Hello everyone, I just want to apologize for not uploading recently, this chapter was harder than I thought to write. I hope you enjoy it and please if you have any comments feel free to share them. Thank you for reading.
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The sky belonged to Fafnir.
Elowen learned that too late.
The dragon surged forward and, with terrifying ease, closed the distance.
One massive claw snapped forward.
It caught the griffon mid-flight.
Talons wrapped around its torso.
The impact alone nearly threw Elowen from the harness.
The griffon shrieked in agony.
Heat from the dragons grasp radiated in scorching waves.
Elowen felt it through the saddle and straps — unbearable heat bleeding into her legs. The leather smoked. Her armor grew hot against her skin.
She screamed as pain lanced upward.
The griffon thrashed wildly, wings beating desperately against the dragon's grip.
"Fly!" she shouted. "Fly!"
She tried to cut the talons with her blade.
The metal glowed red before she could even slash it properly.
The dragon's other claw came up slowly towards her and then he spoke.
His voice rolled across the heavens like distant thunder.
"You were warned."
Elowen froze.
"You were told not to return to the manor without invitation or prior notice."
His grip tightened slightly.
"You did not listen."
The dragon's massive eyes bore into her.
"And now you will pay for the transgression."
The second claw moved with terrifying precision.
It plucked her from the griffon's harness as though she weighed nothing.
She dangled helplessly in the open sky.
Her legs burned where the heat had seared through leather and cloth.
Below her, the griffon still struggled, thrashing wildly, trying to escape.
The dragon inhaled.
The air around him warped.
Then—
A torrent of blazing destruction poured over the griffon.
Its cry tore through the sky.
Elowen screamed.
"No! No— please—!"
The world turned orange.
Heat washed over her face.
The smell of burning feathers filled the air.
She begged for it to be a dream.
Begged for it to stop.
Her griffon—
Her companion since the first day she earned her wings in the king's army—
Burned before her eyes.
Within moments—
It was over.
The dragon ceased his flame.
Smoke curled through the sky.
Fafnir chuckled darkly.
Then, without hesitation, he caught the falling, charred remains.
"Hmmm," he rumbled thoughtfully.
He tore into it with savage amusement.
"Yes indeed… griffon does taste like chicken. Hahaha."
The sound echoed across the rooftops below.
Something inside Seris shattered.
Her screams stopped.
Her resistance ceased.
Her sword slipped from her fingers.
Tears streamed down her face — silent now.
Her eyes stared forward.
Unseeing.
Burn marks dotted her legs from prolonged exposure to the dragon's heat.
Yet, she no longer reacted.
She simply… broke.
Fafnir exhaled slowly.
"He told me not to kill you," he muttered.
He looked at her dangling form.
"To ensure you remember."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I believe this is a lesson worth remembering."
With that, he folded his wings and descended toward the city.
He chose an empty street and dropped her from a survivable height.
She struck the ground hard, but was still breathing.
Then, with a single powerful wingbeat, he rose again and flew back toward the estate as if nothing had occurred.
---
The silence after the dragon departed was suffocating.
Doors opened cautiously as citizens emerged slowly from their homes.
Only when they stood on the street, did the see her.
Griffon Captain Elowen Virelle — lying in the street with burns, soot-streaked and with eyes stsring into nothing.
Someone gasped.
"Help her!"
They rushed forward.
Even in her catatonic state, they treated her gently.
She did not speak, did not resist.
Even her eyes seemed to have forgotten how to blink properly.
She stared past them all.
They carried her to the town healer.
Questions flooded the room.
What happened?
What did she see?
She gave no answer.
Her mind had sealed itself shut.
---
Meanwhile—
Ten kilometers from the estate—
The five hundred men continued their advance. Their movements were fast and quiet, seemingly unaware of waht happened in the sky.
Umfortunately for them, their efforts were all for not.
On the estate wall, one of the Trojan archers narrowed his eyes.
In the distance, the archer noticed a movement coming towards the estate. As the movements got closer, the archer saw it.
An army.
He drew a single arrow.
Pulled the string.
Then released.
The arrow screamed as it cut through the air, emitting a piercing whistle.
As the arrow whistled, the rest of the estate realized it was the alarm.
Instantly, the estate shifted.
The knights ran towards the gates and walls with the hoplites, some already locking their shields in preparation.
The cavalrymen ran to the stables, hurrying to mount their horses.
The medics were rushing about, forming triage tents and getting the medical supplies ready for the eventual wounded soldiers.
Fenrir rose slowly from his resting position.
And Aleric turned toward the approaching threat.
The lesson in the sky had been delivered.
Now came the first fight that will cement their mercenary company's reputation.
War had arrived at his gates.
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The whistling arrow had barely finished echoing when the estate transformed.
There was no shouting and none of the soldiers had panic written across their faces. To them, it was just another day.
Every soldier moved to their positions as if it had already been predetermined. Their movements were fast and precise.
Aleric did not need to bark out orders.
They all moved like clockwork.
The Trojan archers flowed onto the battlements with fluid efficiency. Though only twenty-five in number, they spaced themselves perfectly along the wall, each calculating overlapping fields of fire without needing instruction.
They were already calculating the walls elevation, the distance to the enemy and even the strength of the wind.
It was all accounted for it in seconds.
The Knights of Camelot acted in seamless support.
Quivers were carried up and distributed along the parapets, positioned at equal intervals to ensure no archer would need to abandon position for resupply.
Once the ammunition lines were secured, the knights reorganized instantly.
Ten formed at the iron-reinforced gate. They joined the hoplites that took position there, preparing to use the gate as a choke point; should it be breached.
Another ten secured the triage lines near the inner courtyard — positioned deliberately in case of a breach or infiltration over the walls.
The remaining thirty ascended the battlements.
They did not simply stand beside the archers.
They spaced themselves out. Some raised gauntleted hands.
Then—
They began chanting.
The language was unfamiliar and old.
Ancient syllables resonated across the stone.
Mana gathered around them.
Fire bloomed into existence before one knight — a compact sphere of flame rotating slowly in front of his palm.
Another formed a swirling orb of water, dense and pressurized.
A third summoned jagged stone spikes hovering at the ready.
Every knight on the wall knew magic.
They weren't as powerful as archmages but they could still provide long-ranged support fire. These knights could deny area control to the enemies and break their formations before they reach the walls.
The battlements now shimmered with restrained elemental force.
Below—
The Companion Cavalry, once mounted, formed up naturally around Aleric.
They did not ask for they knew he was their commander and they were his shield.
Their lances were angled outward, their formation tight.
Athena stepped beside him. She had rushed inside the manor to grab her armor and spear as the first sounds of the alarm whistled into the air.
As she stood next to him, she studied him briefly.
She was trying to see if he was showing any signs of weakness. After all he had been forced into bed rest for nine days. Even now, his chest isn't completely healed and since he left his bed, he hadn't gotten much training with his spear snd shield to be proficient enough to fight in such a large scale battle.
His already limited fighting experience would have already turned rusty from his inactivity.
She knew it and he could feel it himself.
He knew if he were to fight that army now, it would test him and maybe become the end of him.
So she stayed close to him. She followed him even after he ordered his cavalry to stay below incase they need to sally out. She also moved with him when he moved to join the archers on top of the walls.
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When Fenrir rose as he heard the sound of the alarm, the atmosphere around him shifted.
Frost began spreading from beneath his paws. It appeared thin at first but it slowly began to thicken. The grass crystallized.
Stone surfaces crackled with forming ice.
His breath fogged in slow, heavy plumes.
He growled. It was low and deep, as if coming fr9m the depth of hell itself.
The vibration traveled through the ground.
The men felt it in their boots and straight into their bones.
The very earth trembled faintly beneath him.
Where Fafnir brought heat—
Fenrir brought winter.
Aleric inhaled slowly.
The horizon shifted. From below the canopy, he could see them now. He saw dust clouds being created in the distance. Armor glint could be seen breaking throught the leaves. The closer the enemy came, the more the tide seems to be against them.
Soon, five hundred men could finally be seen advancing in organized lines as they reached the edge of the forest.
They were not rabble or conscripts. Just by looking at their armor, one can tell they were professionals.
++++++
Aleric's hand tightened around his spear.
His chest still ached faintly when he drew a deep breath.
His injury lingered. He could feel it but his pain could no longer dictate his actions.
"Range?" he asked calmly.
One of the Trojan archers answered without looking away.
"Two hundred paces sir."
Aleric nodded.
He looked over his assembled force. All of them veterans of their own eras. Each of them masters of their own crafts. He then looked at his side. Athena stood next to him, her posture regal, her armor already on with her spear and shield at the ready. Then he looked over head where Fafnir could be seen flying through the sky. And to his right down the wall stood Fenrir.
He had summoned them all because he wanted security and to be ready incase he ever got attacked.
Now that he had the security he wished for, someone had to test it before he could even begin to feel safe.
He lowered his spear slightly.
"Hold your fire."
The words carried steady across the wall.
The approaching force continued forward.
Unaware that they were marching to their deaths.
Behind the advancing army—
Their lord rode. His eyes were locked on the estate in the distance. He had come personally for revenge for the death of his son.
He had not yet seen the dragon return to the estate nor had he head Fenrir's growl.
He had not yet understood—
He was not marching toward a rattag group of mercenaries.
He was marching toward myth and they were prepared
+++++
The enemy army slowed as they reach the edge of the forest foliage.
Then they stopped. They assumed they were still far enough to be outside the archers range. Just far enough for them to believe no one could get to them. It was a calculated move. One born of confidence and overestimation of themselves.
What no one knew was that the archers of the Gilded Fang's side were for from ordinary.
As Aleric watched them halt he still did not give the order to fire. He studied their formation carefully. All of them wore Blackened plate armor. Most of them carried standard longswords while some of them bore spears--long-shafted but too long to wield with a shield. He knew those would be used against his cavalry if they were to sally out. Smart.
Further in the back, he could see a limited number of archers. Forty by his count. Fifty max if some were hidden. Most of them that he could see however were clustered loosely in the third rank from the back of their army. The rest were all melee focused. From this he knew they intended to overwhelm the gate or scale the walls through brute force.
Aleric's eyes narrowed.
They underestimated ranged warfare.
He gestured slightly.
"Fenrir."
The frost wolf moved.
The men near the stairwell stepped aside instinctively as Fenrir climbed.
Each step echoed with low rumbling weight.
Ice traced behind him across the stone.
He reached the battlements and stood beside Aleric, towering and silent.
Aleric pointed.
"You see their archers in the rear third rank of their army?"
Fenrir's golden eyes locked onto them instantly.
"When their army begins the assault," Aleric continued, calm and precise, "I want you to jump down from the south wall where you will be out of their sightline."
Fenrir listened without blinking.
"I want you to circle behind them."
His voice lowered slightly.
"Then get rid of their archers for me."
Fenrir's breath fogged thicker.
"They cannot pressure our walls if their archers are gone."
A slow nod.
Just as Aleric finished outlining the maneuver—
Athena stepped forward and something shifted.
Her presence changed.
The air itself seemed to sharpen.
She did not raise her voice but when she spoke—
Every soldier listened.
"Archers," she began, tone cutting clean as steel. "You will not release until my mark. You will fire in rotating volleys. I want five-man staggered release. I want you to maintain continuous pressure."
The Trojan archers adjusted instantly.
"Knights on the battlements," she continued. "Spellcasters — prioritize disruption of their ranks. launch spells at their spearmen. Once they done move on to the groups of soldiers clustered together. Conserve mana. Do not waste it on lone individuals."
The chanting knights straightened subtly.
"Men at the gate — you do not advance. You do not pursue. You hold your ground. If a breach occurs, lock shields and hold. Reinforcements will come to your aid as soon as we can."
The ten knights and the hoplites at the gate tightened their ranks.
"Triage line defenders — move up two steps from your previous position. It will allow you to fight without getting too close to the triage tents should they reach our rear lines."
They moved immediately.
"Companion Cavalry," she called without looking down, yet they reacted. "You do not charge until commanded. If they fail to breach and the enemy cohesion breaks, you will sally out and strike their flank."
The cavalry lowered lances in silent acknowledgment.
Then she turned slightly toward Fenrir.
"You will follow Aleric's plan but move only when their attention is firmly on us."
A pause.
"Not before."
Fenrir's growl softened — not disagreement.
Approval.
Then Athena looked forward again.
Her voice dropped into something colder.
"If they attempt any negotiation, we shall listen but if they advance one step beyond their current position—"
Her eyes hardened.
"They die."
Silence fell across the walls.
Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Aleric watched her for a moment.
He had planned and analyzed. But Athena — She commanded. Every order given was clear and straight to the point. There was nothing that could be left to misinterpretation of her orders.
This was a big reminder that she was not just a pretty face that was good with combat. This is proof of how she got the mantle of Goddess of War.
Below, the enemy lines shifted.
A horn sounded from their ranks. It was low and aggressive.
They began to move again with slow measured steps.
Athena raised one hand.
The archers lifted their bows in unison.
The knights' spell orbs intensified.
Fire brightened.
Stone sharpened.
Water coiled tighter.
Fenrir crouched slightly. Slowly moving towards the south wall just as planned.
Frost deepened beneath his claws as he moved.
Aleric felt his pulse steady.
This was their first real test.
He did not speak. He did not need to. Athena took control of the men, and he was glad inwardly that she did. He knew no mistakes would occur with her orchestrating the battlefield.
Athena's hand hovered.
The enemy took five more steps.
Then ten.
They crossed the invisible threshold.
Athena's hand dropped.
"Release."
And the sky answered.