Max spotted them from the western battlement—a royal supply convoy limping toward the citadel gates. Three wagons instead of the expected five, guards with torn uniforms, and horses lathered with sweat. Even from this distance, he recognized Captain Hadrian's distinctive gait, now favoring his left leg.
"Ambush survivors," Max muttered, counting only fourteen guards where there should have been twenty.
He descended the stone steps three at a time, calculating distances and timing. The convoy would reach the gates within ten minutes. Max cut through the kitchen courtyard, past servants preparing the evening meal, and slipped through a narrow drainage channel that bypassed the crowded main square.
His father would send reinforcements soon, but Max knew they'd focus on survivor recovery, not investigation. The attack pattern was wrong—not simple bandits, but something coordinated. He needed to see the evidence before anyone disturbed it.
Max exited through the eastern postern gate, nodded to the guards who barely acknowledged the youngest Drakhalis, and followed the road until he intercepted the approaching convoy.
Captain Hadrian's eyes narrowed when he spotted Max. "Lord Maximus. Your father send you?"
"No. I saw you approaching." Max scanned the wagons, noting the systematic damage. "Ambush location?"
"Serpent's Pass, five miles east." Hadrian wiped blood from his temple. "Lost six men. Strange attack—not bandits. They targeted the horses first, then support wagons."
Max nodded. The same strategy as his previous timeline, but weeks earlier. "Any prisoners?"
"None living. Bodies secured in the rear wagon."
The guards looked exhausted, their weapons notched and stained. Max examined a spear with black ichor crusted on its tip.
"Were you returning to investigate?" Max asked, already knowing the answer.
Hadrian shook his head. "Orders were to secure survivors and cargo. Commander Voss will dispatch a larger force tomorrow."
Tomorrow would be too late. Max had witnessed this pattern before—first an attack, then a larger ambush when reinforcements arrived. By tomorrow, any evidence would be contaminated or removed.
"I need to examine the site," Max stated.
A guard snorted. "With respect, young lord, you're not authorized—"
"Then don't authorize me." Max shrugged. "Point me in the right direction. I'll be back before sunset."
Captain Hadrian studied Max with newfound curiosity. "Lord Maximus, that area isn't secure. Whatever attacked us wasn't natural. I cannot allow—"
"Allow nothing. Simply fail to notice my absence." Max gestured toward the citadel. "Your men need medical attention. I need information."
Hadrian hesitated, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "Serpent's Pass narrows at the limestone outcropping. That's where they hit us. Strange symbols carved into trees nearby."
"Noted." Max stepped aside, allowing the convoy to continue. "I was never here."
The captain pretended not to hear, urging his men forward.
Max waited until they disappeared around the bend, then set off at a steady pace toward Serpent's Pass. The ambush site wasn't difficult to locate—broken wagon parts, blood splatters, and disturbed earth marked where the attack had occurred.
He examined the area systematically, finding what the guards had missed. Tiny metal spikes embedded in the ground, positioned to puncture horse hooves. Symbols burned into tree bark—not random vandalism but a complex warding circle designed to prevent beast manifestation.
"Tactical preparation," Max muttered, sketching the symbols in his journal. "Days in advance."
A faint whimpering sound drew his attention to a thicket beside the road. Max approached cautiously, knife ready. A hunting dog lay wounded, its flank slashed by what appeared to be claws.
"Easy," Max murmured, kneeling beside the animal. "I won't harm you."
The dog growled weakly, then whined as Max examined its wound. Not fatal, but infected with something that caused the edges to blacken. Max pulled healing salve from his pouch and applied it carefully.
"This was a coordinated strike," he told the dog, working methodically. "Someone knew the convoy's route and timing. They disrupted beast bonds first, then attacked with conventional weapons."
While he worked, Max continued examining the surrounding area. There—half-hidden beneath fallen leaves—a tripwire connected to an unsprung trap. Max followed its path, discovering a series of pressure plates designed to trigger when heavier reinforcements arrived.
"Secondary ambush," he said grimly. "They expected a search party."
The dog whimpered again, this time pressing closer to Max as its gaze fixed on something in the trees. Max froze, listening. Nothing visible, but he sensed movement—something watching them.
Max reached for his knife but instead found his aura surging unexpectedly. The meridian exercises from earlier had opened channels he couldn't yet control. Power flowed unchecked, and for a fraction of a second—no more than 0.7 seconds—a shadowy draconic claw materialized around his hand.
The manifestation vanished almost instantly, but its effect was immediate. Birds erupted from nearby trees, squirrels scattered, and something larger crashed away through the underbrush. The wounded dog pressed its belly to the ground, eyes wide.
Max stared at his hand, heart pounding. He hadn't intended to manifest Cinder—couldn't fully manifest him yet—but that momentary aura flare had revealed something crucial: animals sensed his draconic bond, even when humans couldn't see it.
The dog whined softly, then crawled forward on its belly until it reached Max's feet. It licked his boot once, then lay still, watching him with new reverence.
"Strange reaction," Max murmured, reaching down to stroke its head. The dog accepted his touch without fear, despite having growled moments earlier.
Max finished treating the dog's wound, then disabled the remaining traps. He collected samples of the black substance from broken weapons and copied the warding symbols precisely into his journal. By his calculation, he had less than an hour before sunset—enough time to return before his absence was noted.
As he started back toward the citadel, the dog followed. Max tried shooing it away, but it kept pace stubbornly, limping on its injured leg.
"Fine," Max conceded. "But you'll need to explain yourself to the gate guards."
The dog trotted alongside him as if it understood perfectly.
Back at the citadel, Max found Violet and Lily engaged in heated debate with Church representatives in the main courtyard. Archdeacon Verrin gesticulated forcefully while Lily stood firm, arms crossed.
"Beasts manifest through divine selection, not personal development," the archdeacon insisted. "The theological implications of suggesting otherwise undermine centuries of doctrine."
"Results undermine doctrine," Lily countered. "My students achieve manifestation through self-knowledge, regardless of bloodline or status."
Max slipped past unnoticed, the dog following closely. While nobles and scholars debated theory, Max had gathered evidence of a coordinated attack—one that specifically targeted beast bonds.
"Beasts bowed. People debated," Max muttered as he climbed the steps to his quarters. Knowledge was crucial, but action would determine survival. While others argued over how power should be distributed, enemies were already moving against them.
He needed to complete his journal entries and prepare his report. Tomorrow, when the official search party departed, Max would ensure they knew exactly what to look for.
The dog settled at his feet as he began to write, its eyes never leaving his hands—watching for another glimpse of the shadow dragon that had briefly appeared.