Chapter One #2
“I was raised just inland from the beach. The forests there are like yours—tangled and alive. My brother and I used to race through them pretending we were scouts in the Kryon flats.”
His shoulders eased.
“And wouldn’t you know, I ran the flats just this morning. Not pretending anymore.”
The boys laughed.
They looked up as Gabriel reappeared from the dark, clapping Viktor on the shoulder before sinking beside him.
“Any minute now I’ll be sent packing with my men,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “Three-day patrol, and now this…”
The boys rose, calling out in turn:
“Goodnight, Captain Seraphim. Goodnight, Captain Feindoran.”
Viktor and Gabriel nodded.
Their absence revealed the deepening quiet in the camp. Even the fire before them had settled into smoldering coals.
Viktor pulled his mantle tighter against the desert chill. The night air bit at his damp skin.
“You going to tell me what happened?” he asked, voice low.
Gabriel smirked.
“Has ‘permission to speak freely’ ever stopped me before?”
He pulled a folded slip of parchment from his boot, rolling it across his knee.
“Does this name mean anything to you?”
He passed the parchment across the firelight, its edges still curled.
Viktor unfolded it.
Amerei Zrynon.
A name he didn’t know. Yet something in him stilled.
“Amerei,” he breathed. The last syllable lifted like a ray of dawn.
He shook his head.
“It’s Elvish?”
Gabriel nodded.
“She is. Well—half-elven. But noble. Important.”
He lowered his voice.
“She was due back to camp today, but she never arrived.”
Viktor looked up sharply.
Gabriel’s tone dropped, quiet and heavy.
“She’s Commander Storne’s daughter. Traveled from Casqadia with only her man-at-arms. They were expected by dusk. No one’s heard a word.”
He turned the parchment to reveal a crude map.
“This was her last known location.”
A river bend. A shaded mark.
Viktor’s jaw flexed.
He knew that stretch of road—the scent of resin and rain-soaked ash.
The paper caught a gust of wind—fluttered once—then slipped into the coals.
It ignited instantly.
He stood.
Gabriel looked up.
“Where are you going?”
Viktor’s eyes were already scanning the tents.
“Where’s Storne?”
Gabriel sighed, tossing a handful of sand onto the fire.
“He’s there. And I think he’s looking for one of us.”
Storne stood beneath a nearby torch, cloak stirring in the wind. He met Gabriel’s eyes and gestured to his tent.
“Captain Feindoran.”
Gabriel muttered, “Guess I won’t be sleeping tonight.”
But Viktor was already moving.
He cut through the rows of tents, caught the edge of Storne’s flap, and ducked inside.
Gabriel followed.
“What are you doing?” they both asked at once.
Viktor dug into his pack and pulled out a scorched shard of bark.
“Glaston cedar,” he said, the words cutting sharp and fast.
Storne stepped forward, taking the bark with cautious hands.
It was blackened—scarred—and faintly fragrant.
“Glaston cedar grows in only one place,” Viktor murmured, voice low and grim.
Storne’s fingers traced the burn marks, expression darkening.
“And only one thing could’ve done this.”
His jaw tensed. The bark trembled in his hand.
Then he turned—slowly—toward Gabriel.
“Captain Feindoran will take a unit into the Glaston barrens at first light.”
“No,” Viktor said immediately.
Storne’s brow twitched.
“What did you say?”
“You can’t send a unit into that forest. More soldiers means more noise. More tracks. More prey.”
Storne stiffened.
“Then what would you have me do, Captain?”
Viktor met his eyes.
“Send me.”
Storne stared.
“Alone?”
Viktor nodded.
“More bodies in the barrens will draw too much attention. I can move faster. Leave no trace.”
Gabriel stepped forward.
“You can’t do this alone—”
“I won’t engage,” Viktor cut in. “Just draw it off. That’s all.”
Storne’s mask cracked, just slightly. His eyes flicked to the bark again.
“You truly believe she’s in danger?”
“If that fire touched Glaston cedar,” Viktor said, “it wasn’t lightning. And if it wasn’t lightning…”
Silence fell.
Storne exhaled.
“Take what you need.”
Viktor gave a short nod.
He turned on his heel and exited the tent without another word.
Gabriel followed close behind.
He caught Viktor’s arm as they stepped into the darkness.
“What was that?”
Viktor kept walking.
“Not out here.”
They moved fast—quiet—until they reached Viktor’s tent. Once inside, he lit a taper with a flick of his fingers.
Gabriel paced.
“You asked to speak to Storne. You planned this. What’s going on?”
Viktor sat, unlaced his boots, swapped them for his worn runners—the soles still scuffed from the flats.
“I couldn’t let you take a whole unit into those woods.”
“Why?”
Viktor hesitated, then pulled a piece of black shale from his pack.
“Oustinon is alive, Gabriel,” he said, voice rough. “I got past the chasms. I saw what lives beyond.”
Gabriel turned the rock in the light.
“This is from there?”
“Strike it wrong,” Viktor warned, “and it ignites. The whole mountain burns.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes.
“And the cedar?”
“Only one thing burns that hot.”
Viktor looked up.
“Dragonfire.”
Gabriel dropped onto the edge of the bed, the weight of it knocking the breath from him.
“You saw one?”
Viktor nodded once.
“Massive wings. Scythe-shaped claws. It took to the sky with a scream. It doesn’t kill to eat. It kills to destroy.”
He let out a slow breath.
“I have to get to Glaston before it’s too late.”
Gabriel turned, rummaged through his belt, then pressed a blade into Viktor’s hand.
“Then you’d better take a sharper knife… so we can make sure you get there.”
They clasped forearms.
“You’re insane,” Gabriel muttered, half a laugh in it.
“Fast, remember?”
Viktor gave a tired smile.
“Layaran, o valen.”
(Thank you, brother.)