Smoke coiled upward from the pyres as Leelinor filled his lungs with the reek of charred meat and ozone. The battlefield in the Mountains of Lamentation was no longer a theater of war, but a graveyard where blood, broken steel, and silent bodies stretched across the plain. Victory stank of ash. The Third Company lay scattered, and half its number was reduced to torn flesh and shattered armor. The only sound was the crackling of fire devouring the dead while the sky, heavy with soot and bruised clouds, bowed over them.

  Leelinor walked among the corpses, and each step felt heavier than the last. His SunStone blade still dripped with clotted ogre blood. He had not cleaned it and he would not clean it, for that stain was a scar he intended to carry. He had led them here into the abyss. The thought slid under his ribs and wedged there. No traitor sat on the Council, and no elf had ever betrayed that post, so he wondered why he had been blind. He questioned why he had trusted the lies and why he had led them to this place.

  His breath hitched as a face rose unbidden: young, proud, and bright in life, but now pale in death. He thought of Hiiuf and wondered if the boy would still be there if he had hesitated for even a breath. He swallowed hard, for elves did not cry in battle. Yet surrounded by smoke, ash, and the silence of friends who would never rise again, Leelinor wished for the first time in years that he could.

  His knees buckled and he dropped slightly, steadying himself on the sword buried in the dirt. His breath came ragged, and the taste of iron was thick on his tongue. Through the haze of grief, a memory surfaced of his father, Ecos, standing tall in the Council chamber with armor polished like a mirror. "Leadership is not about winning, Leelinor. It is about carrying the dead and still walking forward." Leelinor closed his eyes and whispered that he understood now.

  He had already lost his wife, and now his pupil and thousands under his command were gone. Yet Eldoria would expect him to return as a pillar, not a man splintered by grief. He rose. In the distance, Claamvor directed healers with a steady voice while Leeonir hauled bodies with raw fury. The boy's face was streaked with grime, and his eyes burned like embers.

  Leelinor approached. "Gather the dead for immediate cremation. None are to rot in this cursed valley."

  Claamvor inclined his head, and blood clung to his jaw like rust. "The pyres are ready. The wounded will march."

  "And Rakaa?" Leelinor’s voice hardened into cold metal.

  Leeonir turned with a flat voice. "He is restrained and alive, as you ordered. The healers keep him breathing. We will drag the truth out of him if we have to."

  Silence settled for a heartbeat. Then Leelinor gave the order to light the pyres and let their souls rise free. One by one, bodies were carried to the flames as banners became shrouds and names were whispered into smoke. When Hiiuf’s wrapped form was brought forward, bearing Eldoria’s colors, Leelinor stilled as the fire swallowed the boy who had been more than a student. "You were my friend," he murmured, his voice breaking against the roar of flame. "And I swear, whoever orchestrated this will drown in blood."

  The pyres clawed higher and flames reached skyward. Ash rose and spiraled into the wind like black snow. Rakaa was prepared last, limbless and drained, living only by force of alchemy. His eyes held hate, but pain had stolen his voice. Bound in chains and thrown into a reinforced cart, he was no commander now, but a prisoner who would either reveal the truth or die slowly.

  At the ridge, Leelinor looked back one last time. The valley behind them smoldered, an open wound carved into Eldoria’s history. He raised a hand and the march began without ceremony. There were no songs or cheers, only silence. Wounded soldiers carried the wounded. Shields became stretchers and banners sagged like funeral cloths. They did not return as heroes; they returned as survivors carrying the shadow of betrayal.

  Leelinor walked at the front with eyes locked on the horizon. "We are not just returning home," he murmured to himself. "We are returning for answers." Behind him, the wheels of the prisoner’s cart carved long, dark scars into the scorched earth. The Third Company left smoke and blood in their wake and carried the promise of reckoning.

  The wind threaded through the trees and trailed after the Company. The road to Eldoria wound through sodden hills while the sky was sealed by bruised clouds. The weight of war marched beside them and clung to each silent stare. Leelinor rode at the head with his eyes fixed forward while his mind walked in places where screams still echoed. He felt he had failed as a husband and a governor, leading them into slaughter.

  He hid his thoughts behind the mask expected of him, but Leeonir saw through it. The boy felt his father balanced on the edge of something vast.

  "They are tired," Claamvor murmured to Isaac. "But it is not their bodies. It is the quiet."

  "They are bleeding inside," Isaac replied. "Wounds like that do not close."

  Leeonir walked nearby and studied Isaac with curiosity. "You have changed since the battle."

  Isaac kept his gaze on the heavy clouds. "I saw what we are and what we are not ready for." He exhaled hard and his jaw tightened. "An ogre I can understand, and a minotaur I can fight. But dragons?" His voice dimmed. "My village called them gods. Some still bow to them. I am done bowing and I want to understand them. If they are a threat, I want to know how to kill one."

  "Zeeshoof?" Leeonir asked.

  "He has the oldest fragments and runes," Isaac said. "If there is a way to give us an edge, it is buried in his archives."

  Leeonir looked along the column at the limping and the hollow-eyed. "If any army hit us now, we would not last," he whispered.

  "That is why we learn and why we get stronger," Isaac answered. "This war is not done."

  By the second day, the march slowed to a crawl. Cold drizzle soaked cloaks and armor while mud clung to boots. Leelinor rode in silence, trapped in an internal war. Leeonir approached his side. "You need to rest," he said quietly.

  Leelinor did not answer.

  "I saw you in battle," Leeonir pressed on. "I know what our blood is capable of. You fought harder than anyone. But if you break now, the Company breaks with you. They need you, and I need you."

  Leelinor finally turned, and his eyes were hollow and haunted. "They are already broken, Leeonir. They walk because they want to see what awaits in Eldoria. I am the reason half of them are ash. No respect or silence will wash that away."

  "Then do not ask them to forgive you," Leeonir said. "Show them who leads them again. If you do not, none of us will survive whatever is coming."

  Thunder rolled overhead like distant drums. Something shifted inside Leelinor. "You want to lead one day?" he asked quietly.

  "I want to be worthy," the son replied. "I do not know if I can be a great governor, but I think the best governor is the one who gives his life for his people. If one day he fails, he did not fail because he was evil or corrupt, but because of the desire to save those he loves. So, Father, if you crumble, you will drag everyone down with you. I will not let that happen."

  For the first time in days, Leelinor nodded. "Go. Take your place at the front. I will rise." Leeonir bowed and returned to the line. Leelinor remained there for a moment, staring into the rain. The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm within, but he had finally heard his son.

  Late in the afternoon, the trail spat them into a wet clearing. Far ahead, the Thomas River found its voice in a constant low murmur. Claamvor squinted toward the bend. "We will camp there. We still have the light to make it count."

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  The order rippled down the line. When the first soldiers reached the water, they dropped. Helmets came off as men and elves knelt at the river’s edge to wash away crusted blood. Backs sank against moss-slick roots. Someone hummed an old marching tune while others stared up at the low clouds. Leeonir slid from Eden’s saddle and dropped beside Isaac at the bank.

  Hajeel joined them, and his armor still radiated heat from the stone sword. He sat heavily and winced as he stretched a torn leg. "The river is too loud, or maybe the world is too quiet."

  "Too calm," Isaac said.

  "Do you think Zeeshoof will hear you?" Leeonir asked.

  "If he does not, I will make him," Isaac replied. "I want knowledge that keeps us alive. I am done walking blind."

  "I sense an intense desire quando eu te oi?o," Hajeel said. "I will also sharpen my knowledge and skills so we can face the dragons."

  "I see no other way for Eldoria to survive. I will follow you too," Leeonir added.

  Upstream, Leelinor sat on a slick stone. He watched the bruised sky ripple on the river’s surface while Arcanjos lowered its head to drink. The pegasus’s wings trembled, and its coat caught the last light. Leelinor inhaled, and for the first time in days, the air was not smoke. The sound of the Thomas was almost a lullaby.

  Footsteps approached over damp roots. "Father," Leeonir said. Leelinor gave no answer. "Can we talk? I know something is crushing you. This was my first real war, and I have never seen anything like it."

  The silence lingered.

  "I know you feel like a failure," Leeonir insisted. "But those who survived will not curse the man who fought hardest. What scares me is seeing you trapped in your thoughts. We will need you when we get to Eldoria, for I think what awaits us there might be worse."

  Leelinor finally turned. His eyes were red and unfocused. "I saw so many die. But this was the first time I stood before them as their ruler, not their fellow soldier. I failed. I promised them we would return home with the job done, and that I was a shield. Instead, I led them to the massacre."

  Leeonir knelt in the mud and held his father’s hand. "No. We were deceived, but we are still here. We still choose and we still resist."

  Leelinor cupped his son’s face. For a moment, the sadness thinned, and something firmer gleamed beneath it. "I expect a great deal from you, Leeonir. You carry my blood and go beyond it. If Eldoria has a future, you are part of it. When we return, everything could change. There is an ancient shadow on the loose that wants our name erased."

  "Then we will fight it together," Leeonir replied. "Our house will not surrender without a fight. I swear."

  The ground throbbed with a monstrous pulse that rattled pebbles against the dry soil. Arcanjos jerked his head up, and the pegasus’s eyes rolled until the whites showed while his wings flared in a panicked arc. A guttural whinny tore from his chest. The current of the Thomas River stopped mid-surge and the water became a dead, black mirror. Sound vanished as the world held its breath. The air turned hollow and devoid of oxygen, as if the forest itself were being strangled by an unseen hand.

  The sky split and clouds tore in a jagged line. Light warped and air shrieked while pressure crashed into lungs and chests. The dragon descended like a verdict. Black scales were veined with molten gold and wings cast a canopy of shadow over the camp. The shockwave hit the clearing, snapping tree trunks like dry twigs and hurling men through the air until bones shattered against rock.

  Shadow fell over the company. The air soured with the scent of ash and iron. She roared with a sound older than hunger, a vibration so deep it rattled teeth in their sockets. Some soldiers dropped their weapons to cover their ears as blood leaked from their canals. Blue fire poured from her jaws like a curtain. It did not ignite; it unmade. Metal liquefied instantly and flesh evaporated into gray mist. The first row of tents curled in the heat before they were obliterated. Men in the path became screaming silhouettes for a heartbeat before they turned to charred bones and dust. The river moved again, but wrongly. Bodies threw themselves into the water, and skin peeled from limbs while screams turned to red foam.

  Leelinor did not think. He leaped onto Arcanjos’s back as rage and duty merged into a gleaming line. "Leeonir! With me!" Leeonir ran through smoke and embers before leaping behind his father. Isaac staggered into view with singed hair and wide eyes. His axe was gripped so tightly his knuckles were white. "It is a female!" he shouted. "Blue fire! She is real!" Hajeel crawled from the rubble and gripped his stone sword. The blade gleamed orange against the blue flames. Hajeel placed himself in front of Isaac with his sword raised, and the stone absorbed the worst of the heat.

  Leelinor’s jaw clenched. "I have killed one before and I will kill another." Claamvor emerged from the smoke with a bleeding arm. His blades were bare. "It is like Zao, only much bigger." The dragon circled as a storm wrapped in flesh. Each beat of her wings sent waves of pressure that crushed the breath from men. She exhaled again and the stones beneath her turned to liquid glass. Where the blue torrent struck, trees transformed into black skeletons that crumbled into soot. The Third Company was now nothing more than dry leaves in a furnace.

  Arcanjos ascended with a roar of wings. "Dad, she is killing everyone," Leeonir said, his voice choked by the rising heat. "I know." Leelinor saw the molten gold of her eyes. A collar of pale blue energy encircled her throat while runes pulsed against her flesh. Someone had restrained her and turned a goddess into a tortured puppet. Her gaze turned to him and Leelinor’s body froze for a heartbeat. Then came the heat. Arcanjos dodged the flames by diving through the smoke.

  She screamed and the air hammered their ears. With a dive, she unleashed fire and the world dissolved. Three archers vanished mid-cry as their outlines burned into the air. A father tried to run with his son in his arms, but the breath turned both into ash on the wind. "Shields! Retreat to the river!" Isaac shouted. "Move! Move!" Hajeel roared, pushing soldiers toward the bank. Claamvor galloped past on a maddened horse and wrenched the reins. His face was a mask of soot and blood. "Get out of the way! This is a dragon!" He rode toward the beast and raised his blades. "Archers! Flank on the right! Aim for the wings! We must get her down!"

  Elves and men hurried to obey with shaking hands. "Make her touch the ground!" Claamvor roared. "If it breathes, it bleeds!" Arcanjos cut through the smoke and Leeonir clung to his father’s waist. Up close, each scale was a shield. Leelinor saw the collar throb with each roar. "Do not think about it," he murmured. "All that matters is killing her." Down below, Claamvor’s command cracked across the field. "Archers, fire!"

  Arrows launched and most shattered against black scales. The dragon did not blink until a red stone shaft pierced the membrane of her wing. She staggered and the fire went out as her flight faltered. Another volley flew and an ARK-tipped arrow slid between scales along her flank. The dragon roared in pain. "That hurt her!" Isaac cried. Claamvor hauled his horse around. "Concentrated fire! Only joints and split angles! JaS and ARK first!"

  A JaS arrow struck the jaw joint and an ARK projectile lodged in the muscle of the wing. The dragon’s roar became grinding stone. She collapsed in a storm of wings and fire. Each rotation ripped apart trees and soldiers while her tail mowed down men. The ground churned beneath her claws as the impact shattered the clearing. A shockwave snatched air from lungs and shattered shields. Flesh crushed against twisted armor. Isaac flew backward and slammed against a rock. Hajeel fell beside him and absorbed the impact. The dragon rose, relentless. Smoke dripped from her wounds and tattered wings hung like torn flags. She smelled of burnt metal and flesh.

  "Fire!" Claamvor shouted. Missiles pierced her armor again and her guttural scream made eardrums burst. Claamvor did not waver. "Do not break! Hold your position!" The dragon’s throat glowed with a bluish-white light. She exhaled and the world vanished. The fire came like a river and extinguished everything in its path. Men turned into dust. The chains on Rakaa glowed white and iron and flesh liquefied together. Claamvor turned his horse to reinforce the flank and the fire engulfed him. It ripped him from the saddle and hurled him against a tree trunk. Blue flames wrapped around him like a shroud. His armor warped and fused to his skin while his bones cracked in the heat. He screamed once.

  Leelinor froze and a buzzing in his ears broke through the roar. "Claamvor." The name slipped from his lips. Behind him, Leeonir’s voice split the air. "No! Nooooo!" An indomitable rage exploded in their chests. Something inside Leelinor detonated. "Arcanjos. Dive." The dragon turned and inhaled. Leelinor tensed every fiber and leaped from the saddle. "By Eldoria!" He struck her back and metal shattered scales as he drove his SunStone blade in brutal cuts. The sword was a verdict. Scales exploded and blue blood drenched him. The smell of sulfur clawed at his throat.

  The dragon thrashed and crashed against rocks. Each impact opened breaches in her armor. Leeonir jumped and his hands found the hilt of Ecos’s Sword. "This is for Claamvor," he grunted. The blade pierced the thick neck and blood gushed. His descent carved a furrow into her scales as the steel tore through tendons. Leeonir clawed for purchase on the crest and smashed his sword into the temple. He screamed Claamvor’s name until his throat tasted of blood. The dragon roared like a god being killed and bursts of fire burned her own chest. She rolled and crashed into the ground. The elves held on. Leeonir struck her skull again while his left hand burned and skin melted.

  They were unyielding. Leelinor drove his SunStone blade into the base of her spine. Light erupted and tore through marrow. Leeonir turned a hoarse scream into a final blow that split the dragon’s skull. Her body writhed and her claws clenched. Her roar became a wet rattle. Then she fell, a dying god. The ground split under her weight and shockwaves coursed along the riverbank. Dust and ash swallowed everything. Hajeel lay half-buried while Isaac struggled to his feet. Burns covered their bodies. The dragon lay motionless and dismembered. Leelinor collapsed to his knees. Dragon blood clung to his skin and glowed like dying embers. Leeonir slid to his side with a face mapped in soot and tears. They did not speak, for the dragon was dead, but something far worse had survived within them.