In the days that followed, the mansion's pace remained frenetic. Hurried races ran through the corridors, dragons trained in the courtyard, lists were crossed out and rewritten dozens of times. The atmosphere felt like war was imminent, and in a way, it was.
Scathach, always the central figure, remained in absolute control. She oversaw everything: from balancing the weight of the weapons to affixing the runes that would allow for long periods of flight without exhaustion. But as the piles of supplies grew, a shadow of doubt began to creep into her demeanor.
The problem didn't appear suddenly—it grew silently with each new shipment that arrived. Barrels of water, bundles of food, tents, extra armor, portable forges, even lumber for potential repairs… all of it was being stacked for a journey that, theoretically, would be made on the backs of dragons across an ocean no map dared to fully represent.
On the morning of the fifth day, reality hit her like a punch.
