“It’s not about taste, it’s about?—”
“Oh, for the love of fire and wings,” Jax muttered from where he’d been securing his bedroll. He stood and stalked over, voice rising with dry irritation. “Sort your shit out. We all know neither of you gives a flaming fuck what we eat for breakfast tomorrow.”
Remy looked like he wanted to argue, but Kaelith snorted behind me, and the silence that followed was enough to make both men back down. Zander gave a grumble and finally walked away from the supplies, heading toward me. He didn’t say anything as he rolled out his blanket beside mine.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Planning to share heat or just annoying me with your proximity?”
“I’m protecting you,” he said simply, glancing at the dragons nestled behind us. “Even if they’re already doing a better job of it.”
“Flattering,” I muttered, but I didn’t tell him to move.
Kaelith shifted, her head lowering beside mine. I ran my fingers along her jaw as the stars blinked into view above us.
It’s a nice night,I said.
Yes,she replied, her voice warm in my mind.But don’t mistake quiet for safety. Something is coming.
I believed her.
Hein shifted, curling tighter around her, and I could hear Zander’s breath steady beside me.
We would sleep in shifts.
But for now, beneath a sky painted in fire and ash, we had each other.
We were up before the sun breached the horizon, dragging ourselves from our bedrolls beneath Kaelith’s protective wing. The morning was cold, the air crisp with dew and something more metallic—fear, maybe. None of us lingered over breakfast. A few bites of dried fruit, some hardened bread, and we were off.
The dragons rose into the sky like specters, their wings cutting through the mist as we headed southeast toward the border kingdoms. The flight was long. Too long. The wind bit at our faces, and the chill in the air wasn’t just from altitude; it was the kind of stillness that settled before devastation.
We reached Grenthia just past midday, circling high above the sprawl of refugee wagons littering the roads. Families clung to what little they had. Children nestled between sacks of grain and broken crates, soldiers walking beside carts pulled by trembling, thin-legged beasts. It looked more like an exodus than a retreat. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. All moving toward Moustal, though I couldn’t say if that city would fare better.
I chewed on a strip of dried meat as we soared past, my stomach uneasy despite the food. This wasn’t just loss. This was collapse.
By the time we reached Caston, the sun was low and heavy in the west, casting long shadows across the shattered city. Or what was left of it.
Once, Caston had been proud with its towers lined with blue banners, its walls tall and reinforced by years of careful craft and magic. But now… the magic was gone. Whatever wards had protected the city had failed.
The walls were breached in three separate places, gaping wounds where dragons had clearly slammed through. Buildings lay in broken heaps. Smoke still curled from some of the rubble, black and bitter in the back of my throat. The streets were empty except for ash and debris. Charred bones lay beside crumpled carts, forgotten in alleys and craters. A banner flapped limply from a broken mast—half-burned, Varnari symbols scorched through its fabric.
Kaelith beat her wings and slowed, circling the ground.We cannot all fit within these ruins.
Then we’ll go,I told her, glancing toward Zander.
Hein and Kaelith dipped lower together, the others continuing in measured, protective arcs overhead.
We landed just beyond what had once been the city square. My boots crunched against broken tile and burnt glass as I dismounted, Kaelith’s body tense and eyes scanning every shadow.
Zander swung down from Hein, his face grim as he took in the wreckage. “This wasn’t an attack,” he muttered. “It was an execution.”
He was right.
Any survivors were now on the road to Moustal.
We moved through the shattered streets of Caston in silence, each step heavy with the weight of what had been lost. The buildings weren’t just burned—they were emptied. Gutted. Every home we passed looked like it had been hollowed out by something worse than fire. Windows stared back like blackened eye sockets, and the stones themselves felt wrong.
Zander stopped beside a crumbled wall, running his fingers over the deep, jagged grooves etched into the foundation. I moved beside him, and my breath caught.
The markings were unmistakable.
