Kin and Minevi stood outside the Palace of the Kings, the heart of Windhelm and home to its Jarl.
Two guards stood watch at the entrance, both wearing expressions that made their feelings plain enough. Their scowls were aimed mostly at Minevi. It was no secret that an Imperial envoy had come to the city, and clearly these were men who did not much like seeing Imperial colors within their walls.
Minevi ignored them completely.
Throughout their stay in Windhelm, she had never once tried to hide what she was or who she served. Kin noticed that now more than ever. There was something hard and deliberate in the way she carried herself. Maybe that was what it meant to wear a banner—to wear it as naturally as skin, or else not at all.
The guards must have been under strict orders.
As much as they looked like they wanted to spit in her face, they held themselves back.
Before them stood a pair of massive wooden doors set into stone, with a torch bowl burning between them. After a moment, the door on the left creaked open and the guard standing before it stepped aside.
Minevi entered first.
Kin followed close behind.
As they passed, Kin caught the way one guard's glare never left her. His eyes tracked Minevi until she crossed fully through the doorway. Then, under his breath, he muttered just loud enough to be heard.
"Watch your back, Imperial bitch."
Minevi gave no sign that she'd heard him.
Her stride never faltered.
Her expression never changed.
Kin felt his jaw tighten at the remark, but he took her silence as a message all its own.
Be unbreaking.
Once inside, they entered a broad throne room with a long table running through its center and the throne itself standing at the far end beneath the vaulted ceiling. At the moment, the hall appeared nearly empty save for the occasional servant moving quietly in the background.
Behind them, the door guard began to close the entrance.
"Jarl'll be right with you," he said. "Good luck."
The door shut with a heavy thud.
Minevi turned slightly toward Kin. "Kin."
"Yes?"
"When he asks, I want you to be honest. All right?"
Kin let out a breath through his nose. "Easy for you to say. I just trashed half this man's city."
"It doesn't matter," Minevi said. "Tell the truth. No matter what."
Kin glanced away. "Sure. It's your show, after all."
He had never intended to lie, but there was a difference between honesty in theory and honesty in front of a king whose home you had just helped wreck.
A short while later, a burly man entered the hall.
He wore spiked leather armor and a bearskin cowl, the beast's head resting atop his own while its claws draped over his shoulders. A thick blond beard, braided and beaded at the bottom, framed a face that looked carved from bad temper and old battle. His build was massive, the kind that made his strength obvious at a glance.
A warrior.
And not the kind softened by age.
He stopped once he was fully in the room and looked at Kin and Minevi with open disgust, as if even acknowledging them was an effort.
"Ah," Minevi said. "Galmar Stone-Fist, I presume."
Galmar said nothing at first.
He simply stared at them for a moment, then reached into his waistband and drew a knife. Without a word, he strode to the bowl of fruit on the long table and drove the blade into it hard enough to make Kin flinch despite himself. Galmar ripped the knife back out with an apple skewered on the end.
"You presume right," he said before biting into it.
The crunch echoed through the hall.
It was absurd how loud it seemed. Kin found the sound bouncing around inside his skull, snapping through every half-formed thought he was trying to hold together.
"Well," Minevi said evenly, "we're here. Isn't your king supposed to be as well?"
"Silence, woman."
Galmar stalked toward her, chewing as he came. He ate like a beast, bits of apple catching in his beard as he closed the distance until he stood directly in front of Minevi, staring into her eyes without the slightest hint of restraint.
"I don't know what Ulfric thinks this little meeting will accomplish," he said. "And I don't know why he's bothering with diplomacy at all." His voice lowered into a threat. "But if it were up to me, you'd have been dead before your foot ever touched stone in this city."
Minevi smirked.
"Oh, stop. I bet you say that to all the pretty Imperial soldiers."
Galmar's jaw tightened visibly. The mockery hit him harder than the threat had hit her.
"Listen to me, wench—"
"Galmar."
The voice cut cleanly across the room.
Kin went still.
He knew that voice. He would have known it anywhere.
The one man who had seemed to understand him, even briefly, during the darkest day of his life had just entered the hall.
Ulfric Stormcloak.
The Jarl of Windhelm walked calmly to the far end of the room and settled onto his throne.
"I appreciate you greeting our guests," Ulfric said, "but I will take over from here."
Galmar held Minevi's gaze for another moment, then scoffed and turned away.
"As you wish, my king."
He moved to Ulfric's side, clearly unhappy about it, and took his place there like a restless hound forced to heel.
Ulfric lounged in his throne with deceptive ease, one hand idly turning the rings on his fingers. There was something strange in the way he carried himself—intense, watchful, but also faintly detached, as if part of him were always somewhere else.
"You Imperials have some gall," he said. "You send word asking to discuss temporary peace, and then you tear up my city in a street fight." His gaze hardened. "Now tell me why I shouldn't throw you both back in chains."
Kin stepped forward at once.
"I was the one involved in the fight," he said. "I acted alone, not on behalf of the Empire. Please, hear what she has to say. Punish me—and me alone—for the damage."
Ulfric studied him.
He had expected to see the Dragonborn again one day, perhaps. But this was no longer the same frightened boy who had ridden beside him in that prisoner cart on the road to Helgen.
"Ah," Ulfric said at last. "The young Dragonborn himself. It has been a while, hasn't it?"
His eyes sharpened.
"Tell me—what exactly did you think you were doing when you started a fight in my city?"
Kin remembered Minevi's words.
Tell the truth.
He straightened and forced himself not to look away.
"I..." He swallowed once. "I was trying to stop the murders plaguing this city. We learned that a man known as the Butcher was behind them. I met more resistance than I expected... and in the end, I wasn't able to catch him."
Galmar let out a harsh laugh. "Ha. The boy fancies himself some kind of hero, does he?" He took another bite from the apple. "Wake up, lad. This is the real world, not a place for living out fantasies of heroism."
Ulfric lifted a hand, and Galmar fell silent.
"Protecting people proved more difficult than you thought, yes?" Ulfric asked.
Kin kept his eyes on him. "I was only doing what I thought was right. It was never my intention to cause trouble."
"And yet trouble is all you seem to have to show for it." Ulfric leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "I can only hope this message from General Tullius is worth sparing the two of you from the gallows." His gaze sharpened. "I was looking forward to seeing you again, Dragonborn, but these are times of war. An example must be set." He leaned forward in his throne. "So... out with it."
Minevi stepped forward, taking the floor.
"I am sure you are aware of the dragon crisis overtaking Skyrim," she said. "After all, you were there the day it began." Her tone stayed measured, diplomatic. "These attacks are straining us all. Major holds are stretched thin. This is not the sort of threat we should be facing while so divided, would you not agree?"
Ulfric lowered his face into his palm and gave a quiet, humorless chuckle.
"So the great General Tullius is asking for our help with the wyrms?"
"Not exactly," Minevi said. "He is asking for a temporary ceasefire until they can be dealt with. We understand that neither side can simply drop their weapons and embrace, but if we were not actively at war, both sides would have more resources to commit elsewhere. Surely your men would sleep easier not having to fight on multiple fronts, even if only for a short while."
Ulfric did not hesitate.
"I refuse."
Kin stared at him. "What?"
Minevi's composure cracked just enough for disbelief to show. "You cannot be serious."
"Once again," Ulfric said, "the Empire undermines us as a people. The dragon crisis, like everything else in Skyrim, belongs to us. It is our problem. We do not need aid, nor do we need outside powers stepping in to solve our affairs. We are at war. And until the Empire learns its place, we will remain so."
Kin stepped forward before he could stop himself. "This is bigger than your stupid war! Why can't you see that?"
"Hold your tongue, boy!" Galmar barked, one hand already tightening near his axe.
Ulfric never looked away from Kin. "Tell me, Dragonborn. Do you know what makes for the ideal time to wage war?"
Kin frowned. "No. No, I don't."
"It is when the battlefield is dangerous for both sides," Ulfric said. "The dragons offer us a unique opportunity. Skyrim has become such a battlefield. Danger on every side. Every man forced to adapt... or die." His voice carried conviction now, almost fervor. "This sort of adversity is exactly what this land needs to evolve. To become something greater."
Minevi stared at him in disbelief. "You truly intend to keep fighting under these conditions? What of the people who cannot fight? Have you considered how many of them will be swallowed whole by your perfect battlefield?"
"Sadly," Ulfric said, "that is the price of freedom. Run back and tell Tullius that. I will grant you safe passage for that much, at least."
Kin's anger finally broke loose.
"That's bullshit!" he snapped. "Your men are already stretched thin. This whole city is crawling with racism and bigotry. Dark Elves are treated like vermin and shoved into slums. The Grey Quarter? What kind of name is that?" His voice rose with every word. "Those people came to you for asylum, and because they aren't Nords, everyone here treats them like garbage. Your city guard can't even handle one serial killer in their own streets. Do you even care about the innocent women who died under your watch?"
Galmar took his axe into his hand with a growl. "I will not say it again, lad. This is the true High King you address!"
Ulfric rose from his throne.
The room changed with it. Whatever detached ease he had worn before was gone now.
"So," he said, voice low and dangerous, "you—an outsider—believe you know what is best for Skyrim better than I do?"
Kin lowered his head and let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. His fists clenched so tightly they trembled. For a moment he said nothing, visibly fighting to keep hold of himself.
Then he looked up.
"Skyrim?" he said. "No. You've got it wrong." His voice hardened. "I don't give a shit about this place. It's done nothing but try to devour me since the moment I got here. To hell with your cursed land."
The hall went still.
"I care about the people," Kin said. "While you're out there tearing at the Empire for every scrap of land you can bleed over, your people are suffering. And if you don't care enough to protect the ones living inside these walls..." His eyes locked with Ulfric's. "Then you don't deserve the title of King."
The room fell silent almost at once.
Galmar looked ready to explode, outrage practically rolling off him in waves, but Ulfric remained still. Calm. Though there was now a faint offense in his expression, as if Kin's words had struck closer than he cared to admit.
Kin felt the weight of what he had just done all at once.
He had lost his temper.
On a king.
He had not meant for it to happen—not here, not with everything balanced so precariously—but the anger had been building inside him for too long. Before he knew it, it had burst out of him. His hand flew to his mouth as he turned toward Minevi, horror creeping across his face.
"Kin..." Minevi began.
"I'm sorry!"
And then he was moving.
He turned and made a straight line for the doors, desperate to get out, to disappear, to be anywhere but here.
"Kin, wait!" Minevi called after him. "Where are you—"
But he was already gone.
Shame burned through him as he stormed from the palace. Minevi had been composed. Careful. Strategic. She had come here to do something difficult, and all he had done was make it harder. He had wanted to help her. Instead, he had become another problem.
He barely knew where he was going.
He only knew he needed to be alone.
He kept walking until the city sounds faded behind him and all that remained was the whistle of the wind. Only then did he realize he had wandered completely beyond Windhelm's walls. Snow lay thick around him, trees rising silent and dark from the white.
His anger was eating him alive.
How could Ulfric be so cold? So careless with the very people he claimed to be fighting for? The women butchered in his city had deserved better than dismissal. Better than being folded into the cost of war as though their deaths were merely unfortunate background noise.
Kin dropped to his knees in the snow.
He grabbed the collar of his cloak and pulled it up over his face, trying to smother the frustrated growl tearing out of him. He stayed there, hunched over in the cold, trying to wrestle his thoughts back under control.
Then the wind changed.
It shifted suddenly, violently, as if something enormous had pushed against the air itself.
Kin was too wrapped up in his own storm to notice the beat of vast wings overhead until it was too late. A second later came the impact—a deep, rumbling thud that shook the ground beneath him.
The landing kicked up a furious wave of snow and wind. His hair and cloak were blasted forward, snapping in the force of it.
Only after the noise settled did Kin lift his head.
Slowly, he turned.
Through the swirling veil of snow, something emerged.
For one terrible moment, it looked like death itself walking toward him.
A dragon.
But not like the others.
This one was cloaked in deep green scales, and its horns grew together into a single crownlike plate over its head. Its eyes burned gold through the storm—bright, hungry, and ancient. Those eyes were all Kin could truly make out at first, cutting through the white like twin coals in a grave.
The dragon advanced slowly, studying him with unnerving intensity.
Then it spoke.
"Yeeessss," it hissed. "Give me more."
Kin froze.
Everything in him screamed that this one was different. Wrong in a way the others had not been. Smarter. More aware. More interested.
It took him a moment to find his voice at all.
"Give you... what?"
The dragon lowered its great head slightly. "The hatred in your heart. It sings in the wind." Its voice rolled through the snow like warm venom. "It is what led me here. The pain. The anguish." It inhaled deeply through its nostrils, savoring him. "Such succulent emotions, are they not?"
It tilted its head, almost disappointed.
"I thought I would find another dova when I arrived. But it is only you." The dragon leaned closer. "Tell me... how do you carry the soul of my kin?"
Kin swallowed hard. "I'm... not exactly sure myself. But apparently, I'm Dragonborn."
"Apparently?" the dragon echoed. "Are you uncertain of what you are?"
It began to circle him now, slow and deliberate, hot breath venting from its nostrils in short bursts. It was studying him. Measuring him. Kin still could not tell what it wanted, only that he was very much at its mercy if it chose violence.
Then a more urgent thought cut through his fear.
"Are you here to attack the city?"
The dragon almost seemed amused by the question. It stopped circling and turned one golden eye fully on him.
"Those walls hold nothing for me but spikes and traps," it said. "I came because I followed the scent of the sweetest emotions... and what a surprise I found."
Kin forced himself to ask the next question.
"So you're not going to hurt them?"
"Sadly," the dragon said, baring its teeth in something like a smile, "the risk outweighs the reward. I have no intention of hunting those within the walls."
Kin let out the smallest breath of relief—
Then the dragon's expression shifted.
"But the enemy of my kind..." it said, its lips peeling back farther, "I could most certainly go for a bite of you."
Kin's eyes widened.
Before he could react, the dragon reared up and flung both wings wide. Then, with a thunderous roar, it drove them forward.
The gust hit like a battering ram.
Kin threw his arms up and tried to hold his ground, boots digging into the snow, but the force was too great. His footing broke. He was hurled backward down the slope behind him, tumbling violently through the snow until he finally slid to a stop among the trees below.
He sprang up as fast as he could, though his head spun badly from the fall. He dropped to one knee, forcing himself to breathe through the dizziness until the world stopped tilting.
And strangely, in that rattled, breathless moment, a thought came to him.
Death had come for him so many times now that the feeling was beginning to lose its novelty.
The realization almost made him laugh.
A smile crept onto his face as he slowly rose to his feet.
Kin let out a breathless laugh.
"What is it with this place, anyway?" he muttered. "Is death really all there is here?" Another bitter chuckle escaped him.
Behind the line of trees, he heard the dragon land.
The sound was heavy and deliberate, followed by the slow crunch of something enormous beginning to move through the snow in his direction.
"I'm exhausted..." Kin said, leaning back and staring up at the pale sky with a weary smile. "Honestly... I don't think I've got it in me anymore."
The dragon's head began to push through the trees, smoke curling from its nostrils as it advanced with a low snarl.
Kin did not move.
"If this place wants me dead so badly," he said, "then come and get me, damn it."
Then a shout cut across the field.
"Hey! Stop him!"
Kin turned.
A cloaked man was running hard across the snow with both arms full of something. At first Kin could not make sense of what he was seeing. Then one of the objects slipped free and fell into the snow.
A human arm.
Another followed.
The man's hood shifted as he ran, and Kin caught a glimpse of his face.
Calixto Corrium.
Everything in him jolted awake at once.
That was the Butcher.
His eyes widened with sudden fury as the truth slammed into place.
"You..."
From the bridge beyond, Gavhelus and Taviiah came charging down toward the field. They spotted Kin standing in the snow as Calixto fled before the guards.
Taviiah slowed for half a breath. "Wait, Gav... is that—?"
"Yeah," Gavhelus said. "That's our lad." He frowned toward the field. "What in the hell is goin' on out here?"
Then one of the city guards screamed from the bridge.
"By the gods! It's a bloody dragon!"
Gavhelus and Taviiah both looked past Calixto and Kin.
The dragon was coming down the hill.
And Kin—frozen where he stood—was not even looking at it.
His entire attention was fixed on Calixto.
The man struggled through the snow, slowed by the weight in his arms and the uneven ground. He never even saw death coming.
The dragon's jaws flashed into view from the side.
Then snapped shut.
Calixto's body burst apart in its mouth.
Blood and limbs sprayed across the snow in a wet red arc.
Kin stood rooted in place as fragments of the butcher rained down around him. Warm blood spattered his clothes, his face, the snow at his feet.
For one stunned instant, he could not believe what had happened.
The moment he finally found the killer—
the moment he finally saw his face—
the bastard had been taken from him.
Something inside Kin broke.
"Son of a bitch!" he roared. "That kill was mine!"
Then he felt it.
That terrible pressure building in his throat.
That familiar fire.
The same burning force he had felt the day his father died.
This time, he did not try to suppress it.
All he could see was red.
He opened his mouth to scream—
and fire exploded from him.
The shout blasted outward in a torrent of flame toward the dragon. The beast reacted instantly, launching itself into the air to avoid the attack. Fire tore through the snow beneath it, carving a long black path of melted ground and burning trees.
Kin took a step forward, wild-eyed. "Oh no you don't!"
"Wait, lad!" Gavhelus shouted from behind. "That ain't a normal dragon!"
Too late.
Kin shouted again and hurled himself into the air.
His speed was breathtaking.
One instant he was on the ground, and the next he was already surging skyward after the beast. In seconds he was above it. He drew in another breath and unleashed a second blast of fire.
The dragon twisted away and answered with a stream of its own.
A constant torrent of flame came roaring toward him. Kin reacted on instinct, shouting himself sideways out of its path. The force of it sent him spinning, curving his trajectory through the air just enough to evade the full blast.
Below, Taviiah stared upward in horror.
"Gav, we have to stop him! He's not thinking clearly."
Gavhelus didn't take his eyes off the sky. "And how exactly do you plan on doin' that, love?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Look at him. He's fightin' like one of them now."
Above Windhelm, Kin and the dragon tore through the morning sky in a savage aerial duel.
The guards below could only watch in fear. Some broke off to secure the gates and warn the city. Panic spread quickly through the streets. On the docks, people were already scrambling to get back behind the walls before the dragon turned its attention on them.
Minevi came running down the bridge toward the others, breathless from haste.
"Oh, thank the Divines I found you. I heard there was some kind of commotion just outside the city, and I came running in hopes that Kin hadn't done something cra—"
She stopped dead as she looked up.
A dragon wheeled overhead.
And locked in battle with it was Kin.
"A dragon?" she breathed. "That can't be..." Her eyes widened. "By the Divines—is that Kin?"
"Afraid so," Gavhelus said grimly. "Kid's lost his bloody mind tryin' to kill the thing."
"How is this even possible?" Minevi asked. "How can he stay up there with it?"
"Something he practiced during training," Gavhelus said. "Didn't think he'd be able to do all this with it, though." His gaze sharpened. "He's likely movin' on pure instinct now. But that beast..." He frowned. "That beast sure as hell isn't your average dragon."
High above them, Kin and the dragon circled one another like rival storms.
Flame flashed between them in bursts. They darted in and out, colliding in midair with blade and claw between shouts. Kin's bound swords burned in his hands as he drove himself at the creature again and again, no thought left in him beyond rage.
The dragon laughed.
"Good," it purred. "Let the rage consume you, child."
Kin shouted himself forward with both blades raised.
The dragon met him head-on.
For all its menace, it was enjoying this. Toying with him. Delighting in the sheer ferocity of a mortal who had dared to take the fight to the sky itself.
"Let us continue," the dragon hissed, "until that same rage becomes fear."
They collided again.
And again.
Each clash sent a shockwave rolling across the air. Steel struck fang. Claw scraped conjured blade. Fire bled from both their throats between passes. On the final exchange, the dragon lunged and caught one of Kin's swords in its mouth, its jaws clamping down around the blade as it surged higher into the sky.
Kin did not pull away.
Instead, he leaned in closer to the beast.
"I'm not afraid of you," Kin snarled. "Not anymore." His eyes burned. "I just want you dead."
With that, he dispersed the bound sword trapped in the dragon's jaws.
In the same motion, he slashed with the other blade, carving a shallow line near the creature's eye. It was not a deep wound, but it was enough. The dragon recoiled with an enraged hiss and veered away as Kin continued rising, carried higher for a heartbeat on the momentum of his own movement.
The dragon wheeled sharply and came back around.
This time it attacked from below.
Kin hung in the air, slowly rotating as he summoned another bound blade into his empty hand. The dragon charged upward toward him, mouth open, body arrowing through the sky.
Then Kin gave himself to the wind.
He twisted and dropped, letting his body spiral downward. Each turn tightened, smaller and faster than the last, until he had become a spinning plunge aimed directly at the dragon itself.
At the last instant, he flung both arms wide to one side and threw his body into a brutal rotational slash.
He slipped past the dragon's snapping jaws by inches.
Then continued spinning along the length of its spine, carving with each turn as he descended.
Steel bit scale.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until, with one final pass, he sliced the tip of its tail clean off.
The dragon screamed.
It broke off its ascent at once, circling hard in the sky with a roar of pain and fury. Kin drifted beneath it, blades in hand, preparing for another attack.
He shouted himself upward again and swung.
The dragon twisted elegantly around the strike and slipped behind him.
Kin force-shouted himself to a stop and began turning to find it—
Too slow.
The beast shot past him like lightning.
From below, they all saw Kin's body jerk and spin in the air as the dragon tore through.
Taviiah's voice broke in horror. "No! He's hurt!"
Blood hung in the sky.
Kin was no longer moving.
The lower half of his right arm was gone.
For one frozen second, he simply hung there in the air, body limp and twisting, blood spraying out in a terrible arc from the stump. His eyes had gone blank white from the shock. The dragon swooped wide, circling back around to line itself up for the killing strike.
It came at him head-on, jaws opening.
"Dear Divines..." Gavhelus breathed. "It's over for him."
The dragon lunged.
Its jaws snapped shut around empty air.
Kin vanished.
Only a cloud of gray mist remained, dispersing where he should have been.
Taviiah clapped both hands over her mouth to smother a scream as tears sprang to her eyes. For a few long seconds, time seemed to stop. No one spoke. No one moved. The silence that fell was almost worse than the violence.
Then, just as the breath caught in all their lungs was about to break free—
A man burst from a cloud of gray smoke in front of them.
He stumbled forward with a body in his arms.
Kin.
The stranger dropped to one knee, bracing himself, then carefully lowered Kin onto the ground. The moment Kin touched the snow, he came back to life in a scream of pure agony.
The shock had finally worn off.
The man threw back his hood.
Eradros.
He stood before them in full Nightingale armor, breath hard, eyes sharp.
"Can someone help?" he shouted. "He's losing blood!"
Taviiah did not move at first.
She stood there trembling, too full of shock and terror to process what she was seeing. Around her, the others rushed in. Then her knees gave out and she dropped into the snow, trying to force air back into her lungs.
"Hold him down!" Gavhelus barked. "We've got to tie off the arm!"
Minevi stood over them, staring at Eradros like she'd seen a ghost.
"Eradros..." she said faintly. "Is that really you?"
He looked up at her only briefly before turning back to Kin, who was thrashing and screaming as Gavhelus fought to hold him steady.
"Yes, it's me," Eradros said. "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner."
He tore a length of cloth from his own cape and cinched it tight around what remained of Kin's arm, pulling until the bleeding began to slow. Only then did he step back enough for Gavhelus to take over keeping Kin down.
Then Eradros turned and walked over to Taviiah.
"And you must be the childhood friend Minevi wrote about," he said. "Can you look after him? We are not out of danger yet with that dragon."
Taviiah barely seemed to hear him at first. She sat staring blankly toward Kin while overhead the dragon circled in widening, furious loops, shrieking with frustration over its lost prey.
Minevi still had not fully moved.
"You... got my letters?"
Eradros gave her a tired glance. "I was with the Guild. Did you really think they'd let a parchment bearing my name go unmentioned?"
Minevi looked as though she had ten questions at once, but before she could ask any of them, another sound rose over the chaos.
Marching.
Eradros and Minevi both turned.
Ulfric Stormcloak was crossing the main bridge with a small battalion of soldiers at his back.
The moment the men saw the dragon overhead, the reality of it hit them. Panic flickered across several faces, but none broke formation. They followed Ulfric down from the bridge and onto the snow beyond the gates.
Ulfric's gaze swept the scene.
He saw Kin on the ground, writhing in pain as Gavhelus tended to the mangled arm.
"Was the boy trying to fell a blood dragon?" he asked.
Minevi looked over sharply. "A blood dragon?"
"I knew that thing wasn't bloody normal," Gavhelus muttered. He tightened his grip on Kin as the boy bucked in pain. "He put up one hell of a fight, all things considered. But we have to get him out of here before it notices where he is."
Ulfric kept his eyes on the beast overhead. "I did not expect to meet one so close to our gates. It must have been drawn here by something."
"None of that matters," Minevi snapped.
She stepped toward him, no diplomacy left in her now.
"This is exactly what we were warning you about. Kin has been out here fighting for your people while you wage war from a throne. He is one person. Dragonborn or not, he cannot do this alone." Her voice hardened. "We are going to need every hand we have if we are to survive this. Do you understand that now?"
Ulfric did not answer right away.
He stood watching the dragon, considering her words with infuriating calm even now.
At last he spoke.
"It seems I underestimated your claims." His jaw tightened. "This will require our full attention."
Then he strode to the rear of his men.
"Archers ready!"
At once, eight soldiers at the front dropped to one knee and raised their bows.
They aimed high.
Above them, the dragon noticed the gathered soldiers.
Then it noticed Kin.
The boy was still writhing in the snow, half-delirious from pain and blood loss.
The dragon stopped circling.
It hovered over them instead, vast wings beating downward so hard the wind slammed into the soldiers and forced them to brace just to keep their footing. Bows wavered. Cloaks snapped violently in the gusts.
Then Gavhelus looked up and saw the dragon drawing in a huge breath.
His eyes widened.
"Guys..." he said. "I think it's up to something."
Before anyone could react, a sphere of fire blossomed inside the dragon's mouth.
It burned white-hot at the center, swelling larger with every passing heartbeat, sparks snapping wildly around its jaws. Then, with a forceful roar, the beast hurled the fireball downward.
Eradros moved first.
He seized Minevi and Taviiah and threw himself to the ground with them just as the orb struck.
The instant it touched the earth, everything went silent.
For one impossibly brief second, the world held its breath.
Then the explosion came.
Fire erupted in every direction with deafening force, blasting men off their feet and hurling bodies like rag dolls across the snow. Some soldiers died the moment the blast caught them. Others staggered up only to be swallowed by flames. The ground itself seemed to lurch beneath the impact, and the area before the bridge was transformed into a chaos of burning wreckage, shattered stone, and screaming men.
Eradros came to only moments later.
At first, he barely understood what had happened. Smoke choked the air, and his ears rang so violently that everything else seemed muffled and far away. Panic echoed dimly through the haze—shouts, cries, the sound of people burning and struggling to survive.
He forced himself up, swaying badly.
"Kin!" he shouted, though he could barely hear his own voice. "Gav! Damn it, where are you?!"
Through the smoke, he found them.
Gavhelus lay sprawled on the ground, his body thrown protectively over Kin's. Both were unconscious.
Minevi and Taviiah were near Eradros, crumpled in the snow. Injured. Out cold.
But alive.
Ahead of him, the flames still burned too high to see clearly through, but beyond them he made out a silhouette.
Huge.
Still.
Watching.
The dragon had landed.
Its eyes glowed like coals through the fire as it began to march toward them, low growls rumbling from its chest. Every step made the ground tremble beneath the ruined field.
Eradros tried to move toward Kin and Gavhelus.
Pain dropped him to one knee.
"Aaagh!" he gasped, one hand clutching at his side. He sucked in a ragged breath and tried to force himself upright. "I have to get up... It can't end like this. Not now."
The dragon stopped amid the flames.
Embers drifted from its nostrils into the smoke-blotted sky. It held its head high, almost regal, as if admiring the destruction it had wrought.
At the base of the bridge, Ulfric Stormcloak lay pinned beneath a corpse.
One of his own men had thrown himself in front of him when the blast came, and now the dead soldier's weight trapped him against the stone arch. Ulfric strained and shoved until at last he was able to push the body aside and drag himself free.
He sat there for a moment, dazed and breathless.
The aftermath spread before him in ruin.
Dead men. Broken stone. Fire. And the dragon—still alive, still advancing despite its wounds.
His gaze fell to the corpse beside him. A steel greatsword was strapped across the dead soldier's back, never even drawn.
Ulfric could barely feel his legs.
Still, he dragged himself to it.
With numb, unsteady hands, he pulled the sword from its sheath and leaned back against the stone, gripping it upright before him as he stared toward what felt like certain death. His vision swam, but even through the blur he could see the enormous beast standing not far from Eradros.
The dragon spread its wings.
Wind slammed outward from them, nearly knocking Eradros flat. Then it opened its mouth and loosed a booming roar that shook the shattered field.
Ulfric's nerves finally broke their silence. He clutched the greatsword tighter and shouted back at the beast, more out of defiance and fear than reason.
Then, from beside him, came a woman's voice.
"I'll take that, thanks."
The sword was yanked cleanly from Ulfric's hand.
He looked up in stunned disbelief.
A tall Orc woman strode past him with the greatsword in hand.
She wore partial Orcish armor that left her thighs, midriff, and arms exposed, her body muscular but lean, built like a predator rather than a brute. A long burgundy braid twisted down from beneath her helmet, trailing behind her as she walked. There was nothing hesitant in her pace.
She headed straight for the dragon.
The beast was still roaring when she stopped, planted her feet, and held one arm out toward it. With a smooth flick, she tossed the greatsword up into her grip like a javelin.
"All right now," she said. "You've had your fun. But I've got business to handle."
Then she threw.
The sword left her hand with monstrous force.
It flew straight into the dragon's open mouth, punched through the roof of it, and buried itself in the beast's brain.
The roar ended instantly.
The dragon's wings sagged.
Its body listed.
Its eyes went blank.
Eradros stared in disbelief as the great beast toppled and crashed into the ground, dead before it even fully hit the snow. The impact pushed the fire back in a wave, enough to clear the smoke around the Orc woman.
She dusted off her hands and exhaled.
"Glad I got that out of the way quickly."
Then she walked to the corpse and stepped into its open jaws to retrieve the sword from its skull.
As she did, the dragon's soul began to rise.
Golden light poured from the body in a swirling torrent and rushed across the field toward Kin.
The moment it struck him, Kin convulsed awake.
He grunted in agony, his whole body tensing as the soul poured into him. Sweat broke across his face in an instant, and he began thrashing weakly from the pain. Gavhelus jolted upright beside him and caught hold of him before he could worsen the injury to his arm.
"It's all right, kid, I got you," Gavhelus said, fighting to keep him steady. "You've got to calm down or you'll put yourself into shock again. I know it hurts—but you have to fight through it."
Kin tried.
By sheer force of will, he began to steady his breathing.
The transference finished, though he was still shaking violently, his teeth clenched and his eyes red from the strain of surviving the wound. He looked half-delirious, but alive.
Eradros glanced back at them, desperate for some sign that they were all right.
Gavhelus met his gaze and gave a short nod.
"I've got him. We're good... I think."
Relief hit Eradros all at once.
He let out a long breath and lowered his head, trying to gather himself through the pain and smoke and exhaustion.
Then he heard footsteps.
Heavy. Measured. Coming straight toward him.
Before he could fully look up, he heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being leveled.
He raised his head.
The Orc woman stood over him, bloodied greatsword pointed directly at his face.
"Eradros Duskthorn," she said.
Her voice was flat. Final.
"You're coming with me."
Chapter End—