Page 64 of Beyond the Treaty

but there was a steel edge to it. “And sometimes, even chaos must wait for the right moment to strike.”

I studied him, searching for the cracks in his resolve, but he gave me nothing. Azrael was an enigma who walked the line between shadow and salvation. The war horns sounded in the distance. The time had come.

As we descended into the courtyard, warriors from every corner of the land stood ready. The Lycans growled in anticipation, the Fae shimmered like living shadows, and the Revenant Knights stood in eerie silence, their spectral eyes glowing with a thirst for retribution. Bastian tightened the straps on his armour, flashing me a confident grin. Darius clapped a hand on my shoulder. “No turning back now.”

Azrael stood before them all, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “Tonight, we do not fight for survival. We fight forvengeance. For those taken, those lost, and the world they seek to destroy.” His eyes burned as he looked at each of us. “Hold the line. Stay your course. And when the moment comes...” He glanced toward the volcano’s heart, where the dragon slept again. “Strike without mercy.”

The gates creaked open. The battlefield awaited. And with it, the reckoning we had been promised.

As we reached the Barren Lands, we first saw the storm of darkness awaiting us. A monstrous army had already gathered on the far side of the barren earth: twisted creatures of shadow and fire, towering warlords clad in obsidian armour, and wraith-like horrors that drifted through the air with whispers of death. They had heard of our rising force, and they had come prepared.

A massive, horned figure stood at the centre of their ranks, clad in jagged black plate, his eyes glowing with malice. The Dread Lord himself, I only thought he was a myth, spoken of by legends in the Great War. But standing across from him felt very real. War drums pounded a sound that made the very ground tremble beneath our feet.

Azrael stood at the front, his cloak billowing in the acrid wind. “They expected us,” he muttered. “Good.”

The Lycans howled, their war cries shattering the silence. The Revenant Knights raised their spectral blades. The Nightborne Fae vanished into the gloom, ready to strike from the shadows. Bastian drew his sword, its runes igniting with golden fire.

Then, the silence broke. The storm of war crashed upon us like a tidal wave of shadow and fire. The enemy surged forward, a relentless tide of horrors forged in darkness. Screeches of wraiths tore through the night, met by the howls of Lycans as they leapt into the fray. The Revenant Knights, clad in their spectral armour, stood unmoving as the creatures of the abyss charged. Then, in unison, they raised their cursed blades and struck with precision, cuttingthrough the advancing ranks like wraiths of vengeance given form.

The first clash was deafening. Steel met flesh, claw met bone, and the earth beneath us became a graveyard before the battle began. Lycans tore through the monstrous creatures savagely, their claws rending armour and sinew alike. Bastian moved like a storm of golden fire, his blade carving through the darkness, each rune igniting the night with holy flame. Darius fought beside me, his twin axes stained with ichor as he cut through a monstrous fiend with a snarl.

From the shadows, the Nightborne Fae struck with cruel efficiency. They were ghosts on the battlefield, appearing behind enemy lines to plunge daggers into exposed throats before vanishing once more. Their poison-coated blades sent the twisted creatures into spasms of death, their whispers carrying dread through the enemy ranks.

A monstrous warlord strode through the chaos, wielding a great sword that dripped with molten fire. With a single swing, he cleaved through three Lycans, their bodies igniting as they fell. The Revenant Knights descended upon him, striking with supernatural speed, but he roared, sending a wave of dark energy surging outward. The knights staggered, their spectral forms flickering as if caught between this world and the next. Azrael moved through the battlefield like a living tempest. Dark energy radiated from his form, his eyes burning with power as he raised a hand. Shadows coiled around him,

forming spears of void-born magic that impaled a dozen enemies at once. He lifted his other hand, and the very ground beneath the enemy’s feet split apart, swallowing them into the abyss.

The Dread Lord stood unmoving at the rear of his army, watching the chaos unfold with cruel amusement. His eyes locked onto Azrael, and I saw it then, the recognition, the loathing, and something else. Something deeper. History neither of them spoke of, but one that lingered like an open wound.

The enemy’s forces were endless. For every creature we struck down, another took its place. Their war machines, great constructs of bone and magic, loomed over the battlefield, launching spears of searing black fire that rained upon our ranks. Lycans were incinerated where they stood. The Revenant Knights pushed forward through the storm, their bodies barely holding together against the arcane barrage.

A massive, horned beast roared, charging through the battlefield like a living battering ram. I barely had time to react before it was upon me. As I rolled to the side, its axe crashed into the earth, shattering the stone beneath us. Darius lunged, burying one of his axes into the beast’s side, but it only snarled and backhanded him, sending him flying through the air.

I grit my teeth, feeling the weight of battle pressing down on me. But this was only the beginning. The real fight had yet to come. Somewhere in the heart of the volcano, the dragon waited. And when the time was right, it would rise, and reckoning would fall upon the world.

CHAPTER 34

The wind howled a mournful dirge, whipping snow into a frenzy around Bastian and one of the Undead scourge. The flakes were stinging bullets, blurring the already indistinct landscape into a canvas of white and grey. Their breath plumed out in ragged clouds, momentarily eclipsing the already diminished light of the dying afternoon.

The steel of Bastian’s armour had long ago lost its gleam. It was now frosted and dull, mirroring the unforgiving sky above. Each movement was a heavy, laboured affair, the cold seeping into their bones, making his muscles ache with protest. He had been at it for what felt like an eternity, other than the battle raging on around him, the only sounds he could hear were the wind, the clanging of metal against metal and the occasional grunt of effort.

Younger and more agile... and alive, he favoured a series of quick, darting attacks, his sword a silver flash against the grey. His armour, lighter than the rusted Undead, allowed for greater mobility, but he was beginning to feel the bite of the cold. His fingers, encased in gauntlets, were numb, but he maintained a firm grip on his sword.

The Undead Scourge was a mountain of a monster. Its movements were deliberate, and each swing of its great sword carried the weight of experience. He was less quick, but his blows were devastating, each meant to shatter not just bone but Bastian’s resolve. The snow crunched under his heavy boots with each step, a testament to his unyielding strength.

Bastian launched another series of attacks, his sword a blur of silver, trying to bypass the Undead’s sturdy defence. He managed a graze across his opponent’s arm, a small victory in a war of endurance. The monster grunted, the blow barely fazing him. He retaliated with a thunderous overhead swing that sent Bastian staggering back, the force of the blow vibrating through his whole body.

Bastian stumbled, his foot slipping on the icy ground. He fell to one knee, the wind stealing his breath. He looked up at the monster, his face obscured by the falling snow. For a moment, he saw not an enemy, his executioner....

“Bastian, no!!” I cried, hoping it would taunt the monster into charging towards me. We were losing this war, and the people I hold close to my heart were losing. It was our plan, but I didn’t think it would be this brutal.

I turned towards Azrael. “Azrael, now!”

But Azrael was gone.

My chest tightened with panic. I scanned the battlefield,

searching for any sign of him, but he had vanished. The one person who held the key to our victory had seemingly fled. A moment of despair ran through my body. “We need you, where are you?” I cried under my breath.

Before I could process further, a shadow fell over the bat- tlefield. The sky darkened, and a thousand arrows were fired towards a single target, a massive, black dragon descending from the storm. Its wings stretched wide, blotting out the sky, its form wreathed in searing heat. It landed with an earth shaking impact, its fiery eyes locking onto the Council and Withers, letting out a mighty roar.

It was time.

End of Book 1 of The Hollow Crown Saga