Chapter 38
Corvus
The outpost was a bloodbath.
The stench hits me first—copper and char, the acrid bite of burned silk and the sweeter, more nauseating smell of cooked flesh. Smoke rises from a dozen fires still smoldering across the compound, painting the evening sky in shades of orange and gray. Bodies litter the ground—spiders curled in death, their legs drawn up beneath them, mages sprawled where dragon fire found them.
When we arrived, spiders and mages infested the area like a plague. Webs stretched between every structure, every tree, every broken wall. The eight-legged horrors were everywhere, their mandibles clicking, their eyes glittering with malevolent intelligence. And among them, the mages—robed figures crackling with gathered power, orchestrating the chaos like conductors of a symphony of death.
Nothing prepared me for seeing Abraxis captured.
The image is seared into my memory—his drake form bound by shimmering chains, his wings pinned to his sides, his eyes wildwith fury and fear. They were using him as bait. A lure to draw us in, to make us reckless, to exploit the bonds of family that tie us together.
It almost worked.
The question that plagues me now, as I survey the destruction, is why. Why this outpost? Why Abraxis? Who is their true target?
My war drake’s mind cycles through the possibilities, analyzing each one with cold precision. Is it the ancients who just hatched—Thauglor’s new sons, vulnerable in their youth? Is it my mate, the wyrm dragoness whose power grows stronger with each passing month? Perhaps even Mina could be their target—the queen, the mother, the beating heart of so many family lines.
This attack was well-executed. Too well executed. The coordination, the timing, the choice of location—all of it speaks to planning that stretches back weeks. Maybe months. Someone studied this outpost. Someone mapped its defenses, counted its soldiers, and identified its weaknesses.
Someone is going to pay for that.
I finish the last few flyovers, my wings cutting through the smoke-heavy air as I make sure nothing is left moving below. My silver scales are dulled with soot and spattered with ichor from the spiders I killed, but I barely notice. The war drake in me demands thoroughness. No survivors. No witnesses. No one left to report back to whoever orchestrated this attack.
Giant wolf spiders are not native to this island. The realization settles into my chest like a cold stone. They’re found on the Northern Isle—hundreds of miles across open ocean. Someone brought them here. Someone transported dozens of thesemassive arachnids across the sea, kept them contained, and released them at precisely the right moment.
The implications are staggering.
I land close to Raven and Abraxis, my talons sinking into earth that’s been churned to mud by the battle. I shift back immediately. The ground is warm beneath my feet—residual heat from dragon fire, from acid burns, from the raw power that was unleashed here tonight.
“That was insane.” I motion toward the battlefield as I shift back to human form, the transformation rippling through me in a wave of restructuring bone and receding scales. My silver hair falls across my forehead, damp with sweat. My chest heaves with exertion I barely noticed during the fight itself.
Then I see them.
Four mages, standing in a cluster near the treeline. Standing perfectly still. Standing because they can no longer do anything else.
They’ve been turned to stone.
The realization takes several moments to process. I stare at the granite figures—their robes frozen mid-billow, their hands raised in gestures of casting, their faces locked in expressions of dawning horror. They’re not dead. They’re not even really alive anymore. They’re statues. Monuments to a power that isn’t supposed to exist in my mate’s bloodline.
Slowly, I turn to face Raven.
She meets my gaze without flinching; her sapphire eyes steady and unashamed. There’s a weariness in those eyes—ahollowness that tells me using that gift cost her something. But there’s no regret. No apology.
This is not something spoken about outside our family. The basilisk gifts Raven inherited from her father Balor—they’re a secret we guard carefully. A weapon no one expects. I'll leave it alone for now, filing the information away for later discussion, and focus on what matters.
She’s alive. Abraxis is alive. The enemy is dead.
Everything else can wait.
Two of the surviving commanders of the outpost pull Abraxis aside, their voices low and urgent as they report on casualties and structural damage. I take this opportunity to move closer to my mate, drawn to her like iron to lodestone.
“Is everything okay?” I kiss her cheek, tasting salt and smoke on her skin, then pull her in for a hug. She fits against me perfectly—her head tucking beneath my chin, her wings rustling softly against my arms as they fold around her back.
“Yeah...” She looks over her shoulder at Abraxis, watching him as he speaks with his commanders. Something has shifted between them—I can feel it, even if I can’t name it yet. The old tension is still there, but muted. Softened. “Much better.”
She smiles—a genuine smile, not the sharp-edged expression she usually wears around her nest father—and snuggles in close to me, resting her head on my shoulder. I breathe her in, letting her scent wash over me. Sea salt and jasmine, with an undertone of smoke and acid from the battle. My mate. My heart. My reason for existing.
