The Earth Kingdom did not welcome intruders, or so I'd been told.
It did not whisper warnings like the air did, nor roar challenges like fire. It waited. Patient. Silent. Watching. The land itself felt aware of us—every stone, every ridge, every layered shelf of rock pressing back against my presence like a clenched jaw.
I felt it the moment my claws crossed the border.
The wind shifted.
Just as Tadewi said it would.
Not violently. Not abruptly.
It simply… stopped helping.
My wings caught less lift than they should have, making it harder to maintain altitude. The air no longer curved instinctively to my movements. It resisted instead—thick, unmoving, like flying through something that tolerated me at best.
"We're in," Revik said from behind my neck, his voice low and alert.
I didn't answer.
Because something else had brushed my awareness.
A pressure.
A pull.
Something familiar—but oh so different.
Not the gods.
Not the relic.
Him.
Raiden.
The sensation hit like a phantom hand closing around my ribs—firm, deliberate, unmistakable. Not pain. Not fear.
Recognition.
My heart stuttered mid-beat.
He was close.
Too close.
The bond—I'd thought it severed, but it must have been fractured, scorched, locked behind shadow—didn't hum or sing or ache the way it once had.
But something remained.
A thinned thread.
A scar that still knew the shape of the blade that made it.
I felt his presence.
Steady.
Certain.
Waiting.
"Lyra?" Revik murmured, fingers tightening instinctively against the ridge of my scales. "You good?"
I pushed the sensation down, buried it beneath focus.
"I feel him," I said. "Somewhere ahead. East."
Revik swore softly. "The capital. Of course he is."
Below us, the Earth Kingdom stretched outward in layered terraces and fortified roads, cities carved into cliff faces like wounds that refused to heal cleanly. Stone towers rose where forests should have been. Walls thick enough to withstand dragonfire cut through valleys like scars.
Everything here was built to endure—not to live.
And yet—
Nothing moved.
No patrols.
No banners raised in alarm.
No archers lining battlements.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
"They're hiding," Revik said. "Or they don't know we're here."
"They know," I replied.
The stone below knew.
Keep your wits about you, little flame…
Kagutsuchi's voice filled my head.
Surprisingly comforting.
Whatever wits I have left, I shall, I replied.
A small chuckle vibrated down the thread.
And then—
The ground exploded.
On your left, little flame!
I see it!
Stone sheared upward in violent slabs, ripping free from the earth as if flung by unseen hands. The air split with the sound of grinding rock and snapping metal as an entire battalion burst from beneath the terrain—soldiers surging upward fully armed, shields locking, spears leveled, ballistae snapping into position in the span of a single breath.
An ambush.
Perfectly timed.
Perfectly hidden.
I roared.
The sound ripped through the valley, shattering the moment of surprise and sending the first wave of soldiers staggering back. I banked hard, wings snapping wide as arrows screamed past my flank, bouncing uselessly off my scales.
Revik drew his blades. "That's… how they managed to get past our defenses."
"Earth-wielding," I growled. "Their shifter is smart."
And then I saw her.
At the center of the emerging forces, standing atop a rising stone platform like the land itself had lifted her to command—
"Princess Willow," Revik swore.
Her hands were spread wide, fingers splayed against the air as if gripping invisible threads. The earth answered her in real time—stone rolling, folding, sealing ranks into place with frightening precision.
She looked young.
Just as I was.
Too young for this.
Her jaw was tight, eyes sharp and calculating—but beneath it, I saw hesitation flicker.
She hadn't wanted this.
That flicker cost her.
"Revik—hold on."
I dove.
Fire erupted from my throat—not wild, not unfocused, but controlled. A spiraling arc of flame scorched the front ranks without touching the stone beneath them. Shields blackened. Armor glowed red-hot. Screams followed.
Before they could regroup, I twisted midair and let water surge up through my lungs and into my jaws.
Ice followed.
A torrent of freezing mist slammed into the advancing line, flash-freezing weapons mid-swing and locking soldiers in place up to their knees. The sudden temperature shift cracked stone and steel alike.
"Gods above," Revik muttered. "Remind me never to piss you off."
I didn't slow.
I weaved between ballista bolts, snapped chains with my claws, crushed siege engines beneath my weight. The gods' power sang through me—not overwhelming, not draining—but answering.
Fire flowed when I called it.
Water bent willingly.
Ice formed cleanly and shattered when I demanded it.
This was control.
This was mastery.
For a moment—just a moment—I thought we might break through.
Then the nets came.
They flew from hidden launchers embedded directly into the stone—weighted, barbed, glowing faintly green. I twisted, rolled, blasted fire—
Too slow.
The net hit my wing first.
The effect was immediate.
Pain exploded through my body—not sharp, not burning, but emptying. Like someone had punched a hole straight through my core and let everything spill out.
My fire vanished.
The water recoiled.
The gods' voices went silent.
"What the—" I choked, wings faltering.
"LYRA!" Revik shouted as gravity reclaimed us.
We hit the ground hard.
Stone shattered beneath my weight as the net tightened, glowing brighter as it constricted. My limbs went weak. My vision swam. I tried to shift—
Nothing.
My dragon form collapsed inward violently, scales tearing away into light as I slammed into human shape against the stone.
Hands grabbed me.
Dozens.
I fought on instinct—kicking, clawing, biting—but my strength was gone. Whatever coated the net wasn't poison.
It was worse.
Absence.
"She's down!" a soldier shouted triumphantly.
Revik was dragged from my side, struggling violently, blades ripped from his hands. He caught my eye across the chaos.
"I'm still here!" he yelled. "Don't you dare—"
A blow caught him across the skull.
He went limp.
"No!" I screamed, thrashing uselessly as they pinned me harder.
Then—
The air changed.
Not like before.
This was not resistance.
This was submission.
The battlefield stilled as shadows crawled across the stone, thickening, coiling. Soldiers froze where they stood—not by command, but by instinct.
Fear.
Something vast descended.
Lightning split the sky.
Red-black.
Threaded with shadow.
Raiden's dragon form tore through the clouds and slammed into the valley with bone-rattling force. His new shape was wrong—larger, sharper, scales gleaming like oil-slick obsidian veined with crimson. Shadow leaked from between his plates like smoke that refused to dissipate.
His eyes burned red.
The earth trembled beneath him.
He didn't roar.
He didn't need to.
The message was clear.
Mine.
He shifted mid-step.
One moment dragon.
The next—man.
He approached me slowly, crouching to my level, lightning humming softly beneath his skin. His expression was composed. Amused.
Cold.
"There are many things I dislike about the Earth Kingdom," he said calmly, "but their aptitude for war weapons does come in handy."
I tried to summon fire.
Nothing.
Tried water.
Still nothing.
My pulse spiked.
Raiden tilted his head, watching my confusion with mild interest.
"Dragonbane," he explained. "Native to the southern jungles. Annoying, isn't it? But oh—so perfectly convenient."
I bared my teeth and spat at his feet.
"Go on then. Kill me. That's what your master wants."
For a second—
Something cracked.
His jaw tightened.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face—gone as quickly as it came.
He smiled.
"My master?" he echoed softly. "I have no such thing."
Then the mask slid back into place.
"No, you will not die today," he said. "I think I want to have some fun with you first."
The words settled like a blade at my throat.
And I knew—
This was going to be far worse than death.