The planning was fast and brutal. It was also very effective. Aerion left nothing to chance.
He told Eana exactly what to watch for. This included the number of guards, the types of wagons, and any unusual items.
He also told Garren the exact spot for their ambush. Garren learned how to create a blind spot and how to use the land well.
They moved before dawn. They used the morning mist to stay hidden. They traveled through the dangerous land.
Eana, who moved quietly, was far ahead. Her small form blended into the broken land.
Garren, whose limp was worse from the hard walk, worked without a sound. He used rocks and sparse bushes to make a rough but good hiding place.
This spot looked down on a narrow, winding path. Aerion placed himself above them, hidden among the sharp rocks. He and his power were ready.
Hours later, the sun shone brightly in the sky. Eana came back, breathing hard. She gave her report in short whispers.
"There are five Vaelgard," she said. "Two are on horses, and three are walking. There are no magic users, only regular weapons."
Aerion nodded. Five, he thought. They could handle that.
However, the wait was terrible. The sun's heat beat down on them, and the internal fire within Aerion grew hotter.
He felt the constant pain, a low throb behind his eyes. Even though his wound on his stomach had already healed, perhaps due to the draconic power, the burning—the dragon inside him—was restless. It wanted action. It wanted to be free.
Finally, they heard them. The convoy's sounds grew louder.
Wheels groaned against the dirt, pulling boots and voices closer. The soldiers marched in steady rhythm, their murmurs low but distinct.
Aerion gave a small hand signal. Eana moved at once, fading into the shadows, silent and unseen.
Garren tensed at the sight. His hands gripped a boulder, sweat beading on his brow from the strain. His fingers trembled, ready to push.
The first rider rounded the bend. His helmet glinted in the sun. The rider's bored eyes scanned the path.
He missed the danger lurking above and around him.
The wagons rolled behind him, their wheels grinding against stone. Foot soldiers followed, unaware.
When the first wagon was directly below Aerion's spot, he moved. He did not shout, but moved silently and quickly.
Garren pushed the boulder. It crashed down, blocking the path and trapping the convoy.
The Vaelgard cried out in surprise. Their horses reared up. Everything quickly became chaos.
Aerion dropped from above. He landed silently behind the first Vaelgard rider. The man barely had time to turn before Aerion struck him.
He grabbed the rider's head, twisting with savage force. The neck snapped. He tossed the corpse, its helmet rolling on the ground.
The second rider charged with the sword above his head, yelling loudly. Aerion sidestepped, then snatched the arm, shattering it.
The exposed bone made the rider scream, but then it was cut off as Aerion smashed his fist into his face.
Three foot soldiers rushed forward, their swords flashing, diving toward his chest. He blocked the attack with his arm, the blade cutting deep, angering him.
He twisted the wrist of the soldier holding the sword, popped the joint, then stabbed the sword through the man's throat. Blood gushed from the wound.
But Eana moved fast, a blur in the shadows. She disarmed him swiftly and tripped his horse. The rider fell hard.
The three foot soldiers charged. Aerion moved like a ghost. His blows were quick.
They did not kill, but they caused much damage. He disarmed one. He broke the arm of another.
He slammed the third against a wagon wheel, knocking the soldier out.
There was no wasted movement. Nothing extra. Just cold, brutal skill.
It was over in moments. The Vaelgard were defeated. They were either unconscious or too hurt to fight back.
Aerion ignored them. His gaze went straight to the wagons.
He ripped open their covers, his blue eyes scanning the contents.
It was not food. It was not weapons.
His fingers touched finely made gears. He found strange pipes made of smooth stone.
There was also a heavy, leather-bound book with complex drawings of magic paths.
These were the tools he needed. These were important for his long-term plans. He began to gather them.
***
The first light of dawn brought not peace but a new kind of war. It raged inside Aerion.
Kairos's own consciousness was strong. It fought a constant battle against lingering echoes. There were fragments of the boy Aerion's memories, yet they sparked.
Aerion's head throbbed. It was a dull ache, pressing behind his eyes. It was worse than usual.
A flicker of warmth crossed his mind, coming from a soft hand that touched his cheek. He felt a fleeting sense of safety from it.
Then, a quick flash of a bright smile and a woman's gentle laughter. He felt a pang in his chest, like a wound reopening.
He also felt compassion, a deep and old fear for someone else. These feelings were sudden and sharp, trying to take root in his mind.
Weakness.
Aerion snarled coldly. The sound was not coming from his throat but from inside his head.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles pressing hard into the cold ground. He fought the feeling and drove the warmth away.
These soft feelings left a bitter taste in his mouth. They were useless and would break his focus. He could not afford this kind of feeling. He was Kairos.
The human body felt like a cage to him. It was flawed. He needed absolute control, and he would crush every soft part of this vessel.
He breathed in and out slowly, focusing on the rough feel of the earth beneath his skin. He focused on the cold mountain air in his lungs.
He forced his mind to a single point, his vengeance, his power. The throbbing eased slightly, and the emotions started to dim.
He moved to the small, flat patch of dirt near the cold embers of the fire. The others still slept. Aerion felt no pity for them, only a cold assessment of tools he could use and discard at any time.
He took a sharp stick and began to draw on the dirt on the cave's ground.
By the time the others stirred, Aerion had already carved the first lines.
Rough shapes of hills, rivers, and the jagged teeth of mountains took form. The land before him was written in his bones, Aerion's.