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"He's smarter than you."

"Debatable." Vyrael releases a low rumble.

I laugh. "See?" Rhyven walks away.

We reach Elarion shortly after one. The first thing I notice is the lights. Too many in the wrong places. Temporary lanterns. Emergency ward markers. Medical fires. Command beacons. The southern settlement is built into an old fae forest, pale structures wound between trees older than some kingdoms. Normally, it would probably be beautiful.

Tonight, it's full of people who don't know where to stand. Evacuated families fill the lower walkways.

Soldiers move in opposite directions carrying the same supplies. Three different officers are shouting three different instructions near the eastern gate.

Two dragons circle overhead because apparently nobody bothered assigning them a proper landing route. Wonderful.

I look toward Rhyven. He sees all of it. His entire posture changes before Vyrael has fully settled.

Whatever part of him spent the flight looking back toward Varethia disappears. Not gone. Buried. Chief Corvell takes its place.

An Elarion officer approaches us before I'm fully off the transport. "Chief Corvell?"

Rhyven steps forward. "Who's running evacuation?"

No greeting. The officer blinks. "Commander Thaelis."

"Dragon operations?"

"Commander Thaelis."

Rhyven's expression changes. Barely. "Ward response?"

A pause. "Commander Thaelis." I look away before I laugh. Poor Thaelis.

Rhyven looks around. "One person is running all three."

"Commander Thaelis oversees southern defense."

"That wasn't my question." The officer stiffens. Interesting start.

"We've maintained order." The man says.

Rhyven looks toward a medical wagon trapped behind three military carts. Then toward two dragons attempting to descend into the same landing zone.

Then toward a crowd of civilians being redirected for the second time in five minutes. He looks back at the officer. "Have you." Silence. I rub a hand over my mouth. This is going well.

Within fifteen minutes, Rhyven has split half their command structure apart. Not because anyone officially gave him authority. Because someone needed to do it and apparently that's enough for him.

Dragon traffic goes to a Rider captain. Ward response to two fae specialists. Civilian evacuation gets its own command. Medical routes are cleared. Ground defense comes to me, Dax and Maelis. Soren takes outer ward coordination. Rhyven somehow ends up in the middle of everything. Naturally.

By three in the morning, Elarion looks less like a kingdom in panic and more like a kingdom expecting an attack. Progress.

By five, I hate every soldier here. Not personally. Mostly. Their defenses are built for armies. Visible enemies. People who cross borders. People who have the decency to arrive physically before killing you.

The Hollowborn don't do any of that. So we begin teaching them everything Varethia learned the expensive way. Don't chase. Don't assume silence means empty. Don't defend every meter. Keep secondary positions. Never rely on one command structure. Watch the dragons. Especially watch the fucking dragons.

At six thirty, I find Rhyven beside the main command table. He's reading three reports at once. Coffee beside him. Untouched. Food beside that. Also untouched. I point toward the coffee. "Drink."

"No."

"Excellent. Die before the enemy arrives."