Chapter 116
“We can’t continue,” the one with the sun-kissed hair speaks, her voice carrying on the wind as she turns to face her companions.
The tension in her shoulders betrays her calm tone. “If we try to outrun whatever is out there, there’s a good chance it will follow us to the Skythari Nomads. I won’t win their trust if I bring danger to their home. We need to deal with it now.”
Shock rolls through our group like a wave. A few of us exchange quick glances, disbelief flickering across our faces. My sister, standing beside me, whispers, “Since when do the high fae care about anyone but themselves?” Her voice is so soft, but I hear the clear disbelief in her tone.
Below, we feel the disturbance before the attackers crest the snowy hill.
A group of ogres, hulking beasts with thick, meaty limbs, move swiftly toward the fae.
Their speed defies their size, their heavy bodies charging through the snow, barreling toward their prey.
The ground rumbles beneath them, snow kicking up in plumes.
The air around them grows sharp with the scent of impending violence.
The fae react as one, their instincts honed and deadly. The draconian male is the first to act, his massive wings spreading wide as he leaps from his horse, launching himself into the air with a powerful beat of his wings. His sword gleams, catching the light reflecting off the snow.
Another fae shifts seamlessly into her leopard form, her body sleek and agile, fur rippling as she drops low to the ground, eyes locked on the approaching ogres. She is a predator, pure and focused, muscles coiled and ready to strike.
The silver-haired fae with his bow and arrow drawn charges forward, his horse moving as one with him, hooves pounding the ground as he releases arrows in rapid succession.
Each shot is accurate, the arrows cutting through the air aimed at the oncoming beasts.
The black horse with the golden magic races toward the ogres with incredible speed.
Meanwhile, the remaining two fae soldiers stay back, forming a protective wall between the ogres and the woman with sun-kissed hair.
Their stance is clear; they will defend her at all costs, even if it means their lives.
There is no hesitation, no faltering. The bond between them is stronger than fear.
“Who is she?” I wonder out loud.
We watch, tension thrumming through our veins, unsure of how this will play out.
Our gazes flick between the battle unfolding below and the woman at the center of it all.
She isn’t retreating, isn’t running. Instead, she stands her ground, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of a blade at her side, watching her companions fight.
“She’s not like the others,” my sister whispers, her eyes narrowing as she studies the woman.
The ogres bear down on the fae, but they are met with a swift, brutal counterattack.
The draconian swoops down from above, wings tucked close in a lethal dive.
His sword flashing silver in the sunlight, cleaving through the first ogre with terrifying grace.
Blood sprays in an arc, painting the white snow red as the beast crumples without a sound.
He moved like a phantom, too fast to follow, a living storm of steel.
The leopard shifter leaps into the fray, claws flashing, teeth bared as she tears into their thick hides.
Arrows whizz past, finding their marks in exposed flesh, bringing the ogres to their knees.
Still, the battle is far from over.
We remain on the peak, watching, waiting.
This is no longer just an observation—it is a test. The woman with the sun-kissed hair has drawn trouble to the edge of our lands, but how she handles it, how she navigates this danger, will determine whether she is truly worthy of our attention—or our intervention.