A sharp, urgent cry split the night.
Through the dense forest, a figure darted swiftly between the trees. By the faint glow of the moon above, one could glimpse her form, clad in a fitted suit of light armor, her hands wrapped in tough hide to withstand a raptor's talons, her head protected by a hawk-shaped helm. In her grasp, a crossbow crafted from the horn of a fangbeast gleamed with deadly promise.
Closer inspection would reveal that her armor was forged from Solsteel, the blazing sun-steel found only in Demacia. Armor of such make was reserved exclusively for the royal guard.
Her crossbow was no ordinary weapon; a single pull of the trigger could loose dozens of bolts at once.
Her eyes were sharp as a hawk's, her movements swift and decisive, leaving no wasted motion.
She moved through the forest like a phantom.
This was the Wings of Demacia, Quinn.
By her side soared Valor, a rare Blue-Rock falcon, a species nearly extinct. If Demacia ever ranked its creatures by their rarity, Valor would be considered rarer than the great pandas of distant lands.
Another cry pierced the night.
Quinn quickened her pace immediately, Valor had spotted the enemy. As expected, the barbarians of the Freljord had joined forces with mages, attempting once more to cross the northern mountains of Fosbarrow and breach the border.
As Valor guided her toward the enemy, he also signaled to any nearby allies with their shared "three-three-seven" call.
Soon, Quinn emerged onto a clearing and spotted the enemy party. Instantly her stride shifted from a hunter's sprint to a predator's stealth.
From the cover of brush, she studied them: a small squad clad in frost-scale armor, their weapons brutal and heavy, axes, broad greatswords, hammers large as basin lids. At their lead stood a warrior brandishing a chilling blade unmistakably forged from True Ice.
But what caught Quinn's eye most was the cloaked figure hunched beneath a heavy mantle. A dark aura coiled around the mage's form, oppressive and cold.
In his hand he leaned upon a staff, woven from twisting vines, its hollow crown cradling a flame of seething magical energy.
Quinn stilled her breath, calculating. By surprise she could take down three, no more. Beyond that, retaliation would be swift, especially with a mage among them.
A distant cry rang out again, not Valor's, but the resonant call of a dragonbird. Quinn's lips curved slightly. Reinforcements had arrived, the dragonbird riders of Demacia.
Her chances had just grown significantly.
At that moment, the cloaked mage rose, staff planted in the earth. His voice, deep and cold, broke the night:
"We've been discovered by the Demacians."
"What? Impossible! We came this far without stirring even the border sentries!"
"Believe what you will," the mage replied grimly. "That cry belonged to a dragonbird. I know it too well."
He slammed his staff to the ground. From him surged ghostly blue flames, flooding outward like liquid. Though they burned fiercely, they gave no heat, only frost. Everywhere the flames touched, ice spread swiftly, and the forest's temperature plummeted.
Quinn's gaze flicked between the encroaching frostfire and the approaching dragonbird knights overhead. A plan was already forming.
She burst from the thicket, crossbow raised, and fired. A hail of bolts streaked toward the mage like a storm of steel.
But the mage sneered. The blue flames before him flared higher, catching the bolts. As they passed through, the shafts froze solid, their strength sapped, and they clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Quinn did not falter. She rolled to avoid a sweeping axe, reloaded in an instant, then leapt upward as Valor dove. The great falcon seized her arm and together they struck, their eyes locked on a berserker's exposed throat.
The crossbow sang, unleashing another storm. Bolts pierced the warrior's neck and eyes. Clutching his bleeding throat, the giant toppled, blood spilling across the frozen earth.
Above, the dragonbirds screamed. Three knights leveled their twin-pronged lances, gripping reins with one hand, weapons with the other.
Like arrows loosed from the heavens, the dragonbirds folded their wings and dove.
At the last moment they flared their wings wide, air currents hurling them forward in a deadly charge. Lances struck true, one berserker's throat impaled, his life ended in a heartbeat.
With Quinn's kill added, four were already down. In the blink of an eye, two-thirds of the enemy squad lay slain.
"Demacian dragonbird knights…" the mage laughed darkly. "Killing you here will wound your noble lords deeply."
A chill ran through Quinn's heart. Her eyes widened. "Ascend, now!" she shouted.
The frostfire-blighted ground erupted. Frozen geysers spewed ice shards skyward, while the Freljord warriors charged fearlessly, ice and cold their native strength.
For them, the freezing air was no hindrance, it was home.
One geyser engulfed a dragonbird and its rider. When the frost receded, both were sealed in solid ice.
Their captain charged like a bear, massive greatsword raised. His blow cleaved a dragonbird's neck clean through, the frostburst drowning its rider in an icy tomb.
"Valen! Tien!"
The lone surviving knight, a woman, screamed her comrades' names. Quinn fired another volley, bolts raining down upon the enemy.
"Go, Cecilya! Go!" Quinn cried. She knew this rider well, her only chance was retreat.
But Cecilya's dragonbird faltered, its abdomen grazed earlier by the frost geyser. Blood streamed, frostspikes blossoming from the wound, poisoning it from within.
Still, the creature beat its wings furiously, determined to carry its partner to safety even in its final moments.
Quinn whistled sharply. Valor wheeled upward, bearing her aloft. Cecilya's dragonbird struggled alongside.
The mage raised his staff. Blue fire shot skyward, condensing into a rain of icy spears.
Quinn's bolts shattered many midair. With another whistle, Valor surged forward, carrying her into the night.
"We must reach the nearest outpost," Quinn said coolly. "They must send reinforcements."
Then, softer, she asked, "Cecilya, are you all right?"
"My Dawnlight… my Dawnlight is dying…" Cecilya's voice broke, grief choking her words. She could feel the life of her partner slipping away, could almost see the Veiled Lady of Death herself approaching to claim him.
"Veiled Lady… I beg you, don't take him yet. Please, grant us a little more time!"
Beneath her wolf-faced mask, Cecilya wept and pleaded. But the Lamb gave no answer. Instead, she looked elsewhere.
Following her gaze, Cecilya realized it pointed toward the direction of the wandering traveler she had once encountered.
"Is this your guidance…?" Cecilya whispered, eyes widening. She pulled her reins sharply, veering away from Quinn's intended course.
"Cecilya, where are you going?"
"The Veiled Lady has shown me a sign! Follow me, Quinn!" Cecilya's voice trembled with strange fervor, ignoring Quinn's protest.
"You're delirious! No living soul can see the Lady!"
"Follow me! Dawnlight can still be saved!"
Bound by love and desperation, Cecilya would not abandon the dragonbird she had raised since childhood. To her, he was family. She would defy even death itself.
In the void, the Wolf circled the Lamb.
"Mortals always mistake you for someone else," the Wolf growled. "For the woman who would not accept her fate, who tried to break her own wings."
The Lamb's voice was soft, carrying through the night:
"But you still remember my name."
"Our name," the Wolf hissed, baring his teeth.
"Death."
Not far away, Duke, full from a meal, rose with a bottle of wine in hand. Edith had signaled him. Dragonbird knights again.
But this time… only two? And something felt different.
"Strange," he muttered, sipping his drink, loosening his collar. Confusion clouded his gaze.
End of chapter....
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