The tent remained silent after her words.
Outside, the wind brushed across the canvas, making the fabric shift softly. The dim light filtering through the cloth moved with it, shadows sliding slowly across the interior walls.
Rowan lay still on the narrow campaign bed.
The pain in his leg had settled into something deeper now. Not the sharp agony from earlier, but a slow, grinding pulse that never truly faded. Each breath still carried a quiet protest through his ribs.
He looked at her.
Not with fear.
Not with defiance.
With thought.
The woman noticed.
She leaned lightly against the table behind her, arms crossing again as if she had all the time in the world.
— Well?
Her tone wasn't impatient.
But it carried expectation.
Rowan let out a slow breath.
— You killed everyone.
The words came out flat.
The woman didn't react.
Rowan continued.
— My men.
His eyes moved briefly toward the canvas wall, toward the direction of the battlefield far beyond the camp.
— The ones who survived the fire.
A small pause.
— The ones who surrendered.
Silence filled the space between them.
The woman tilted her head slightly.
— Yes.
No apology.
No justification.
Just acknowledgment.
Rowan looked back at her.
— And you expect me to work for you.
Another silence.
This one sharper.
The woman pushed herself away from the table and walked a slow circle inside the tent, boots soft against the packed earth floor.
— Expect?
She stopped near the entrance.
— No.
She turned back toward him.
— I don't expect anything.
Her gaze rested on him again.
— I offer.
Rowan said nothing.
She continued walking until she stood beside the bed again.
— Men like you are rare.
Her voice was calm, almost analytical.
— Most soldiers follow orders until they die.
She gestured lightly toward his head.
— You look for patterns.
A pause.
— Weakness.
Another.
— Opportunity.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
— Even when a dragon is burning the sky.
Rowan swallowed slowly.
The woman studied his face carefully.
— Marrick understands power.
She began pacing again, slow measured steps.
— Armies.
— Castles.
— Gold.
She stopped again and glanced toward the tent ceiling.
— Dragons.
Her gaze returned to Rowan.
— But power like yours?
She tapped a finger lightly against her temple.
— That's harder to find.
Rowan spoke quietly.
— What makes you think I'd help you?
She smiled again.
Not cruel this time.
Just certain.
— Because you already did.
Rowan frowned faintly.
— You adapted to my attack.
She lifted one finger.
— You changed formations under fire.
Another finger.
— You anticipated my movements.
A third.
— And you nearly turned the battle into something inconvenient.
Her hand lowered again.
— All of that… to keep your men alive.
The smile faded slightly.
— That instinct doesn't disappear when the battlefield changes.
Rowan's voice was quiet.
— You're wrong.
The woman raised an eyebrow.
— Am I?
Rowan's eyes hardened slightly despite the pain.
— I did it because they trusted me.
A pause.
— You killed them.
Silence settled again.
Outside, the dragon shifted.
A deep rumble rolled across the camp as the massive creature exhaled.
The woman listened to the sound for a moment before speaking again.
— Yes.
She didn't soften the word.
— I did.
Then she stepped closer to the bed again.
— Which means you now face a very simple truth.
Her shadow fell across Rowan.
— The world you fought for this morning no longer exists.
Rowan held her gaze.
— And the one you're offering?
She leaned slightly closer.
— It's the one that wins.
The wind outside strengthened briefly, making the tent walls ripple.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Rowan said quietly:
— What happens if I refuse?
The woman straightened.
For the first time since entering the tent, her expression became completely unreadable.
She turned her head slightly toward the canvas wall behind her.
Toward the sound of the dragon breathing outside.
Then she looked back at Rowan.
— Then tomorrow morning…
A faint pause.
— My dragon eats again.
Silence fell once more.
But this time it felt different.
Not like an interrogation.
Not like a threat.
More like the opening move of a much larger game.
And both of them knew it.
The dragon's breathing outside came deep once again.
Hot air passed through the fabric of the tent, making the canvas tremble slightly, as if the creature itself were reminding them both of the colossal presence waiting beyond the walls.
Rowan remained silent.
Her words still lingered in the air.
They work for me.
He took a few seconds before answering.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
— I don't work for you.
She didn't seem surprised.
In fact, a small smile appeared again, as if the answer was exactly the one she expected.
— No, she said calmly. Not yet.
She turned and walked slowly toward the table where the map lay open.
Her fingers slid across the parchment for a few moments, smoothing small folds like someone arranging their thoughts before speaking.
— Come look.
Rowan let out a tired sound.
— I can barely move.
She glanced over her shoulder.
— Then look from there.
She pointed to the map.
— This.
Her finger touched a point on the parchment.
— This is where we fought today.
Rowan watched in silence.
She moved her finger a few inches.
— Here are the rest of your Lord Edric's forces.
Then she slid her finger to the other side of the map.
— And here are Marrick's encampments.
She was silent for a moment.
Then she raised her eyes to Rowan.
— Now tell me something.
A short pause.
— If you were in my place… how would you win this war?
Rowan released a tired breath.
— I wouldn't help you.
She sighed.
— This isn't help.
She placed both hands on the table.
— It's curiosity.
Her eyes returned to him.
— I want to know how you think.
Rowan remained quiet for a few seconds.
Then he spoke.
— This isn't a war.
She raised an eyebrow slightly.
— No?
Rowan looked back at the map.
— You have a dragon.
The sentence came out simply.
— We have spears.
He breathed slowly.
— That isn't a war.
A small pause.
— It's just an execution that takes longer.
The woman watched Rowan for a few seconds.
Then she let out a small laugh.
It wasn't loud.
But it was sincere.
— Finally someone saying something worthwhile today.
She leaned lightly against the table.
— You're right.
Her gaze returned to the map.
— This isn't a war.
She seemed thoughtful for a moment.
Then she muttered, almost to herself:
— My sister is fighting a real war right now.
Rowan lifted his gaze slightly.
She continued.
— At sea.
She made a vague gesture with her hand.
— Fleets. Burning ports. Entire cities contested.
She let out a small irritated sigh.
— That's a war.
Her hand tapped lightly on the map in front of her.
— And I'm here.
Another pause.
— Trapped in a campaign because of a refused marriage.
Rowan frowned slightly.
She noticed.
— Your Lord Edric's daughter.
She pronounced the name with an almost amused tone.
— Maelyra.
Her finger tapped the map twice.
— Refused to marry Marrick's son.
She shrugged.
— Noble pride.
Her gaze returned to Rowan.
— And when nobles fight over pride…
She opened her hands slightly.
— Soldiers die.
The tent fell silent again.
Rowan absorbed that slowly.
Maelyra.
A name he knew only from distant rumors of the court.
The woman watched his reaction.
Studying him.
Then her eyes narrowed slightly.
— But you didn't react like the others.
She walked a few steps toward the bed again.
— Not during the battle.
— Not now.
She tilted her head, analyzing him again.
— You saw something that almost no one sees when a dragon descends on a battlefield.
A pause.
— You looked at the wings.
She crossed her arms.
— And that almost cost me a mistake.
Silence filled the space again.
Then she smiled.
Wider this time.
— I think I'll keep you.
Rowan didn't answer.
— Not as an advisor.
She shook her head.
— That would be boring.
She pointed vaguely toward him.
— As a trophy.
Another small pause.
— And maybe as a pet.
She shrugged.
— A curious reminder that even humans sometimes manage to think.
She began walking toward the tent's exit.
She stopped before leaving.
Looked at him over her shoulder.
— Rest.
Her voice returned to its casual tone.
— You're still too fragile to be interesting.
She pushed the canvas aside and stepped out.
The sound of the dragon's breathing filled the silence again.
Rowan stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.
Trophy.
Pet.
The words felt distant.
But something else occupied his mind now.
Maelyra.
An entire war…
Because of a refused marriage.
Outside, soldiers' footsteps crossed the camp.
The dragon breathed.
And somewhere in the darkness of the night sky…
A new war was slowly moving toward all of them.
The road was almost invisible beneath the fading light of evening.
Garron walked alone.
The weight of his armor felt heavier now than during the battle itself. Not because of the metal—he was used to marching with it—but because each step carried him farther away from the field where so many men had been left behind.
The sound of his boots on the dry earth was the only thing accompanying him.
Behind him, far in the distance now, a thin column of smoke still rose along the horizon.
The battlefield.
Or what remained of it.
Garron did not look back again.
He had done that once.
And once had been enough.
The memory was still too fresh.
The dragon descending from the sky like a living storm. Fire tearing through entire lines of men. Shields melting. Soldiers running without direction.
And Rowan.
Covered in blood.
Still trying to think.
Garron's jaw tightened.
He could still hear his own voice saying it.
— It was him.
Maybe she already knew.
She probably did.
But that didn't make the sentence feel any lighter.
The wind crossed the road, carrying with it the distant smell of ash and burned earth.
Garron kept walking.
The sun had already disappeared behind the hills when the first walls appeared on the horizon.
Lord Edric's castle.
Even from afar, the towers were recognizable against the darkening sky. Old, solid, built in a time when wars were fought between men.
Not between men and dragons.
He stopped for a moment on the road.
Watching.
For years those walls had seemed strong. Safe. The kind of place where an army could gather and resist any enemy.
Now…
Now he knew the truth.
A single shadow crossing the sky would be enough to turn all of it into ash.
Garron exhaled slowly.
Then began walking again.
The road began to rise slightly as he approached the main gate. Torches were already lit along the walls, small flames trembling in the wind of the coming night.
The guards atop the wall were the first to notice him.
— Who goes there?
The voice echoed down from the stones above the gate.
Garron lifted his head.
— Captain Garron.
There was a brief pause.
Then murmuring among the guards.
One of them leaned over the parapet.
— Captain?
The voice carried surprise.
— Where's the rest of the company?
Garron didn't answer immediately.
He continued walking until he stopped in front of the large reinforced wooden gate.
Torchlight illuminated his face.
The stained armor.
The dried blood.
The dust of the road.
One of the guards above seemed to notice something.
— Seven hells…
Another spoke more quietly.
— He's alone.
The gate began opening slowly with the heavy sound of chains and dragging wood.
When Garron entered the inner courtyard, several soldiers there stopped what they were doing.
Heads turned.
Some immediately recognized the captain.
Others simply saw a man who looked like he had walked through something terrible.
One of the sergeants approached quickly.
— Captain… what happened?
Garron stopped in the middle of the courtyard.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
Silence began spreading around them.
More men were approaching now.
Waiting.
Then someone asked the question everyone was thinking.
— Where is the army?
Garron slowly lifted his eyes.
He looked around at the faces staring at him.
Some too young.
Some too confident.
All completely unprepared for what he had to say.
He swallowed.
When he finally spoke, his voice came out hoarse.
— Dead.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Almost unreal.
The sergeant blinked as if he hadn't understood.
— Dead?
Garron nodded slowly.
— A dragon.
The word fell into the courtyard like a stone into still water.
Some men laughed nervously.
Others exchanged glances.
No one seemed willing to believe it.
Garron kept looking at them.
— It destroyed everything.
Now no one was laughing.
The sergeant frowned.
— And Rowan?
The question came before he could stop himself.
Garron felt something tighten in his chest.
For a moment he thought about the hill.
About the young man still trying to think while the sky burned around him.
Then he spoke.
— Alive.
The eyes turned toward him again.
— They took him.
A pause.
— The dragon rider.
The silence that filled the courtyard this time was even heavier.
Because now everyone there understood one thing.
The war they believed they were fighting…
Was far larger than they thought.