(POV Fheall)
Sunset is almost here.
They should arrive any second.
Then it comes—
the unmistakable roar of my Ceatha, tearing through the sky.
Aeltiàfisar, Baelkers, and I all look up at once.
Three distant specks.
Closing in fast—faster than anything that should be able to fly.
My heart starts pounding.
Too fast. Too hard.
My throat tightens with something that feels like… anticipation.
I can feel it in them too. In Baelkers. In Aeltiàfisar.
Just like centuries ago…
Gods… what a sight.
They move as one—
wings beating in perfect sync, so aligned they look like a single, magnificent creature crossing the sky.
And at the center—
My little one.
Ceatha.
Those violet eyes… so sharp, so alive.
His translucent scales catch the light and scatter it everywhere—fracturing it into a storm of colors, layered rainbows folding into each other.
All along the shore, from sand to sea, no one can hold back their awe.
To Ceatha's right—Orga.
Aeltiàfisar's dragon.
I've always thought he looked like a living jewel.
Golden scales blazing with light. Eyes like bright turquoise flame.
To the left—Airgead.
Baelkers' dragon.
Silver scales. Deep blue eyes, like open ocean…
and maybe—just maybe—the gentlest heart of the three.
They're above us now.
For a brief moment, their shadows swallow us whole.
They hover there, suspended—still—measuring the ground, making sure no one will be hurt if they descend.
I scan the area.
Clear.
I whistle.
Three roars answer in unison—
and they drop.
They land with force, then unleash a crossing burst of flame in greeting.
Aeltiàfisar, Baelkers, and I breathe out slowly.
Overwhelmed.
It's been too long since we felt this.
Too long since battle called us back.
But all it takes is a single look—
between us… and them.
A spark.
The ancient bond stirs awake.
We were never separate.
We never will be.
We are one.
Just like we've always been.
(POV Urchoicha)
Iarrthòir doesn't strike me as the compromising type.
His way… or nothing.
Still, he knows we need him.
But demanding command over half of the Great Realm after victory?
Absurd.
No.
From now on, we play by my rules.
We'll use him.
For as long as he's useful.
And then…
That insignificant little pest will be erased.
(POV Gaithy)
I told him everything… so why did he drag me behind a rock?
I'm scared…
"Bu—"
A hand clamps over my mouth.
"Quiet," he whispers.
He's tense. Eyes locked on the lake.
Did he sense something?
I'm sweating.
I'm shaking.
At least the little robin got away… at least he's safe.
I lean out just a little, peeking past the rock.
That's strange…
There's a bubbling sound coming from the water.
The surface…
is it boiling?
What's happening?!
The horse starts scraping the ground, restless.
I glance sideways at the knight beside me.
His pupils are wide. Focused.
Veins standing out along his neck, tight with strain.
Sweat beads across his forehead.
He's ready to move.
Ready to strike.
What is going on?
I don't understand.
I really don't.
…
And that…
What is that?
Mom… please help me.
Mom… please protect me.
Something erupts from the lake—
A dragon.
Huge.
Black and red scales.
A long, sinuous serpent tail.
Yellow eyes. A split tongue flicking through the air.
It hisses—low, threatening—sniffing.
It's going to find us.
It will find us.
We're dead.
On its back—
A rider.
Red armor. Face hidden, except for two glowing points—
eyes burning like embers.
Mom… please…
The energy around him—
it feels like the knight beside me…
but darker.
He holds a long dagger.
How is he even lifting that thing? It has to be so heavy.
How strong is he…?
My vision blurs.
I'm going to faint…
The knight beside me slowly removes his hand from my mouth, gripping the hilt of his sword instead.
No sound.
Not even a breath out of place.
His gaze never wavers—
fixed on the two figures by the lake.
My whole body starts trembling.
I can't stop it.
I'm crying.
I don't know why… I don't know how…
but something shifts in him.
Something changes.
He doesn't scare me anymore.
I feel… safe.
(POV Aeltiàfisar)
Orga and I give the signal.
My dragon roars—fire bursting from his jaws—
and we surge into the sky on a single, thunderous beat of wings.
Baelkers and Fheall rise with us, flanking our sides atop Airgead and Ceatha.
Just like our first battle.
Back then, too, we led an army like this—tight, united, unstoppable.
The same calm settles over us now.
Cold. Focused. Absolute.
Our bodies know this moment.
Every nerve, every muscle—trained to read danger before it strikes.
(POV General Ceansì)
Inmus and I mount our winged beasts and fall in behind the dragons.
The armies of air and earth move with us.
(POV General Varsos)
Orga's roar splits the sky.
That's the signal.
I raise my trident high and release a flare of light that arcs upward—then crashes into the sea.
The response is immediate.
Tritons. Sirens. Sharks. Whales.
Jellyfish, dolphins, narwhals—every creature capable of war surges forward.
They gather—tightening into a single, unified formation.
A living, breathing tidal phalanx.
We follow their wake.
Now our army is ready.
Orcs and trolls won't know what hit them.
(POV Iarrthòir)
I played those four beasts perfectly.
Now it's my turn.
There's too much at stake.
Losing isn't an option.
I've reached Meannach in the mountains—the troll garrison commander.
He's capable.
With him, we're building something serious.
An army with teeth.
We swept through the Storm Realm, gathered every orc under King Bàistec's command, and brought them here—
to the foothills of the Sliabh mountain range.
Once we had them all—
orcs, trolls, mountain gnomes fit to fight—
we armed them.
Everything we could.
Hammers. Clubs. Spiked maces. Axes.
Orcs are unmatched with weapons like these.
The sovereigns have been busy too.
Urchoicha has placed a spell over the weapons—strengthening the iron far beyond its natural limits.
Elves, gnomes, fae, sprites…
if they ever try to face us, they won't withstand the weight of it.
King Scrios, alongside his generals and commanders, has set up a training ground.
The goal?
Teach both trolls and orcs to fight with less brute chaos.
Against elves, technique matters. Speed matters.
Queen Badney has brewed invigorating potions for every Mountcur in the realm—
and even stronger ones for Scrios's and Bàistec's, since they'll be entering the battlefield themselves.
The troll queen didn't stop there.
She distributed the potions to every useful beast—
horses, trained cobras, giant spiders…
Even my Batty.
"Have you gathered everyone?" a voice cuts in. "Are you certain?"
Urchoicha?
What is she doing here?
"Of course…" I reply.
What a ridiculous question.
She looks at us like we're beneath her.
"Good. What forces do we have at sea?"
At sea?
What does the sea have to do with anything?
"At sea?" Meannach echoes, confused.
"Weren't we focusing on land-based forces?" I snap.
Batty flutters in front of her face, screeching in agreement.
Good. Take her eye out.
The viper brushes him aside like he's nothing and exhales sharply.
"Underestimating the Sea Folk would be a grave mistake," she says. "We can't know whether, passing through the Siren Realm, that girl has formed an alliance with… something."
Right. Sure.
As if.
"What nonsense! Fish don't fight!" Meannach shoots back, irritated.
"Not goldfish," she replies coolly, "but Tritons most certainly do."
"Oh, come on, Urchoicha! You know Selìna and Nèilos care only about themselves. Why would they ever get involved?" I bark.
She stills. Suddenly thoughtful.
"…I don't know. You're right, of course. And yet… I have a feeling."
She straightens.
"Prepare the maritime front as well. That's an order."
Then she turns, rigid and composed, and disappears back into the troll queen's cavern.
I hate her.
But…
she might not be wrong.
Fine.
We'll do it.
Let's raise ourselves a filthy sea army too.
We start toward the shore.
My loyal Batty follows close behind.
(POV Gaithy)
Mom… please…
The dragon lets out a sharp burst of smoke—
it knows. It's sensed us.
"What is it, Phéist?" the red knight asks.
Oh no… oh no—
it's coming this way.
Straight toward us.
We're dead.
It stops right in front of our hiding place—
then breathes fire into the air.
I freeze.
I can't move.
I can't even breathe.
Is this it?
The black knight looks at me—just for a second—
like he's trying to reassure me.
He motions for me to stay still.
Silent.
We're safe.
My back goes cold as sweat trickles down my spine.
I don't dare move.
Not even a little.
(POV Dorcha)
I close my eyes.
Reach outward.
The outer mind answers.
Reveal yourself.
And suddenly—
everything becomes clear.
That knight… that dragon…
Their only purpose is to kill.
And—
interesting.
He's not fully of one kind.
Half-bound to the earth. Human.
Driven by something relentless. Obsessive.
Power.
Someone powerful must be backing him—
otherwise he wouldn't be here.
Then I see it—
the dragon's pupil.
It has found us.
I step out from hiding.
Hercules exhales beside me—familiar, steady.
I mount him in one fluid motion and face them.
Dragon.
Rider.
He approaches.
Slow.
Contempt in every step.
"Interesting," he says. "A fleeting shadow… thinking it can eclipse the world."
A fleeting shadow?
That's supposed to be me?
Ridiculous.
"Hm… the scent of a young Fae," he murmurs. "Phéist. Proceed."
The dragon opens its jaws—
a blast of fire surges toward the rock behind me.
Toward her.
You won't touch her.
I leap from Hercules and plant myself in front of the stone.
At the exact same moment—
I catch the flames.
Bare hands.
I absorb them.
The Red Knight laughs.
Soft. Pleased.
"Interesting… Yes. This could be entertaining, don't you think, Phéist? Go on. Show me."
…What is happening to me?
Something's wrong.
My thoughts—
they're slipping.
I can't think straight.
I can't remember.
Not the orcs' magic.
Not the other one—
…What other one?
What am I supposed to remember?
A flash—
green light.
Pointed ears.
Two elderly men.
Who are they?
I don't know.
I don't know.
The Red Knight moves closer.
Arms lifting—ready to strike.
My head throbs.
Like something inside it is breaking open.
"You handle fire well," he says. "Let's try something else…"
The air thickens.
Fog rolls in—dense, suffocating.
The world dissolves into gray.
No shapes. No edges.
Nothing to see. Nothing to feel.
And silence.
Too much silence.
I turn—
there's nothing around me.
Nothing.
I'm alone.
"Hercules! Fae! Where are you?" I shout.
If they answer, I can find them—
I can—
But all I hear is laughter.
Harsh. Twisted.
"They can't hear you," the knight says. "You're alone."
The wind hits.
Violent.
A freezing storm of razor-sharp ice crystals slams into me.
They tear through the air like a living cyclone.
I try to move forward—
I can't.
The wind pins me in place.
"That's it?" he mocks. "Disappointing."
I can barely breathe.
All I can do is shield my face.
My thoughts are dissolving.
Breaking apart.
The ice is shredding me.
I scream.
Blades of frozen glass pierce my body—over and over, without mercy.
I feel the blood running down my skin.
A larger shard—
it rips through my thigh.
The pain—
it's unbearable.
My legs give out.
I collapse.
I can't even protect my face anymore.
The storm intensifies.
Wilder. Sharper. Deadlier.
It burns.
My whole body is on fire.
My senses are fading.
Through the blur, I see him move—arms spreading in a circular motion.
Power gathers.
Then—
I'm lifted.
Like nothing.
Thrown through the air—
and slammed into the shattered trunk of a cypress.
The impact knocks the breath out of me.
My vision flickers.
My head spins.
My stomach twists violently.
I cough—
blood.
Cold fingers grip my chin, forcing my head up.
I open my eyes.
His gaze meets mine.
And I feel—
pure disgust.
Just for a second.
Then he lets go.
Steps back.
Disappointed.
"You're not what I hoped for," he says. "I thought you might be worth something."
A pause.
"I'll spare you. For now. I want to see how far you can go."
A faint smile.
"If you survive."
And then—
he's gone.
Vanished.
Dragon and all.
I have to get up…
I have to—
I—
(POV Gaithy)
The fog finally clears.
Oh… Mom…
The black knight is—
he's—
I rush to him and drop to my knees beside his chest.
Is he breathing?
…
Yes.
But it's so faint.
And he's covered in blood.
Oh no…
What do I do?
Do I help him?
Or do I leave him here?
He tried to kill me…
But then he protected me…
He can't be all bad.
He can't.
I'll help him.
I reach out and touch one of his wounds.
Blood pours out—
it won't stop.
What do I do?
I need leaves—something—
anything—
I look around.
Everything is dry.
Dead.
No nature…
Then—
magic.
Yes.
I place my hands over the wound.
"Heal. Mend. Close."
…
Nothing.
What?
That's impossible.
It always works.
I try again.
"Heal. Mend. Close."
Still nothing.
Oh no…
Oh no, no, no…
I need help.
Or he's going to die.
I look at the horse.
My only chance.
"Hey… hey, little horse… come here…" I whisper. "Can you help me carry your friend? Please?"
At once, it kneels.
Good.
Okay.
I just have to get him on top of it…
Come on…
Up—
just a little more—
Come on…!