The plains shivered. Dust surged. A line of wind tore through the trees.
Ruby braced beneath him as Viktor leaned forward, flame trailing his shoulders.
Below, soldiers shouted—armor rattling like thunder in a gorge.
He charged the clifftop, matching the storm’s fury. The men broke formation, trapped between canyon and gale. Viktor reined Ruby hard at the edge.
“Leolis, son of Gray!” he called—half taunt, half accusation.
The wind detonated through the canyon—bodies tumbling, banners whipping.
Viktor’s gaze swept the soldiers. His voice cut through the roar.
“Your captain betrays you!”
He found him—Leolis, riding forward.
“He has led you…” Viktor’s voice burned. “…to trespass a Ruakite.”
Murmurs spread like wildfire.
Leolis lifted his shield. “You reek of ash,” he mocked. “Did Zeporah burn you—or brand you?”
Viktor’s fury stoked the gale.
“Turn back. My power is not meant for you.”
His hands ignited.
A dozen men bolted, galloping back through the gulley.
“Cowards!” Leolis raged. “Hold. The. Line!”
But the storm roared unchained, unraveling order with its howl. Even Leolis ducked beneath rock.
Viktor leapt from his saddle, boots slamming stone. He dropped from the ledge, hit the ground running, fire wreathing twin blades in his grasp.
“Turn back now.”
His voice was thunder.
“The Endowment does not ask—it answers.”
Leolis shoved forward, shouting, “Stand fast! Seraphim will weaken. Zeporah crushed him in the Vykenraven!”
“Mind the skies,” Viktor warned. “The north wind was mercy. Shall I call the south to devour you?”
“You have no such—”
Viktor flung his arm wide.
Leolis faltered, air torn from his chest. “What are your terms?”
The wind stopped.
Only silence—and steel.
“You will take your men back to Rhidian,” Viktor called. “Beg mercy of your whorish queen.”
