They had been walking for hours.
The ruins of Valyria stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of shattered palaces and melted towers, where the air shimmered with heat and the ground whispered with old curses. The deeper they went, the more the silence pressed in—thick, unnatural, broken only by the crunch of ash beneath their boots and the occasional distant groan of shifting stone.
Vaelros's journal was nearly useless now. The landmarks were too warped, the streets too broken. He navigated by instinct, by the faint pull of magic that throbbed beneath the earth like a buried heart.
Then they saw it.
A sigil, half-buried in soot House Vharax, the dragonbone smiths. The building ahead was low and wide, its roof collapsed in places, but the forge chimney still stood, blackened and cracked.
"We found it," Vaelros whispered.
They approached slowly, blades drawn. The air here was different charged, like before a lightning strike. And something else.
Movement.
Not the slow, dragging shuffle of stonemen.
Something faster.
Something hunting.
They slipped inside the forge through a broken archway, boots silent on the scorched stone. The interior was vast rows of shattered anvils, racks of rusted tools, and a central pit where molten metal had once flowed like blood.
Then it moved.
A blur of scaled muscle and claws, darting between pillars with impossible speed. It was reptilian, long-limbed, with a narrow skull and eyes that gleamed like molten gold. It moved low to the ground, its limbs coiled like springs, its tail slicing the air behind it.
"Shut the gate!" Vaelros hissed.
Tharn slammed the rusted iron door shut just as another shape darted past then another. Five of them, circling.
"Form up!" Calen barked, stepping beside Vaelros, sword raised.
Vaelros barely had time to react before one of the creatures lunged at Calen, jaws wide.
"Look out!" he shouted, shoving the bastard aside and taking the brunt of the impact.
The creature slammed into him, claws raking across his cloak. He hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up with his curved sword in hand. The thing hissed, tail lashing, and pounced again.
Vaelros swung too wide, too slow. The blade glanced off its hide, leaving only a shallow cut. The creature snarled, slashing at his leg. He stumbled back, heart pounding, trying to remember his footwork.
"Focus!" Calen shouted, already locked in a duel with another. His blade flashed, precise and practiced, slicing across the creature's throat. It shrieked and collapsed, twitching.
Tharn roared, swinging his axe in a brutal arc that split one of the beasts from shoulder to hip. Another lunged at him—he caught it midair and slammed it into a pillar, crushing its spine.
Vaelros ducked a swipe, slashed low, then high. The creature danced around him, too fast, too smart. He feinted left, then drove his blade forward caught it in the gut. It screeched, thrashed, and he twisted the blade, driving it deeper until it stopped moving.
His arms shook. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"Behind you!" Calen shouted.
Vaelros turned just in time to see another beast leap toward him—only for Calen's sword to catch it midair, driving it into the ground. The bastard didn't stop—he pivoted, slashed, and took down another with a clean thrust to the chest.
Tharn crushed the last one with a two-handed blow that cracked the floor beneath it.
Silence fell.
The five creatures lay still, their blood steaming on the stone.
Vaelros leaned against a pillar, panting. "I hate how fast they are."
"You're not exactly graceful yourself," Calen said, wiping his blade.
"I'm a scholar," Vaelros muttered. "Not a swordsman."
"You're getting better," Tharn said, grinning. "You only almost died twice this time."
Vaelros chuckled weakly. "Progress."
They stood among the bodies, catching their breath. The forge loomed ahead, dark and waiting.
And deeper still, something stirred.