glinted proudly on her hand.

  Malachite flanked her, dressed in crisp black armor with copper detailing, every inch the royal guard loyal, lethal, and impossible to ignore.

  They didn’t speak as they entered.

  They didn’t have to. The air shifted with them.

  Darius reached the head of the table and stood behind his chair, placing a firm hand on the backrest. His gaze swept the room, lingering on the faces of every Elder. Every advisor. Every hesitant flicker of disapproval or surprise.

  “I want it known,” he began, voice calm but commanding, “that Imogen, Dragon Singer and rightful heir to her bloodline, stands as my intended.”

  There was a ripple of whispers moved through the room, brows raising as the weight of the announcement settled.

  “She wears the ring of my mother,” Darius continued. “Not as a placeholder or as a symbol. But as a promise.”

  He turned to glance at Imogen and the warmth in his eyes was something even the coldest council member couldn’t deny.

  “She will be Queen.”

  The room fell utterly still.

  Then, one of the Elders stood, robes rustling faintly. “And when is this… union to take place, Your Majesty?”

  Darius gave a slight smile, sharp and steady. “After we end this war. When the kingdom is no longer bleeding. She deserves to rise in peace.”

  Behind him, Axel stood taller.

  Beside Imogen, Malachite’s hand drifted instinctively toward her dagger hilt not in threat, but in readiness.

  Imogen lifted her chin, eyes bright and fierce. “Until then, I will do my part to defend the realm.”

  A hush followed.

  But there was no longer doubt that filled the room. Only quiet resolve and recognition.

  For a beat, there was only silence.

  Then, it began with one.

  An elder toward the end of the table, one of the oldest, with a beard like winter frost and a scar across his cheek struck his fist to the wood once. A sharp sound. A soldier’s rhythm.

  Then another.

  And another.

  And then it wasn’t just a few hands. The entire room erupted.

  Cheers burst forth, rising like a storm wind off the sea. Fists pounded the table, voices shouted praise. The banners on the stone walls seemed to flutter with pride. Even the guards lining the room straightened, letting themselves feel something more than duty.

  There was no hesitation in the room, only hope.

  Darius didn’t move, just stood tall, his hand still on the chair, his gaze still locked on Imogen who stood like a flame in the wind, unbending, glowing, no longer the outsider or the mystery. But the queen they hadn’t realized they needed.

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  Axel gave Malachite a look that said everything without words.

  Malachite rolled her eyes but her lip twitched upward.

  As the cheers echoed through the stone hall, Imogen stepped forward.

  The sound softened as she moved, as if the very room leaned in to listen.

  She placed one hand lightly on the back of the Queen’s chair, claiming it. Her voice rang clear across the chamber, firm and rich with the weight of everything she had become.

  “I am not just to be queen by bond,” she said. “I am here as a Dragon Singer.”

  The room stilled again but not from skepticism this time. From awe.

  “I was born into a dying magic,” she continued, “and I have walked through fire to understand it. The songs no longer come as whispers in dreams. They are mine now in memory, muscle and soul. And I will use them to protect this realm.”

  Her golden aura began to rise subtle at first, then radiant.

  It shimmered outward from her skin like sunlight breaking through fog. Warm. Steady. Powerful.

  The air stirred.

  Several dragon kin in the room straightened with sudden clarity, their scales shimmering faintly, their eyes lighting with gold. Even Axel blinked as his shoulders eased, like a breath he didn’t know he was holding had finally been released.

  Malachite let out a soft exhale beside her recognition flooding her.

  Imogen’s aura flowed like honeyed light, gentle. Restorative. A homecoming for those with dragon blood.

  The older dragons in the room bowed their heads, feeling the weight of the golden light deep in their soul.

  “I will not rule in silence,” Imogen said, her voice layered with Song. “I will stand. I will sing. I will not let our people be hunted, hidden, or broken again.”

  Her aura slowly dimmed, retracting like a tide into stillness.

  And she stood there; tall, bright, and unshaken as silence gripped the hall again stretching long enough for it to settle into awe.

  Then one of the younger advisors, wide-eyed, barely able to speak, finally found his voice. “The Queen-to-be has spoken,” he said, almost reverently.

  Another elder, one who had previously questioned Darius’s choices, cleared his throat and straightened his notes. “Then we begin with your leave.”

  Darius gave a single nod. “Proceed.”

  Chairs scraped back as maps were unrolled across the table, stones and brass markers clinking as they were moved into place. The flickering light from the chandeliers glinted off the metallic inks that outlined the realm’s southern border.

  “Scouts reported movement near the Ashvyr cliffs,” said Commander Rhain, pointing toward a jagged edge of parchment. “Human soldiers, at least two dozen. Not the usual raiding parties. They're organized. Tracking us.”

  “And getting closer,” Malachite added grimly, arms crossed as she scanned the layout. “We don’t have the high-ground advantage anymore. The tunnels are clear for now mbut it’s a matter of days before that changes.”

  “They’re pushing toward the forge lines,” Axel said, stepping forward. “If they breach those, they’ll trap civilians in the valley before we can evacuate.”

  An elder tapped the map with a weathered finger. “And if the forge line falls, they’ll have a direct path to the capital.”

  Darius’s gaze sharpened. “Then we don’t let it fall.”

  Imogen stepped up beside him, her voice level. “We evacuate the villages near the cliffs. Bring them behind the wall. Prepare the healers and I’ll reinforce the forge wards myself.”

  “You can do that?” someone asked hopefully.

  “I’ve been practicing,” she said with a small, knowing smile. “And I’m not the only one learning what it means to be more than what we were born as.”

  Amid the swirl of orders and maps, Imogen lifted her hand once more, steady and composed.

  “I have more to offer than Song and magic,” she said, her voice clear above the shuffle of parchment and boots. “I was trained in the Healer’s Guild before any of you knew my name.”

  The room paused again.

  “I’ll begin preparations immediately. We’ll need pain salves, anti-venom, bloodbind tinctures, and rations that restore mana flow. I can make them all.”

  Several of the elder healers nodded quietly among themselves. One of them, an older woman with sun-worn skin, actually smiled. “We’ll have the apprentices brought to you.”

  “Thank you,” Imogen said to the woman. “And more than that,” Imogen continued, “I’ll bless the soldiers. The ones who train every day, the ones who are risking everything.”

  She looked to Darius, then to the others, her eyes steady and unwavering.

  “They deserve to carry more than steel into battle. They deserve to feel protected.”

  The group looked around to each other in silence.

  “You’ll do that?” asked a young captain from the outer valley. “You’ll bless all of them?”

  “I’ll sing them strength,” Imogen promised. “Until my voice gives out.”

  Darius, beside her, looked utterly undone by love and pride but said nothing.

  Imogen had already said everything.

  I’ll begin preparations immediately,” Imogen said, her voice carrying over the murmuring council. “But I’ll need the right supplies quickly.”

  She reached into the side satchel at her hip and pulled out a tightly rolled scroll, marked with her careful script. Without hesitation, she handed it to the nearest Elder seated at the table.

  “It’s a list,” she explained. “Of every herb, root, mineral and reagent I’ll need. Some will be rare, like dried wyrmwood bark, moonbloom resin, serpent’s milk but nothing we can’t source from our stockpiles or gather from the outer fields if we move fast.”

  The elder’s eyes scanned the list, then widened. “This is… extensive.”

  Imogen nodded. “Because what’s coming will be worse.”

  She turned toward the room again, her expression remaining firm and steady, no longer just the heir to magic, but a woman built of knowledge, fire, and resolve.

  “These supplies will ensure that no soldier will march without aid. No scout will ride without protection. And no healer will be caught unprepared.”

  Axel gave a low whistle under his breath.

  Imogen met their eyes in turn… then looked at the map once more.

  “Send riders to gather what we don’t have. Organize the apprentices into stations. I’ll take charge of the brewing myself.”

  With that the meeting concluded, not wasting any time. The council was already shifting into motion, scribes rushing to copy her list, commanders sending runners to the stores.

  And, for the first time in generations the kingdom was beginning to feel like it might survive what was coming.