FIFTY-TWO #2
Take the rest. Get to the ground. Support the Elite Guard. Reinforce the soldiers.
The remaining dragons in the formation begin to shift, banking lower as their speed increases for descent.
Finally, he signals Rowena. The gesture is smaller than the others, deliberate and precise.
Support the riders already stationed at this post.
Aisling arcs left, peeling away to reinforce the embattled remnants of the outpost’s assigned wing.
Darragh comes to mind, the young rider Thane trained himself. He had been assigned here and died before we arrived, taking his dragon down with him.
Thane isn’t just giving orders. He’s carrying ghosts.
Then Xaroth banks left in a deliberate sweep, the movement of a dragon who has fought through countless battles. Calryx follows, her wings adjusting mid-beat, her body tilting with effortless precision.
She isn’t reacting to Xaroth’s movements. She’s anticipating them. The two dragons move in perfect rhythm, each shift mirrored before it fully happens.
We fall in behind them, the wind slicing past us, carrying the scent of smoke, blood, and magics.
Below, the battlefield sprawls across the landscape, scarred earth and shattered stone littered with the cost of the fighting. The weight of what has already been lost settles heavily in my chest.
But we are not done.
Not yet.
The wind tears at us as we follow in tight formation, the battlefield opening wide beneath us—scarred earth, fractured stone, blood-soaked ground.
I glance down.
The Gorganthe is gone. Only a blackened crater remains, a scorched ring of ash and bone smoking gently where the firestorm swallowed it whole. Shattered stone still smolders around the edges. One of the realm’s greatest monsters has been reduced to nothing.
Then Thane’s voice cuts through the bond, hard and sharp.
“Amara. We are taking out the Commander. This entire Shadow Force army will fall when he falls.”
My heart plummets as understanding settles into place.
The Kethraki, the fog, and the Gorganthe were never the true threat.
They were obstacles. Distractions. Everything the Commander had thrown in our path to keep us from reaching him.
The Commander is the one who wielded all of it, and he’s still out there somewhere on this battlefield, hidden behind shadow and strategy.
Now there is only one objective: kill the Commander.
We are the blade.
It’s time to sever the head.
We continue in a wide, sweeping arc, searching the battlefield below for any sign of him. Though smaller, Calryx remains tight beside Xaroth, matching him beat for beat and wing for wing as we scan the broken landscape beneath us.
The wind rushes past. Below, the world churns with smoke, fire, and shadow, but up here there is only focus.
Calryx holds steady, her wings stretched wide and her emerald eyes fixed on the battlefield below. Every muscle in her body is ready. Through the bond, I feel that readiness mirrored inside me as we circle above the fighting, watching for any sign of the Commander.
I inhale and let the power settle. The fear is still there, sharp and pressing at the edges, but it no longer rules me. I’ve done this before. I have fought and destroyed a Commander, and I will do it again.
I see Thane turn sharply to the right, his attention locking onto something below.
“There he is!”
I follow his gaze and finally see him.
Far beneath us, a towering figure stands at the heart of the battlefield, half-shrouded in a mass of writhing shadow. Fellborn swarm around him in a living shield, their movements unnaturally coordinated and precise, as though guided by a single will.
The Commander stands at their center, waiting and watching.
Even from this distance, there is something deeply wrong about him. His skin is pale beyond anything natural, white as polished bone and unnervingly flawless. Not beautiful. Crafted. As though he had been shaped by intention rather than born.
Long white hair spills down his back, threaded with silver chains that catch the light against the smoke. His armor gleams like obsidian edged in starlight, dark and lustrous, etched with jagged sigils that pulse with slow, rhythmic magics.
A chill works its way down my spine. He’s a weapon in the shape of a man, made to command hundreds.
“Stay close,” Thane says, his attention fixed on the battlefield below. “We’re going low. Take out as many of the Fellborn as possible and clear a path to the Commander.”
His next words come sharper.
“Keep your eyes on him. He will try to strike at us.”
I give a tight nod.
Xaroth drops first, his descent controlled and precise. Calryx follows, folding her wings just enough to mirror the dive and hold tight to his flank. Their movements are seamless.
Below, the Fellborn react, snarling and screeching as they sense the threat descending from above.
Too late.
Xaroth opens his jaws, and fire erupts in a devastating sweep. A blazing wall tears through the ranks of Fellborn, consuming everything in its path. Heat blasts upward even from this height. Bodies burn. Shadows scatter.
Calryx banks wide and dives beneath the rising smoke. I draw from her as we descend, reaching inward for wind, for power, for precision. Raising my hands, I unleash two blades of compressed air that tear through the Fellborn attempting to regroup.
Calryx follows immediately, roaring as her claws rake through the survivors. Her wings drive her forward, carving a clear path through the battlefield just behind Xaroth. She carves a gash through the outer line, but it isn’t enough. More Fellborn surge forward to replace the ones that fell.
We climb again, banking wide as wings thunder through the air and the wind shrieks around us. As we angle for another pass, the Commander moves.
He lifts a hand.
A bolt of lightning streaks upward, black and veined with violet.
I barely manage a warning before Calryx twists hard to the right, the bolt hissing past her wingtip.
Two more follow.
Fast.
One shoots straight for Xaroth.
Thane raises a hand and throws up a wall of fire. The blazing shield absorbs the impact with a crack like splitting stone.
The second bolt curves toward me.
I reach with both hands, call the wind, and unleash a blast of pressure that knocks it off course. The lightning spirals into a ruined tower below, detonating in a shower of stone and debris.
We dive again, deeper this time and closer to the ground.
Xaroth roars and unleashes a stream of fire that tears through the last dense wall of Fellborn, reducing them to ash and scattering the survivors in panic.
Calryx spins through the air, her tail slamming into a cluster and sending bodies tumbling.
I follow with a concentrated blast of wind that clears the landing zone, flattening anything still standing.
By the end of the third pass, the path is clear.
Smoke rises from scorched earth. Fallen Fellborn crumble into ash. The air still crackles with traces of the Commander’s magics.
At the far end of the battlefield, he waits. His pale face is turned skyward, his flawless features unreadable.
He sees us. And we see him.
“Now!” Thane says through the bond.
His voice is low and absolute.
Xaroth hits the ground hard, claws digging into stone as his wings snap open in a display of pure dominance. Thane is out of the saddle almost before the dragon stops moving. His sword is already drawn, flames running down the blade as he charges forward with relentless purpose.
Calryx lands beside them, her claws gouging deep furrows into the earth. Power still rolls off her in waves. I remain mounted for the moment.
Raising my hands, I call on wind, fire, and pressure. Elemental magics surges from my core and crashes outward in a wave of force. The last Fellborn foolish enough to remain near their master are hurled backward, their bodies slamming into the ground beneath the weight of the blast.
“Amara! With me!” Thane’s voice cuts through the smoke.
I launch myself from Calryx’s saddle. Wind still dances around me as I hit the scorched earth, my boots skidding through ash and soot. Magics gather at my fingertips before I even regain my footing.
I run toward Thane, the ground hot beneath me and the scent of smoke and blood thick in the air. By the time I reach his side, my breathing has steadied and the power inside me is coiled tight, ready.
Exactly where I am meant to be.
Ahead of us, the Commander stands like a monolith. His white hair moves in a wind that touches nothing else, his eyes fixed on us with unnerving intensity.
But he is not alone.
Two dozen Fellborn still surround him, forming the last line of defense. Their movements are jerky yet controlled, every motion guided by the Commander’s will.
He doesn’t have the luxury of focusing entirely on us. He’s holding the battlefield together, commanding shadows, directing waves of Fellborn, and channeling his magics across every front. It’s the only reason he hasn’t unleashed his full power against us.
But that window is closing.
“Remember our formation pair training,” Thane says through the bond, his presence settling beside mine like fire and steel.
His eyes sweep the battlefield ahead. Flames run along the edge of his blade in quiet, pulsing waves.
“Always,” I answer.
There is no hesitation.
Only trust.
Then the Fellborn charge.
Thane steps forward, his blade carving a wide arc of fire through the air. Two Fellborn fall before they ever reach him.
I shift left and unleash a burst of wind that sends three more stumbling off balance. Before they can recover, I drive my blade through the nearest one, wrench it free, and summon a spear of hardened water that punches through the next.
We pivot and circle until we are back to back. The ring tightens around us as magics lash and blades clash.
Thane spins, his sword blazing with fire as he slices clean through one creature while his free hand ignites a wall of flame that scorches two more.