The horn sounded wrong.
It wasn't the measured call that marked the end of drills or the beginning of scheduled maneuvers. This was a long, tearing blast that clawed through stone and air alike, vibrating through the training ground and into bone.
Conversation died instantly.
For half a heartbeat, no one moved—then the second horn followed, shorter, sharper, unmistakable.
Emergency deployment.
Instructors snapped into motion. "Mount up!" one shouted. "All riders—combat readiness! This is not a drill!"
The ground shifted underfoot as dragons reacted, some rearing, others roaring in excitement. Knights ran. Scribes abandoned their posts. Somewhere near the inner wall, a signal flare screamed upward, bursting into red light against the sky.
Nino felt the bond tighten.
Not painfully—alertly.
He turned toward Vyrn at the same moment the dragon lifted its head, eyes already fixed on the sky beyond the walls.
"What is it?" Nino asked quietly.
Vyrn didn't answer, obviously. But its tail had gone rigid, and its breathing had slowed to that same controlled rhythm Nino had noticed earlier.
A captain sprinted past them, barking orders into a speaking crystal. "Wild-class incursion confirmed! Multiple contacts—border quadrant east-northeast! All available units move!"
Nino stepped into the flow of bodies, pulling Vyrn with him before anyone could stop them. He didn't need to be told what would happen next.
They would throw everyone they had at the problem.
Even failures.
Sure enough, a harried lieutenant skidded to a stop in front of them, eyes flicking to Vyrn and then away.
"You. Failed unit." He jabbed a finger toward the outer gate. "Logistics line. Rear support. If you slow the column, I'll have you restrained."
"Yes," Nino said immediately.
The lieutenant was already gone.
They moved with the rest, exiting through the eastern gate as the city beyond erupted into motion. Bells rang from towers. Civilians were being driven indoors by armored patrols. Above it all, shadows slid across the clouds—too large, too many, moving with deliberate purpose.
Nino swallowed.
This is earlier, he thought again. This attack wasn't supposed to reach this close. Not yet.
The column split as they left the city proper. Combat riders surged ahead, dragons launching into the air in waves of heat and thunder. Nino and the logistics unit veered onto a lower road, wagons creaking under crates of spears, crystals, and emergency rations.
They were exposed.
The sky darkened as something vast passed overhead. Wind hammered down, flattening banners and sending loose debris skittering across the road. Someone screamed. Another rider swore, struggling to keep their dragon steady.
Then the sound hit.
A roar—not triumphant, not enraged, but hungry.
It rolled across the land like an avalanche.
"Contact!" someone shouted. "Front line breached!"
Nino looked up.
A massive shape tore through the cloud cover, scales the color of scorched iron, wings wide enough to blot out the sun. Fire spilled from its jaws as it dove, scattering aerial units like insects.
The front line bent.
Then it broke.
The dragon didn't stop.
It smashed through the formation and kept coming—straight toward the rear.
Toward them.
"Get down!" a knight yelled, even as he knew it wouldn't help.
Vyrn moved before Nino could speak.
The dragon stepped in front of him, wings flaring instinctively despite their damage, body low, braced as if it could somehow matter against that thing in the sky.
Nino grabbed its shoulder. "Don't—"
The shadow swallowed them.
Heat washed over the road. The air screamed. Soldiers scattered, wagons overturned, horses reared and broke loose.
Nino looked up at the descending monster and felt, with sudden, terrible clarity, the truth of his position.
Extra.Failed unit.Rear-line casualty.
This was exactly where he was supposed to die.
The dragon above opened its jaws.
And then—
The sky shattered with a different roar.
The roar cut through the world like a blade.
It didn't come from the wild dragon.
It came from above it.
The clouds tore apart as something far larger and far heavier descended, the air compressing under its weight. Black scales caught the light only to swallow it whole, edges traced with faint crimson lines that pulsed like a living heartbeat.
A dragon crashed down between the wild beast and the rear line.
The impact pulverized the road.
Stone exploded outward. Wagons flipped. The wild dragon shrieked—not in challenge, but in shock—as its dive was violently arrested, its momentum shattered by a wall of armored flesh and impossible mass.
The black dragon didn't roar again.
It simply moved.
Its claws flashed once—too fast to follow—and raked across the wild dragon's chest. Scales peeled away like paper. Blood sprayed across the ground in a steaming arc.
The wild dragon tried to pull back.
The black dragon's jaws closed around its neck.
There was a wet, final crack.
The head tore free.
Silence slammed down on the battlefield as the corpse fell, crashing into the road hard enough to send another shockwave through the ground.
Nino stood frozen.
Vyrn pressed closer to him, body rigid, not trembling—focused.
The black dragon lifted its head, wild blood dripping from its fangs. Its wings folded with precise, controlled movements that spoke of discipline rather than instinct.
Only then did Nino see the rider.
She dismounted in a single smooth motion, boots touching ground already dusted with ash and gore. Her armor was matte black, fitted and unadorned, designed for function rather than ceremony. A dark cloak hung from her shoulders, torn at the edges by heat and wind.
Her presence bent the space around her.
Conversations died before they began. Orders stalled in throats. Even the surviving dragons went still, lowering their heads instinctively.
Someone whispered, "The Black Duke"
Another corrected them, voice shaking. "The Duchess."
She removed her helmet.
Silver hair spilled free, stark against the black of her armor. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, reflecting nothing of the carnage around her.
Seraphina Noctyre.
She didn't look at the corpse first. Or the sky. Or the front line struggling to reform.
Her gaze swept the rear line.
It passed over knights. Over wagons. Over the wounded.
And then it stopped.
On a small, scarred dragon standing in front of a young rider who hadn't moved since the sky fell.
Nino felt it like a hand closing around his spine.
Her eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but with something sharper.
Recognition?Interest?
Vyrn's wings twitched.
The black dragon behind Seraphina shifted its weight, massive head lowering slightly, pupils contracting as it followed its rider's focus.
Seraphina took a single step forward.
Nino realized, distantly, that he was breathing too loudly.
She stopped a few paces away, boots sinking into cracked stone, and looked down at him as if the battlefield had narrowed to just this space.
"You," she said.
The word was quiet.
It carried anyway.
Vyrn let out a low sound—not a growl, not a whine—something controlled and warning.
Seraphina's gaze flicked to it.
Her lips curved, just barely.
"Interesting," she said.
Behind them, the war continued to move, but the center of gravity had shifted.
And Nino knew, with cold certainty, that he had just been noticed by someone he was never meant to meet like this.
The battlefield did not dare to interrupt her.
Seraphina Noctyre walked forward, each step measured, unhurried, as if the chaos around her were no more than background noise. Knights parted instinctively, some dropping to one knee without being ordered, others standing frozen in place, unsure which reaction would offend her less.
Nino stayed where he was.
Moving now would draw the wrong kind of attention.
She stopped in front of him.
Up close, the details sharpened. Her armor bore no crest, no flourish—only shallow grooves where claws and blades had failed to bite deep enough. Her expression was calm, detached, the face of someone who had already decided how this encounter would end, even if she hadn't decided why it mattered.
Her gaze dropped to Vyrn.
Not dismissive.
Evaluating.
"You are listed as failed," she said, her voice low and even. It was not a question.
"Yes," Nino answered.
He kept his tone neutral. Respectful, but not eager.
Her eyes traced the lines of Vyrn's wings, lingering where the old scars met newer tissue. The dragon did not shrink back. It held her gaze, unblinking.
Seraphina's fingers twitched once at her side.
"That classification is lazy," she said.
A nearby officer stiffened. "Duke Noctyre, the assessment was conducted according to—"
She looked at him.
He stopped speaking.
Seraphina turned back to Nino. "What is your name?"
He hesitated for the space of a breath.
"Nino Verhain."
She repeated it silently, testing the sound. Then, without warning, she reached out.
Nino tensed.
Her hand did not touch him.
It stopped inches from Vyrn's wing, close enough for heat to bleed from her gauntlet into the air. The black dragon behind her shifted, but did not interfere.
"You hide it well," Seraphina said.
Nino's throat tightened. "Hide what?"
Her eyes lifted to his.
"Instinct," she replied. "Most riders with weak dragons compensate by shouting. Or begging. You do neither."
She withdrew her hand and stepped back.
The moment stretched.
Then she spoke again, as casually as if giving advice to a subordinate.
"Do not die here."
It was not encouragement.
It was instruction.
Before Nino could respond, she turned away. Her cloak snapped as she mounted her dragon in a single fluid motion, armor locking seamlessly into place.
The black dragon's wings unfurled, blotting out the sky once more.
As it lifted, Seraphina glanced back—just once.
Her gaze passed over Nino.
Then returned to Vyrn.
Something unreadable crossed her face.
The dragon surged upward, rejoining the battle in a storm of shadow and heat.
The pressure lifted.
Sound rushed back into the world. Orders were shouted. Wounded cried out. The war resumed as if it had never paused.
Nino exhaled slowly.
Vyrn shifted closer, pressing its shoulder against his leg—solid, present.
Around him, soldiers whispered.
"She spoke to him."
"Who is he?"
Nino ignored them all.
He looked to the sky where the black dragon had vanished and felt a cold realization settle in his chest.
The villain of the story now knew his name.
And worse—
She had decided he was worth remembering.