The first arrow whistled past Kael's ear and buried itself in the sand with a soft thump.
He reacted too late — stumbling backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. The Valyrian sword felt clumsy in his sweaty grip. This is how I die, he thought bitterly. Not in glory. Just bleeding out like a fool who chased a dream.
"Form up!" Ysira shouted, her voice sharp with command. She drew a curved Dornish blade, elegant and deadly. But Kael saw the flicker in her eyes — she wasn't sure if she should protect the egg or use the chaos to kill him and take it.
Sylva loosed her first arrow. It struck a Baratheon rider in the shoulder, but the man only roared and kept coming. She cursed loudly, her hands shaking as she nocked another. "There's too many! We should run!"
"And leave the egg?" Mira said coldly. She had produced a thin stiletto from somewhere in her sleeve. "Prince Qoren would have our heads."
Kael didn't answer. He charged forward because standing still felt worse than dying. His first swing was wild — he caught a rider's horse across the neck. The animal screamed and collapsed, throwing its rider into the sand. Kael stabbed down twice before the man stopped moving. Blood sprayed across his bare chest. It felt warm. Real. Terrifying.
Ser Gwayne Baratheon laughed from atop his horse, a big ugly sound. "A Targaryen whelp and three Dornish sluts guarding a prize! The gods are generous today!"
He was exactly the kind of man Kael hated — loud, entitled, and convinced the world owed him something. Gwayne's face was flushed red from heat and wine, his armor dented from old fights he probably lost. But he had thirty men. That made him dangerous.
Another rider came at Kael from the side. He turned too slow. The sword clipped his left arm, opening a shallow cut. Pain flared hot and bright. Kael snarled and swung back wildly, catching the man across the face. The rider fell screaming.
"Not bad, bastard," Ysira called out as she danced past him, her blade flashing. She moved like someone who had trained since childhood. Graceful. Controlled. But when she killed her second man, Kael saw her hesitate for half a second — she had aimed for the throat but struck the shoulder instead. Even she was rattled.
For one strange moment their eyes met across the fighting. Not desire. Just… recognition. Two people who knew they were using each other and hated how necessary it felt.
Sylva screamed as an arrow grazed her thigh. She dropped to one knee. Kael moved without thinking — he stepped in front of her and took the next blow on his stolen sword. The impact jarred his bones.
"Why are you protecting me?" she spat, voice full of mistrust even while bleeding.
"Because if you die, I'm next," he growled back. It wasn't entirely a lie.
Mira appeared beside them like a ghost. She slit a man's throat with clinical precision, then leaned close to Kael while the chaos swirled.
"Gwayne isn't here only for the egg," she whispered urgently. "He has contacts in King's Landing. Bran Stark's council fears any whisper of dragons returning. If he takes it… Dorne loses leverage."
Kael laughed bitterly even as he parried another strike. "And you? What does your prince want with it?"
Mira's grey eyes met his. "The same thing everyone wants. Power. Survival. A future where Dorne isn't stepped on again." She paused half a heartbeat. "Don't trust Ysira. She'll sell you the moment it benefits House Uller."
Before Kael could answer, Ser Gwayne charged straight at the egg.
The big knight swung a heavy morningstar. It missed the egg by inches but cracked the ground beside it. The egg pulsed — stronger than before. A low, angry thrum that made everyone nearby flinch.
Kael felt it in his blood again. Like something whispering not yet. He stumbled, distracted. A Baratheon foot soldier took advantage and slashed him across the ribs. Pain exploded. Kael roared and drove his sword through the man's chest, but the damage was done. Blood ran down his side.
Ysira saw the wound. For a fraction of a second her face showed something almost like concern — then it hardened back into cold calculation. She was already wondering if the injured bastard would slow them down.
Sylva noticed too. She limped over and pressed a torn piece of her sleeve against Kael's ribs without gentleness. "Don't you dare die yet," she muttered. "I still don't like you."
Despite the pain, Kael felt the smallest spark — not romance, just the uncomfortable awareness that her hands were warm and she smelled like sand and copper. He pushed the feeling down hard. Feelings got people killed.
The battle was turning messy. Half the Baratheon riders were dead or wounded, but Kael's group was tiring fast. Mira killed another man, but she was breathing hard. Ysira's perfect hair was now wild and blood-splattered.
Ser Gwayne wheeled his horse around, eyes locked on Kael.
"You!" he bellowed. "You're the one with the blood. I'll take your head and the egg back to Storm's End. They'll make me lord for this!"
Kael knew he couldn't win a fair fight against that brute right now. His side burned. His arm was weakening.
In that moment of desperation, he made a stupid, human mistake.
He shouted at Ysira: "Distract him! I'll take the egg!"
Ysira's eyes narrowed. She didn't like being ordered. But she moved anyway — because she needed Kael alive… for now.
While she and Sylva drew Gwayne's attention, Kael stumbled toward the egg. Up close it looked even more unsettling. The red veins seemed to shift slowly, like blood moving under skin. He reached out with bloody fingers.
The moment he touched the shell, a jolt went through him. Not power. Not fire. Just a cold, ancient curiosity that made his stomach turn.
Who are you? it seemed to ask.
Kael yanked his hand back like he'd been burned.
Behind him, Ser Gwayne broke free from Ysira and charged straight at Kael, morningstar raised for a killing blow.
Time slowed.
Kael knew he was too slow to dodge.
Mira appeared suddenly from the side — but instead of helping him, she hesitated half a second, eyes calculating whether it was better if the bastard died here.
That half-second almost cost Kael his life.
At the last moment, Sylva slammed into Kael, shoving him out of the way. The morningstar smashed into her back instead. She cried out and collapsed.
Kael roared with sudden fury and drove his Valyrian sword up into the gap beneath Gwayne's armor. The knight screamed, blood bubbling from his mouth, and toppled from his horse.
The remaining Baratheon riders saw their leader fall and began to retreat, shouting curses.
Panting, bleeding, Kael dropped to his knees beside Sylva. She was conscious but in pain, glaring at him through tears.
"You owe me, bastard," she whispered.
"I know," he said quietly.
Ysira stood over them, breathing hard, sword dripping. Her eyes moved from Sylva's wound to Kael's bloody side to the dragon egg.
Mira joined them, face unreadable once more.
For a long moment, none of them spoke. Four exhausted, bleeding people who had just fought together… and already each one was wondering how to betray the others when the time came.
The egg pulsed again — slow, subtle, almost pleased.
Kael looked at the three women. At their hidden motives. At the blood on all their hands.
He realized with cold clarity that surviving today had only made everything more dangerous.
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