Zander crouched beside one of the fallen. An older man in noble garb, his once-rich cloak reduced to soot-stained tatters, the sigil of a lesser house half-burned from the leather across his shoulder. There were several bodies scattered across the scorched courtyard, but none we could do anything for now.
I watched as Zander’s gloved hands moved over the man’s coat, carefully checking for hidden pouches or coded markers. His jaw tightened as he found something, just beneath the collar, near the base of the man’s neck.
He pulled free a partially burnt letter, edges blackened and curling with soot.
“I think there’s more to this,” he said, his voice taut. He stood, turning the missive over in his hands. The seal had melted, but faint traces of a sigil still remained. A dragon breathing fire toward the heavens.
The royal court.
I stepped closer, the wind catching the scent of scorched ink.
“What does it say?” I asked, voice hushed, like the ash might listen.
Zander’s eyes flicked across the page, lips parting as he read the singed words aloud, voice darkening with each line.
“‘To Lord Amblin… deploy your unit on the Raweath border under the guise of patrol. Stall any Crimson Sigil interference until reinforcements arrive. Maintain discretion. Should this letter be intercepted, burn it immediately. The Unifier’s allies must not be allowed to reach the sanctuary before we do.’”
My blood ran cold.
“The Unifier?” I whispered.
Zander’s gaze met mine, hard and knowing. “They were never meant to survive this.”
We both turned toward the smoldering ruins as realization settled heavy in my gut.
This wasn’t just an outpost ambush.
It was a setup.
And someone in the crown wanted the Sigil to strike first.
We gathered near the ruined courtyard, the scorched letter held tightly in Zander’s hand as if the wind might steal it away. Smoke still curled from the shattered walls, but the flames had died—leaving only ash, silence, and too many questions.
“TheUnifier,” I said quietly, trying to wrap my head around the name. “He hasn’t been seen in hundreds of years.”
“Not since his rider died,” Zander replied, his voice thoughtful. “He vanished after that. No one’s heard from him since. Some believe he went into the mountains. Others think he chose eternal rest.”
“And yet,” I said, my gaze drifting toward the charred remains of the missive, “the Varnari think he’s aiding someone.”
Zander’s eyes met mine, and there was something in them I didn’t often see—uncertainty.
“Seems that way.”
Naia stepped forward, her boots crunching lightly on shattered glass. “Who’s Lord Amblin?”
Zander didn’t hesitate. “A minor noble from Thubia. He’s always been outspoken, especially about the guild and crown policy. Has very little magic of his own. I’m not surprised he’s aligned with the Varnari.” He glanced back at the broken outpost. “He’s also an avid supporter of Theron.”
Ferrula’s eyes narrowed, arms folded across her chest. “So is this more proof? That Theron’s leading the Varnari?”
Zander shook his head, frowning as he stared at the ruins. “Theron is smart. Calculated. But this… this wasverywell thought out. Coordinated. Political subterfuge layered with military maneuvering. If Theron is involved…”
He looked at each of us in turn.
“Then he’s not doing it alone.”
The wind howled softly across the broken stones.
And beneath it, I could almost hear the whispers of a dragon long thought gone… returning.
