As they neared the threshold, they heard stirring in the castle. Doors thrown open. Boots thundering stairs. A cry broke from the foyer.
Viktor went first, shoving open the door.
Heard from down the hall:
“Glaston, gone. Briar’s Keep, gone. Silver Hills still burning.”
He staggered for half a step, shock blanching his face at the names—
villages from his homeland.
His lungs seized, chest hollowing.
Then, jaw locked hard, he lengthened his stride.
Amerei never let go of his hand.
They could hear Gabriel from inside Storne’s chamber.
“Aerdania swears allegiance to no one. Why would she summon dragonsthere?”
Footsteps pounded above. A woman sobbed somewhere below.
Storne’s door was open.
“Viktor—”
The commander’s voice cracked in a way Amerei had never heard.
Viktor halted, dread weighing on him like a blade at his throat. The air felt thick, heavy with the certainty that what came next would cut him open.
“What,” he said, so low it rasped, “happened?”
“Sit down, Viktor.”
“No.”
He stepped into the room, each movement taut with fear barely leashed.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
Gabriel dragged his hands down his face, curses spilling through his fingers.
Amerei stood behind Viktor, holding his arms, anchoring him the only way she could.
Storne edged toward his chair, then collapsed into it. He leaned over his desk, palm flattening against a folded letter.
“The villages of north Aerdania,” he began, “were attacked without warning. They came at first light yesterday. Dropping boulders. Setting homes ablaze. Killing anything that moved.”
Amerei tightened her grip on Viktor.
Storne stared at the letter, like he didn’t want to read it again. Like he didn’t need to.
“Halyon’s already deployed troops to Silver Hills, but it could be days before the elves send aid.”
Amerei pressed closer.
She could feel Viktor’s body harden, every muscle locking, his pulse hammering in his wrists.
