Sharp. Angular. Predatory.
Their long, tapered snouts are lined with rows of jagged, serrated teeth, gleaming in the sunlight. When they snarl, their mouths stretch too wide—splitting open to reveal a second row of smaller, needle-like fangs.
Their eyes glow a reddish hue. Flickering.
Aware.
Hunting.
They dive, dropping fast and hard, wings tucking in tight, their monstrous bodies hurtling toward the village like falling stars. The wind shifts as they move, a sharp, slicing current that cuts through the wheat, bending the stalks flat beneath its force.
Then the sound reaches me. A shriek. High. Keening.
Wrong.
It rips through the sky, vibrating through my chest, scraping across the inside of my skull. A sound meant to freeze you where you stand.
The first one hits the village.
And the world I know begins to die.
I jolt upright, my breath ragged, my body drenched in sweat. My chest heaves, my heart pounding like it’s trying to escape my ribcage.
The barracks are silent, the light of the moon casting shadows across the floor. I press my palms to my eyes, grounding myself in the stillness.
In the reality that I amhere.
Not in the fields. Not in the village. Not watching them die all over again.
I drag a shaking hand through my damp hair. At least I didn’t scream this time. Everyone around me is still asleep.
It was just a dream. No—a nightmare. The same one. Or maybe not the same. Because this time,I saw them.
The creatures.
The way their wings cut through the sky, their eyes burning as they descended. I saw the first one hit the village. Before the screams. Before everything ended.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe, to unclench my fists. It wasn’t real. But I can still hear the shriek. I can still feel the wind.
The morning air is crisp, the last traces of night still clinging to the outpost as I make my way to Valen’s study. The path is quiet, the usual hum of soldiers preparing for the day still distant. Thesky is just beginning to shift from deep blue to the first hints of gold, the promise of sunrise creeping over the horizon.
I step inside without knocking. The room is dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the tall, narrow windows along the far wall. Golden streaks spill over shelves stacked with books and scrolls. The scent of parchment lingers in the air, mixed with something earthy, strong, unfamiliar.
Valen stands near the heavy wooden table in the center of the room, a pot of tea steaming beside him. He doesn’t look up as he pours a second cup and pushes it toward me. I blink at him, then at the cup.
“It’s strong,” he says. “Looks like you need it.”
I arch a brow, stepping forward and wrapping my fingers around the warm ceramic. The steam rises, carrying a scent richer than the tea I’m used to—sharp, almost bitter. I take a sip. It burns.
I cough, my throat tightening at the intensity of it, my face twisting before I can stop myself. “What is this?”
“Something that will keep your mind sharp.” Valen barely hides his smirk as he takes a sip from his own cup, unfazed.
I swallow hard, blinking away the lingering heat. “What’s in it?”
He tilts his head slightly, watching me. “Would it change anything if you knew?”
I scowl, setting the cup down. Of course, he wouldn’t give me a straight answer.
