The Western Lands.Leywani had heard the name in passing, but had no idea where they were. Then again, she didn’t even know where her current location, Eluvia, was. All she knew was that the mountains looming in the distance were the tallest she’d ever seen, with jagged peaks that scraped the sky.
“Remember that.” Velthur held her gaze a moment longer, then turned towards the entrance. “Come with me.”
Leywani blinked. She wasn’t sure why he wanted her to remember Alena, but she followed.
“These are my men,Lecne and Aulus,” Velthur said, gesturing to the two soldiers standing by the horses, their deep purple cloaks marking them as part of his elite guard.
Aulus, a broad-shouldered man with a scar along his chin, gave a terse nod. Lecne, on the other hand, possessed a calm demeanour; a welcoming smile softened his sharp features as he offered a calloused hand to hoist her onto her horse.
Leywani hesitated but accepted, gripping the saddle as Lecne hauled her up. She had ridden before, but Rasennan horses were taller than the Freefolk breeds she knew. Luckily, her dark bay mount remained steady as she sank into the saddle.
With Velthur at the lead, they rode out of the camp, a handful of red-cloaked soldiers flanking them in disciplined silence. Therhythmic beat of hooves on the dirt road and the faint jingle of bridles filled the air, but no one spoke.
Velthur offered no explanation as to where they were going, and Leywani didn’t ask. Her throat was parched, unease coiling tighter with every step their horses took.
The air carried an unexpected heat for late spring, and dust rose in soft clouds beneath the hooves. Sweat clung beneath her woollen cloak, the fabric sticking to her skin, yet her gaze stayed fixed on the horizon—on the towering, snow-capped mountains looming in the east.
Velthur led them through a sea of wild grasses, his posture unreadable. The ground sloped upwards: a low hill rose before them, its crest dotted with dark figures on horseback.
Then she heard it.
Drums, deep and rhythmic, pounding like a warrior’s heartbeat. Shouts followed, battle cries riding the wind, swelling with every breath.
Leywani’s pulse quickened.
A dozen mounted soldiers stood ahead, their backs turned, their gazes fixed on the valley below. Smoke rose in heavy columns, curling upwards, dark fingers clawing at the sky.
The crisp scent of wild grass and leather faded, replaced by ash, blood, and something she couldn’t quite name—but had felt once before. Back in Dodona, when Katell had lost control of her magic, and black smoke had poured from her like a living thing that suffocated the air and wrapped around them with unseen hands.
Something terrible was happening.
They neared the group of riders, and one broke away, riding straight for them. His stallion kicked up clumps of dirt in its haste.
The commander, Dalmatius.
He reined in his horse, his steel-grey gaze flicking from Velthur to her. “What is she doing here?”
Velthur’s reply was smooth, though tinged with mockery. “She’s here to witness the Sixth Legion’s triumph against the slave rebellion.”
Dalmatius’ jaw tightened. “Fine. But for your own safety, stay back. Do not ride any closer.”
Velthur didn’t so much as blink. “The top of the hill will do just fine.”
They locked eyes, silence stretching taut between them. Leywani couldn’t tell why their hostility ran so deep, only that there was no respect between them despite both serving the Emperor. Was it because Velthur had beaten Katell in the temple? Or did the rift between them go back further?
Dalmatius then turned his attention to Lecne, who sat calmly at Leywani’s side. “Good to see you again, Lecne. It’s been a while.”
The tone carried an edge of familiarity, enough to suggest history between the two men. Lecne’s easy manner didn’t waver. He dipped his head in greeting, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “It’s good to see you, too, Legate Dalmatius. I’d say I missed you, but I doubt you’d believe me.”
Dalmatius exhaled sharply—almost a laugh, but clipped short. “You’d be right.” With a final nod, he wheeled his horse and rode back to his waiting men.
Velthur and Lecne exchanged a brief look, something unspoken passing between them, before pressing forward, leading the others up the hill until the valley stretched out before them.
Leywani’s hands shook. The pressure in the air was suffocating, and every instinct screamed at her to turn back, to flee before it was too late.
The battlefield unfurled below—a nightmare of blood and fire.
The wooden palisade of the camp where the rebels had barricaded themselves burned in a hungry blaze. Rasennan soldiers stood in tight formation a few paces away, locked together in an unyielding shield wall. They weren’t advancing. They were waiting.
