We cross into my territory, and I feel it—that subtle shift in the air, in the land, in the very essence of the earth below. This is mine. These lands, these people, this sky. Mine to protect. Mine to defend.
Something tells me not to approach the outpost head-on.
The instinct is sharp, insistent—a warning that hums through my scales like electricity before a storm. I bank hard, leading our forces up the eastern side of the random mountains that rise in the western lands. We drift into my new annex, using the rocky terrain for cover, approaching the fortress from an unexpected angle.
What we find makes my blood run cold.
Giant wolf spiders have the lands surrounding the outpost covered in webs. The silk stretches between trees and boulders and the crumbling walls of outer defenses, glistening with an oily sheen in the fading light. The strands are thick as rope, sticky and strong, and within the webs I can see the cocooned forms of soldiers who didn’t escape in time.
But it’s not the spiders that concern me.
It’s the mages with them.
Robed figures move among the arachnids, their hands crackling with gathered power, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods. There are dozens of them—maybe more—spread across the landscape like a plague. The stench of dark magic hangs heavy in the air, making my scales itch and my dragoness snarl with primal hatred.
I rumble orders to the dragons with me—low, guttural commands that need no translation.Go after the spiders. Set their webs on fire. Burn it all.
They comply instantly, peeling off from the formation, their flames already building in their throats. Within seconds, the first webs ignite—fire spreading along the silk strands like racing veins of orange and gold, the spiders shrieking as they burn.
Close to the outpost, I see Abraxis’s drake.
My heart stops.
He’s bound by chains that shimmer with magical energy, the links wrapped around his wings and legs and neck, holding him immobile against the ground. His scales are dulled with dirt and blood; his eyes wild with fury and fear. Mages surround him—four of them, their hands raised, their power focused on maintaining the bindings that hold him captive.
Save my nest father, or save the outpost.
The choice shouldn’t be a choice at all, but in war, every decision costs something. I study the scene below, my mind racing through possibilities. With any luck, they think I’m my father. Thauglor and I share the same coloring, the same skull-face markings in our dragon forms. If they believe the great black wyrm has come for them, they’ll turn their focus on me—and in that moment of misdirected attention, I can strike.
Raven, I’m coming...Thauglor’s voice echoes in my mind, carried across the mental bond we share as wyrms of the same bloodline. I can feel his fury, his fear for me, his desperate need to protect his daughter.
No,I push the word back through the bond with all the force I can muster.It’s mages. Protect my progeny.
They have Abraxis. They may think I’m you.The words tumble through the connection, urgent and raw.Please, Daddy, protect my progeny and Blackhaven. There are eggs and hatchlings there. Protect them...
I scream the last words through the bond as I narrowly evade a blast of power from a mage. The magic screams past my wing,close enough to singe the leather membrane, and I bank hard to avoid the follow-up strike.
I will.His voice is a growl in my head, vibrating with suppressed rage.Solaris and Nova are with me. Destroy them...
We owe them blood...My dragoness rises within me, her fury matching my own.
I know...
Let’s melt them...
I lay a path of acid across the ground, the corrosive liquid hissing and steaming where it hits earth and stone, creating a barrier that traps the mages from running. The acrid smell fills my nostrils—familiar and satisfying, the scent of destruction, the promise of vengeance.
I circle the grouping of trees holding Abraxis hostage, studying the formation, counting the mages, planning my approach.
We need to be smart;I tell my dragoness.I know what to do...
I do the one thing I was always told not to do.
I land.
The impact shakes the ground, sending tremors through the earth that the mages feel in their bones. My talons sink into the soil, my wings fold against my back, and for a moment there is silence—the eye of the storm, the breath before the plunge.
The battle rages on around us. Explosions paint the sky in shades of orange and red. Screams of agony fill the air—spiders shrieking, mages dying, dragons roaring in triumph and pain. The scent of smoke and blood and burning silk hangs thick over everything, a miasma of war.
