Laurent put on his helm, his gray eyes hard as stone. “I was a fool to believe this would succeed. When have the gods ever smiled upon me?”
A roar shook the Heavens.
A massive draconic figure descended above them from the clouds in a gust of wind and shadow, wings stretching wide, snuffing out the stars. Screams echoed as all looked up and saw death made flesh.
“So hush your cry beneath the stone,” Alora murmured with a relieved smile. “For he has heard, and he comes… but not alone.”
Alora’s breath caught as shadows poured over the waves, monstrous shapes bursting from the dark as if the sea itself had birthed them. Three figures led the charge, tearing across the sand with impossible speed.
The first was a woman who moved like mist, cutting through men with twin curved chakram that spun like wheeling suns. Each arc left a streak of red in the air, and bodies fell in her wake as though wheat cut down in harvest.
Beside her thundered a beast of nightmare, towering twice the height of any man. Its Warhammer rose and fell in brutal rhythm, crushing Calveron soldiers with each blow. Men screamed once, then no more.
The third was smaller and agile, a blur of sinew and smoke. Its hands were claws, dark as ash, and every sweep of them stole another life, tearing through flesh as if it were nothing at all.
They fell upon Calveron’s ranks like fire on parchment, leading Rune’s army of demons. Steel and shields were useless against them. Even the Hydras, monstrous and snarling, were no match for the hounds of smoke that tore into their throats, dragging them into the surf. The air filled with screams and the tang of blood, smoke and salt mixing until Alora could scarcely breathe.
This was not a battle. It was a slaughter.
The black beast descended upon Calveron’s fleet, dragonfire and shadow consuming wood and flesh alike. Fae leapt into the sea, quickly dragged under by water demons. Ships splintered and sank, men screaming as they tried to swim away, and the sea boiled beneath his fury.
Firelight blazed in Alora’s vision as she watched.
One by one, the ships burned.
The battle was won.
She looked to her father, and he gave her a nod of acknowledgement. “Well done. You may become a fine strategist yet.”
Warmth coiled in her chest, pride warring with disbelief. She saved Argyle and earned her father’s approval, a thing rarer than any crown.
“Come now daughter.” Laurent tugged on his reins, “Let us finish the last phase of your plan.”
They rode together down the ridge with his men.
Stormwatch’s gates opened as the last mast fell, and the night fell silent. The dragon flew steadily against the smoky sky-stained orange with flame. His demons stood eerily still on the beach, their bright red eyes watching Alora and her father ride past into the keep.
The hooves of their horses clomped on stone as they rode into the courtyard. Laurent looked upon his men standing over the dead.
“Duke Alder?” he asked a soldier.
“The admiral went down with his ship, sire.”
Alora’s heart sank with remorse.Oh, Theia…
Her heart leapt painfully in relief at the sight of Caelum. Thank the Seven, he lived. Tears burned her eyes, unbidden, as she watched him dragging Thalion forward into the courtyard.
The Calveron King was half-burnt and staggering, though fury still blazed in his eyes. His hair was singed away on one side, his cheek a ruin of charred flesh, yet his voice carried like steel when he spoke.
“You have broken the peace, Laurent. You damn yourselves with your pride.”
Laurent sat tall in the saddle, his face unreadable. “Argyle bends to no crown but its own. Where is your son?”
Thalion spat at his feet, lips curling into a snarl. He gave no answer, but the wet shine in his eyes was enough. Eldrik was dead.
“I will not beg you like a dog,” he rasped. “Give me a blade. Let me die as a king.”
Alora turned to her father, certain he would refuse. Thalion was wounded, it would not be a fair fight. But Laurent’s gaze lingered on his enemy with something close to grim respect.
