Rhett’s boots crushed the dry winter grass as he marched, while the sun’s rays bore down on his face. There was little to no wind in the air, offering no comfort from the heat. And to make matters worse, plains stretched endlessly ahead, with no end in sight.

  Several days ago, they had left the thick woods along the eastern border of Drurus, where their pace had been slow. Now, they marched through the flatlands where there was nothing in sight. No tree to shade them, no stream to quench their thirst. Just grass, dust, and sun.

  Rhett’s army was weary, and so was he.

  But the only small mercy was that Arnav’s forces were still retreating. They hadn’t stopped to regroup or launch a counterattack—not yet, at least.

  The young king squinted upward, raising a hand to shield his eyes. The sun had crept past the highest point in the sky—it had to be midafternoon by now, which meant his men had been walking for hours without rest. He glanced ahead and spotted a small grouping of trees in the distance. After thinking about it for a moment, he decided they would make camp there for the night.

  However, he would need to send scouts ahead on horseback to look for Velmora Lake. They had to be close to its northern edge, but the lake was nowhere in sight. To be fair, it had taken Rhett’s army longer than anticipated to get through the woods, mostly due to the devastation left behind by Drurus’s soldiers. With each village they came across, the damage somehow got worse, and the deaths more gut-wrenching.

  Just as a dark cloud settled over Rhett, something on the horizon caught his eye—a bright light that looked as if it was reflecting off a mirror. At first, he wondered if it was just his exhaustion playing tricks on his mind. But as the light remained, growing larger with each step, the young king soon realized it wasn’t a trick. It was water!

  Lake Velmora.

  Relief washed over him like a wave from the ocean. They were nearly there—an hour, maybe two, if the terrain remained even. He waved to one of his captains, issuing a quick command to spread word down the army: the lake was in sight. The reaction among the soldiers was immediate. Murmurs turned into low cheers, the men straightened their backs, and the sluggish march turned into a quick, steady pace. Some even began to jog, eager to reach clean water, food, and rest.

  The front ranks pushed faster, and Rhett matched their pace, with some of the other leaders falling in beside him.

  “These men are getting excited, assuming they are about to get a break from marching,” Jesup muttered under his breath. “But they’re fools if they think we’re the first ones here.”

  Rhett grunted in agreement, too tired to add more. He knew what would be waiting for them just over the horizon. Tents. Smoke. Blue banners flying in the wind.

  Riven’s main army would already be there… waiting on them. Normally, the sight of a camp already set up would seem like a gift to any tired soldier. But not to Rhett… Not when it meant Yasir and Zayn were already making plans and setting timetables. Knowing his cousin and uncle, they were ready to march again, meaning his men might get little more than a drink and a night’s sleep before being pushed westward.

  It didn’t take long before more of the lake came into view, and with it, the camp was revealed. The young king shifted the weight of his sword at his side and rolled his shoulders to ease the ache in his joints. As horns blasted through the air, announcing their arrival, he breathed a long, tired sigh. Riven soldiers began gathering near the perimeter as word spread, and two men walked forward from the middle of the crowd.

  Rhett raised a hand, signaling for his army to continue forward while he came to a stop. Jesup, Ashur, Tristan, and Jadiel paused beside him as the rest of the soldiers walked on, eagerly heading toward the camp.

  “You’re later than we expected!” Zayn called out with a grin as he and his father approached the small group of tired men. His posture was relaxed, casual, as if they stood on palace grounds rather than in enemy territory.

  Jesup snorted and crossed his arms, causing the dried mud on his sleeves to crack.

  “Sorry. We had trees to fight.”

  “Did your mother give you permission to fight them?” Zayn smirked. “Last I heard, you weren’t allowed to participate in any actual battles.”

  “Now wait a damn—”

  “Enough!” Rhett snapped in a low tone. He glared at Jesup, which made the prince go silent instantly, before turning his attention to his cousin. “I don’t know what you and your men have encountered, Zayn, but let me make something clear. My men have fought in two battles and a skirmish since this war began. We’ve marched across forests and fields without horses or proper rest. For weeks, we’ve chased the Drurus army across half of its kingdom. And judging by the direction they were fleeing, they would have passed right by you. Did you even lift a blade when they came?”

  “We just arrived yesterday,” Yasir answered calmly, unbothered by the heat coming from Rhett. “No, we haven’t seen much fighting yet, but the journey here was long and not without effort. I trust you understand.”

  Rhett exhaled through his nose and crossed his arms. His jaw tightened as he glanced toward the lake, letting the silence stretch between them for a second.

  “So,” he muttered. “What’s the plan? What are you two thinking?”

  “We should compare reports—what’s happened on both fronts,” Zayn said, his tone more respectful this time.

  “But it can wait,” Yasir interjected before his son could continue. He placed a firm hand on Zayn’s shoulder. Despite the fact that the younger man was the king of Riven, Yasir still held plenty of authority as the Crown Father.

  “But we—”

  “Open your eyes and think,” Yasir hissed under his breath, turning his head just slightly away from the others. “This is your first war. You’re too eager to act, and you’re not seeing what’s in front of you. These men are exhausted, son. If you keep pushing and mocking, I won’t stop them when they turn on you—and they will.”

  Zayn stiffened, and Yasir leaned in closer.

  “Mathias's sons look ready to beat you bloody as it is. So shut up, rein it in, and act like a king. Not like a boy trying to impress one.”

  Zayn’s jaw tightened. He glanced sideways at Jesup, Ashur, and the others—seeing the tension and irritation in their expressions—and slowly dropped his chin in a nod.

  “You’re right,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

  He stepped aside and gestured toward the camp behind him.

  “We caught fresh fish this morning and found oysters near the shoreline, too. The cooks are roasting everything up now. Come eat, rest your feet. Once the sun sets, we’ll talk.”

  Rhett gave a stiff nod, but his arms remained crossed as he walked toward the camp. The others followed silently, with Zayn and Yasir coming in at the rear.

  It had gotten dark by the time the men gathered in Zayn’s tent. A large table stood at the center of the space, filled with plates of boiled roots, charred fish, and pitchers of ale. Lanterns hung in the corners, casting heavy shadows across the canvas walls.

  Rhett sat at one end of the table, staring down at the grains of wood as he told Zayn and Yasir of Walford and Jux—of the battles they won, of the strategies they used, and how they reclaimed every piece of land stolen by Drurus.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  But there was no satisfaction or pride in his tone… just weariness.

  He took a long drink of ale, then set his mug down with a thud. He glanced toward one of the lanterns, staring at the little flame before continuing.

  “Within two days, we started chasing Arnav’s men through their own kingdom. But when they saw we wouldn’t stop… they began burning their own villages. Slaughtering their people. Women… children.”

  Zayn leaned forward, narrowing his eyes.

  “Why? That doesn’t make sense. All that does is slow their retreat.”

  “It wasn’t meant to slow their progress,” Rhett shook his head. “It was to stop mine. They knew we’d stop every time and bury the dead.”

  Jadiel gave a solemn nod from his seat, while the other men who had been there stared silently into their cups. No one laughed or made complaints.

  Except Zayn.

  “That’s idiotic,” he muttered, shaking his head. “They weren’t your people.”

  “But it was noble,” Yasir said gently, cutting in before Rhett could snap. “To honor the dead, no matter their kingdom. The Creators see such things and will reward you for it.”

  “The Gods will never bless me...” Rhett murmured.

  At that, Tristan and the Vespera princes flinched. Their discomfort was evident, causing the Crown Father to furrow his brows.

  “What are you talking about?” Yasir questioned.

  Rhett didn’t answer right away. He moved his jaw silently as his fingers tightened around the mug.

  “Amara was attacked,” he finally said quietly. “We lost our—”

  The loud blasting of a horn went through the air, interrupting him. Every man at the table shot to their feet as shouts erupted outside.

  “What in Avion’s tides are going on out there?!” Zayn shouted as he moved toward the tent’s flap.

  The men rushed outside, weapons in hand, expecting to see an ambush. But as they looked across the lake and to the north, all they saw was darkness.

  Then, there was another horn blast.

  “Dragon!” A soldier shouted in a panicked voice.

  The air shifted, and every man looked skyward just in time to see the silhouette of dark wings emerging from the clouds.

  “Into the lake! Now!” Yasir commanded the soldiers. “Hide from the lava!”

  Chaos broke out in the camp. Men scattered, with some stumbling into the shallows while others dived into deeper water. Rhett tossed his sword back toward the tent and kicked off his boots as fire raced through his veins. Beside him, Zayn let out a low growl, and his eyes flashed deep green.

  The two men ran away from the tents and soldiers, toward open ground where they could shift without harming anyone. But just as they reached the edge of the camp, a shadow fell from the sky.

  Something large hit the ground near the center of the camp, sending up a cloud of dust and debris. Soldiers barely dodged, jumping out of the way to avoid the unknown object. The dragon overhead let out a roar before disappearing into the incoming storm.

  Rhett sprinted back into the camp, going toward the impact site. But he skidded to an abrupt stop when he saw what had fallen.

  Half-buried in the ground was the severed head of a dragon. Blood still dripped from the flesh of its neck, and a cold mist rose from its lifeless scales.

  “Blaise?” Rhett whispered as he stared at his brother’s dragon. He didn’t move. He couldn’t… The world tilted beneath his feet, and Silas’s rage surged within him.

  He was alive… Emmett was still alive… Rhett gasped as he fell to his knees, unable to stand any longer. I thought… I thought he was already dead. If I had known—if I had known, I could’ve…”

  He couldn’t finish his thought. Couldn’t even breathe. The knowledge that Emmett had still been out there, still fighting, still suffering—it broke something inside Rhett.

  A sound came from Rhett’s throat—half sob, half snarl—as he completely gave in to his dragon’s will. In an instant, the shift began. With a rush of wind, Rhett was gone, and in his place, a massive, dark green dragon formed in the middle of the camp.

  Tents collapsed beneath his body, crushed under his weight. The ground trembled, and horses bolted in a panic. But none of the soldiers drew their weapons. None of the other dragon shifters dared to intervene. They knew what he was about to do.

  Silas let out a deep growl as steam hissed from his nostrils. He turned his attention first to Blaise’s severed head. After lowering himself to the ground, he nudged against his brother’s lifeless snout. He let out a low, mournful whine as he touched Blaise’s cold scales.

  But then his burnt orange eyes turned to the sky.

  In a single motion, he stretched his wings, darkening the camp beneath them. He beat them several times before launching himself into the air, immediately going into the dark, stormy clouds overhead.

  It had been a dark-scaled dragon that dropped the head, which meant it was either Arnav or Cerys. But it didn’t matter who it was, Silas would tear them apart. He would turn their wings to ribbons and their bones to ash.

  He soared higher, slicing through the clouds as each flap pushed him further into the storm. The other dragon had been smaller and lighter, so he knew they would be faster than he was. But Silas didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Not until he had blood in his teeth.

  Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly lighting up the shadows. Silas pressed forward, scanning the darkness until he finally saw movement. A shape appeared in the distance… a dragon.

  Silas snarled, vibrating the air around him. His heart thundered with anger and grief. He didn’t care that it had only taken minutes to find them or that it might be a trap. If it brought him peace for avenging his brother, then it was worth it.

  The dragon glanced over their shoulder, and in a brief flash of lightning, Silas saw it was her.

  Cerys…

  Her snout was smooth, with no horns like her father. Silas roared, the sound echoing through the storm like thunder. Cerys banked hard, veering into the thicker clouds. And Silas followed.

  But as he pushed forward, lightning flashed through the sky, directly in front of him.

  He jerked back, flapping his wings hard to keep himself floating in the air. The sudden flash had stopped him cold. But then, just as he pushed forward again, another bolt went through the air, brighter and closer to him.

  Silas hovered in place, narrowing his eyes as he searched the storm. The lightning stopping him wasn’t natural. It was deliberate and precise with where it struck. But he didn’t see anyone nearby. No dragons or anyone else.

  This wasn’t Kenna or any of her sons. If it had been, Silas would have seen them. Their lightning came from their bodies. This… this was something else.

  He pushed forward once more, testing the storm.

  This time, three bolts of lightning arced quickly, blinding him. The dragon recoiled with a snarl, and then he finally understood.

  It was Alivia… one of the witches of storms.

  She had created this storm from far away, keeping him from Cerys by blocking his path.

  Silas roared again, this time in rage. But the storm didn’t part for him. The clouds only thickened, and the lightning flickered like a warning.

  He hovered in the sky, seething. His brother’s blood was still fresh on the ground below, and the enemy was escaping ahead of him. However, after a few seconds, Silas stopped fighting against Alivia. His wings beat the air slower now, just enough to keep him suspended among the storm clouds.

  If a witch was trying to stop him from chasing Cerys, then Silas would listen. He wouldn’t make the same mistake Rhett did with Gwendolyn. So, if Kenna’s mother had gone out of her way to stop him, then it had to be for a reason.

  Hovering high in the sky, Silas panted, and steam hissed from between his scales. He was furious, grief-stricken, but most of all, he was ashamed. His claws flexed midair, and his tail lashed out at nothing. This should have never happened. They should’ve gone after Emmett from the start.

  But then the guilt twisted deeper in his heart.

  If they had gone after Emmett, Rhett and Silas would have ended up like their father. A burnt corpse… another life lost…

  But Amara… she would be left with nothing. No husband. No children. No hope.

  A pitiful, trembling whimper escaped the dragon, echoing softly in the storm. The fire that had burned inside him moments ago had now faded away. All he wanted now was to go to Amara. If he couldn’t avenge his brother, then at the very least, he wanted to mourn him.

  As Silas turned to leave, the wind suddenly shifted. It swirled around him, like arms wrapping around his body. But then it was gone.

  Silas took a deep breath as he descended, flying through the rain. Thunder echoed around him, and lightning flashed in the distance. As he neared his army, the rain ceased, almost like the storm had parted for him. The air was still, and within minutes, the camp appeared beneath him.

  He flew over the center, looking at the aftermath of his shift—tents still flattened, supplies scattered—but Blaise’s head was gone. Silas and Rhett both frantically scanned the camp until their eyes saw something in a distant clearing.

  There, standing in a field, were four dragons. Jesup. Ashur. Zayn. Yasir. They surrounded Blaise, almost like a protective circle. Silas approached slowly, and the others moved, making room for him.

  Then, a human walked over and stepped into view—Tristan. He approached Silas and placed a hand on his snout.

  “I’m sorry, brother. Truly.”

  He pressed his forehead to the scales for a minute before pulling back and clearing his throat.

  “Yasir has offered to take Blaise to the Sea. To one of the caves your mother and Indigo used to sleep in. Since… there’s no body to bury, he thought it might be the next best thing.”

  Silas turned his gaze to Yasir. The Crown Father of Riven was the only dragon in the group who could go into the depths of Bain and reach the caves his mother used to play in before becoming the Queen of Sylvaris.

  Silas didn’t need to confer with Rhett—they both agreed without words. The large dragon bowed his massive head once.

  With their silent approval, Yasir stepped forward, carefully scooping Blaise’s head into his paws. Silas helped, nudging against his brother’s snout, ensuring it was secure. Then, Yasir spread his wings, catching onto the wind as he rose into the sky. With Blaise in his grasp, he flew south, toward the distant sea.

  Silas stayed in place, watching until they disappeared into the clouds. His heart ached with each passing second, but at least Blaise—and Emmett—would be taken somewhere meaningful to sleep…

  Somewhere that was safe.