“Tell High-Captain Seraphim what you told me.”
Ivan exhaled, leading them into a chamber crowded with maps and scrolls. He tapped the northern ridge with a compass.
“Two days past, a patrol reported shadows circling. Dragons. They wheeled in hunting patterns, never straying more than five miles.”
Viktor leaned over the map.
“The drought drives them,” he said. “Not war—not yet. Zeporah conjured them without thought of how to sustain them. Nothing grows in Oustinon, so the beasts are pushing south, following herds.”
Ivan nodded grimly.
“There’s a wild band of horses in those hills. Attractive bait. And dragons don’t distinguish man from beast.” His eyes flickered. “Even if that dragon is part man.”
The truth of it burned in Viktor’s chest. His hand curled into a fist. He looked sharply to Storne.
“I’ve told Ivan everything,” Storne said. “The three of us must move in one accord.”
Ivan circled a southern region of the map.
“I’ve drafted siege plans—cavalry, footsoldiers. The north will be yours, Viktor. We’ll flank you with ballistae, but if we don’t secure archers…” His voice dropped. “I don’t see how else we’ll bring them down.”
Archers. The one thing courage alone couldn’t conjure.
Viktor straightened.
“Amerei will convince the elf-king to lend us the Sagittarii.”
Storne’s eyes flickered with the faintest pride. Ivan gave a slow nod.
“Then stars above—we may yet have a chance.”
The mantle on Viktor’s shoulders felt heavier than the insignia pinned there. Ruakite blood burned in his veins, but even he knew fire alone could not win a war. He would need more than his own strength—he would need every ally, every blade.
Storne’s expression shifted—not cold, but weighted.
“You weren’t alone in the Vykenraven, Viktor,” he said, voice low. “And you won’t be alone in war.”
Viktor stilled. “Commander?”
“The voice you heard…”
Storne’s gaze cut away, as if the words themselves unsettled him.
“He told me last night, before leaving the estate.”
Viktor’s gaze locked with his, but the commander only glanced at Ivan.
“We call him The Midnight,” he explained. “Blind boy. Apprentice to Saecily. Keeps to himself, but I’ve known him to say things no child should know.”
Viktor’s chest tightened.Dask. That dream last night— “You think he knows more about the dragons?” he asked carefully.
Storne didn’t move.
“I think he knows more about you.”
The words struck with the weight of an axe.
“I need to speak with him,” Storne continued. “My father relied on the help of a seer. Perhaps The Midnight was meant for you.”
