Chapter 38
Corvus
The outpost was a bloodbath.
The stench hits me first—copper and char, the acrid bite of burned silk and the sweeter, more nauseating smell of cooked flesh.
Smoke rises from a dozen fires still smoldering across the compound, painting the evening sky in shades of orange and gray.
Bodies litter the ground—spiders curled in death, their legs drawn up beneath them, mages sprawled where dragon fire found them.
When we arrived, spiders and mages infested the area like a plague.
Webs stretched between every structure, every tree, every broken wall.
The eight-legged horrors were everywhere, their mandibles clicking, their eyes glittering with malevolent intelligence.
And among them, the mages—robed figures crackling with gathered power, orchestrating the chaos like conductors of a symphony of death.
Nothing prepared me for seeing Abraxis captured.
The image is seared into my memory—his drake form bound by shimmering chains, his wings pinned to his sides, his eyes wild with fury and fear. They were using him as bait. A lure to draw us in, to make us reckless, to exploit the bonds of family that tie us together.
It almost worked.
The question that plagues me now, as I survey the destruction, is why. Why this outpost? Why Abraxis? Who is their true target?
My war drake’s mind cycles through the possibilities, analyzing each one with cold precision.
Is it the ancients who just hatched—Thauglor’s new sons, vulnerable in their youth?
Is it my mate, the wyrm dragoness whose power grows stronger with each passing month?
Perhaps even Mina could be their target—the queen, the mother, the beating heart of so many family lines.
This attack was well-executed. Too well executed. The coordination, the timing, the choice of location—all of it speaks to planning that stretches back weeks. Maybe months. Someone studied this outpost. Someone mapped its defenses, counted its soldiers, and identified its weaknesses.
Someone is going to pay for that.
I finish the last few flyovers, my wings cutting through the smoke-heavy air as I make sure nothing is left moving below.
My silver scales are dulled with soot and spattered with ichor from the spiders I killed, but I barely notice.
The war drake in me demands thoroughness.
No survivors. No witnesses. No one left to report back to whoever orchestrated this attack.
Giant wolf spiders are not native to this island.
The realization settles into my chest like a cold stone.
They’re found on the Northern Isle—hundreds of miles across open ocean.
Someone brought them here. Someone transported dozens of these massive arachnids across the sea, kept them contained, and released them at precisely the right moment.
The implications are staggering.
I land close to Raven and Abraxis, my talons sinking into earth that’s been churned to mud by the battle. I shift back immediately. The ground is warm beneath my feet—residual heat from dragon fire, from acid burns, from the raw power that was unleashed here tonight.
“That was insane.” I motion toward the battlefield as I shift back to human form, the transformation rippling through me in a wave of restructuring bone and receding scales.
My silver hair falls across my forehead, damp with sweat.
My chest heaves with exertion I barely noticed during the fight itself.
Then I see them.
Four mages, standing in a cluster near the treeline. Standing perfectly still. Standing because they can no longer do anything else.
They’ve been turned to stone.
The realization takes several moments to process.
I stare at the granite figures—their robes frozen mid-billow, their hands raised in gestures of casting, their faces locked in expressions of dawning horror.
They’re not dead. They’re not even really alive anymore.
They’re statues. Monuments to a power that isn’t supposed to exist in my mate’s bloodline.
Slowly, I turn to face Raven.
She meets my gaze without flinching; her sapphire eyes steady and unashamed. There’s a weariness in those eyes—a hollowness that tells me using that gift cost her something. But there’s no regret. No apology.
This is not something spoken about outside our family. The basilisk gifts Raven inherited from her father Balor—they’re a secret we guard carefully. A weapon no one expects. I'll leave it alone for now, filing the information away for later discussion, and focus on what matters.
She’s alive. Abraxis is alive. The enemy is dead.
Everything else can wait.
Two of the surviving commanders of the outpost pull Abraxis aside, their voices low and urgent as they report on casualties and structural damage. I take this opportunity to move closer to my mate, drawn to her like iron to lodestone.
“Is everything okay?” I kiss her cheek, tasting salt and smoke on her skin, then pull her in for a hug. She fits against me perfectly—her head tucking beneath my chin, her wings rustling softly against my arms as they fold around her back.
“Yeah...” She looks over her shoulder at Abraxis, watching him as he speaks with his commanders. Something has shifted between them—I can feel it, even if I can’t name it yet. The old tension is still there, but muted. Softened. “Much better.”
She smiles—a genuine smile, not the sharp-edged expression she usually wears around her nest father—and snuggles in close to me, resting her head on my shoulder.
I breathe her in, letting her scent wash over me.
Sea salt and jasmine, with an undertone of smoke and acid from the battle.
My mate. My heart. My reason for existing.
“Is everyone ready to go home?” Abraxis walks over to join us, his footsteps heavy on the churned earth. There’s something different about him too—a looseness in his shoulders, an openness in his expression that I’ve rarely seen.
“I need a shower.” Raven pulls at the material of her dress, grimacing at the state of it. The silk is ruined—torn and stained with blood and ichor and things I don’t want to identify. “This needs to be tossed out.”
She shrugs and sighs; the sound carrying more exhaustion than disappointment.
“Don’t worry about it.” Abraxis’s voice is surprisingly gentle. “I’ll replace it when we get home. It’s the least I can do.”
I can see Raven getting ready to fight him on it. Her jaw tightens, her eyes narrow, her wings shift in that way they do when she’s preparing to dig in her heels. Pride. Stubbornness. The refusal to accept anything that might be perceived as charity or pity.
Then something shifts.
She lowers her eyes and smiles—a small, soft smile that transforms her face. “Thank you, Dad.”
The word hangs in the air between them, weighted with significance. Dad. Not Abraxis. Not her nest father. Dad.
She kisses my cheek, her lips warm against my skin, and walks away. “I’ll go shift and lie down in the flight field. I’ll carry everyone home.”
There’s a look in Raven’s eyes I can’t quite identify. Something vulnerable beneath the exhaustion. Something hopeful beneath the wariness. Whatever happened between her and Abraxis while I was burning spiders—it changed things.
I watch her walk across the scorched ground, her black leather wings catching the last light of the dying sun, her stride confident despite everything she’s been through tonight.
“She’s so much like her mom; it’s not funny.” Abraxis’s voice pulls me from my observations. We fall into step behind Raven, following her toward the flight field where she’ll shift and carry us all home.
“What do you mean?” I ask, genuinely curious.
There are a thousand things he could be talking about. If I had to say which parent Raven takes after most, it would be Thauglor. The same fierce intelligence, the same protective fury, the same willingness to burn the world for those she loves. But that’s not all she is.
Her soft side is all Ziggy—that gentleness she shows to the hatchlings, that patience with the wounded, that capacity for forgiveness that surprises everyone who only sees the warrior.
Her tactical prowess is from Callan—the way she reads a battlefield, anticipates enemy movements, and positions her forces for maximum advantage.
Her capacity to love everyone, to expand her family until it encompasses an entire continent, is all Mina—that bottomless well of maternal devotion that makes her fight harder, love fiercer, protect more fiercely.
Her death glare—the one that makes grown dragons flinch and turns enemies to trembling wrecks—that’s Klauth. Pure, undiluted, ancient intimidation.
And the code of honor she holds herself to? The rigid standards of conduct, the refusal to compromise her principles even when it costs her? That’s Abraxis.
“Her pride,” Abraxis continues, his voice thoughtful. “I mean, I’m a fine one to speak. But her pride sometimes blurs her judgment, like it does mine.” He shrugs, the gesture self-deprecating in a way I’ve never seen from him.
“If I had to say what she got from you, it’s the code of honor she holds herself to.” I rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension that still lingers there. “That unwavering commitment to doing what’s right, even when it’s hard.”
“You really think so?” Abraxis looks genuinely shocked, his dark eyes widening with surprise.
We’ve reached the flight field now. Raven is already shifting, her human form giving way to the massive black dragoness that takes my breath away every time I see her.
Scales shimmer into existence, bones crack and reform, and within moments she’s lowering herself to the ground, her great body settling onto the scorched grass.
We climb onto her back, finding handholds among her scales. The heat of her radiates through my palms—a living furnace, a creature of fire and acid and ancient power.
“Klauth and Thauglor are ‘decimate everything first, then worry about cleanup later.’ types of people.” I settle into position near Raven’s wings as she rises to take off, the powerful muscles beneath her scales bunching and releasing.
“Mina is similar. Balor calculates everything before he attacks—he goes a few steps further than you do with it. Callan has at least three plans for every plan. Ziggy is all stealth. Leander looks at the big picture before making a move.”
The wind whips past us as Raven gains altitude, the ground falling away beneath us, the devastated outpost shrinking until it looks almost peaceful from this height.
“Raven could have ended it in one huge acid bath.” I look down at the circle of acid burned into the earth around the section of trees that held Abraxis hostage.
Even from here, the scar is visible—a perfect ring of destruction where nothing will grow for years.
“You’re a black dragon like she is, so the odds are you would be immune to her acid. ”
Abraxis shakes his head, his expression grim. “That’s not true. Her acid can burn me. We found out by accident when she was younger.” He pauses, and I see the memory flicker across his face. “She puked on me and some acid came up with it. I had third-degree burns for a week.”
I file that information away, adding it to my mental catalog of my mate’s capabilities. Her acid is stronger than other black dragons’. Strong enough to hurt her own kind. Strong enough to be a threat to anyone, regardless of their natural resistances.
“I’ve been mad and jealous for so long, I almost forgot how to be happy.” Abraxis stands up carefully on Raven’s back, his wings spreading for balance, and flexes them against the rushing wind. “I can’t fly for as long as I used to, but I can still fly. I forget that blessing sometimes.”
He shifts his hands, his talons extending, and begins preening Raven’s scales.
The gesture is intimate, paternal—a father grooming his daughter, showing care through action rather than words.
I watch Raven’s massive form relax slightly beneath his touch, a low rumble of contentment vibrating through her scales.
“When she broke her wing...” Abraxis’s voice catches, the words strangling in his throat.
The memory rises unbidden in my mind. The explosion. The fall. Raven’s scream as her wing crumpled beneath her, the bones shattering, the membrane tearing. The sickening splash when she hit the water, from what Keir told us.
“None of us knew what to do.” My voice has gone thick with emotion. “Her wings in her human form are such a big part of her life. Where the one broke, they would have had to amputate it.”
The thought still makes my blood run cold. Raven without her wings. Raven grounded, earthbound, stripped of the flight that defines so much of who she is. She would have survived, but something essential would have died in her.
“I had flashbacks of what I endured.” Abraxis stops what he’s doing and looks up at the stars beginning to emerge in the darkening sky. “I was so angry it happened to her too.”
He bites his bottom lip, and I see him struggling with something. A truth he’s kept buried. A piece of the puzzle I never had.
“Mina was beside herself. It was her breath weapon that caused the explosion.” The words come out rough, reluctant. “It knocked the three of them out of the sky. Only Raven got hurt.”
The silence that follows is heavy with revelation.
That was part of the event that no one spoke about. No one blamed Mina—at least not out loud. But the guilt has been eating at her ever since. And Thauglor, who let Raven go into that battle, who couldn’t protect her, who watched his daughter fall from the sky...
“She still blames herself for what happened.” Abraxis’s voice is barely audible above the wind. “Thauglor blames himself for letting her go.”
“We all know that once Raven sets her mind on something, it’s happening whether we like it or not.” I try to lighten the mood, and Abraxis and I share a laugh—brief, but genuine.
“That’s why I said she’s so much like her mother.” Abraxis offers me a small smile before standing up. “Mina was the same way until she laid her first clutch.”
He walks up Raven’s back, his steps sure despite the wind and the altitude, heading toward the spot behind her horns where he’ll ride for the rest of the journey. “Hopefully, once everything is said and done, Raven will be the same way.”
I watch him settle into position, watch him rest his hands on my mate’s massive skull, watch the easy affection in the gesture. He’s still fighting his demons—I can see it in the tension that never fully leaves his shoulders, in the shadows that lurk behind his eyes.
But for once, it looks like they’re not winning.