The wind off the southern ridge smelled of hot grease and sulfur.The sky wasn't blue, white, or grey anymore. It was an iron ceiling made of wings. Over two hundred high-house war dragons beat the thin air in slow, synchronization, their iron-plated saddles creaking, their riders locked into formation like teeth in a giant gear. Elders in heavy silk-and-steel robes sat on floating platforms behind lines of commanders. Below them, rank upon rank of Vanguard war riders hovered with heavy dragon-killer ballistas cranked tight, their iron cables humming like bowstrings under pressure.The Vanguard had not sent a search party. They had brought the entire garrison.Lira dropped to her knees on the jagged lip of the ridge, her fingers clawing into the loose shale until her nails bled. She stared out at the armada, her face drained of all color, her breath coming in short, terrified wheezes."Eryx... no," Lira whispered, her voice cracking as she grabbed the frayed hem of his trousers. "We c

Eryx and Lira stood alone amid the wreckage of the Hundred Wings. The basin was covered with the remains of high-house war drakes and shattered vanguard galleys. Iron breastplates lay split across the white soil, and torn reins moved in the damp wind. The bodies were still warm, sending thin plumes of grey mist into the freezing morning air.The wind carried ash across their faces, and every gust stirred the wreckage underfoot. Lira shifted her weight carefully, wincing when the cut on her jaw pulled. Her arms felt heavy from the fight, but she kept watching Eryx. She was too tired to run, and too frightened to turn her back on him. Even the distant sounds of retreat had done little to ease the fear pressing against her ribs.Far above the cloud line, the wild, unbonded dragons that had bowed their heads turned and vanished into the mist, their wings beating in a silent, eerie rhythm.Drogo kept moving.The shadow dragon passed from one fallen war drake to the next with slow, heavy st

For seven days, the routine continued without a break. Every morning, before the yellow mist cleared from the high granite walls, Eryx dragged his broadsword through the narrow, sunless ravines, searching for the oldest and most territorial beasts in the unmapped reaches of the Outer Wilds. He never let Drogo strike first. He wouldn’t let the shadow dragon spread his wings or open his jaws until the steel had done its work.Eryx launched himself from the rock ledges with frightening precision. He severed the tendon of a mountain drake, shattered the jaw plate of an iron-scaled boar, and pinned each beast to the canyon floor with his bare hands and the weight of his broadsword.Only when the creature lay gasping and helpless in the mud would Eryx step back, wiping sweat and blood from his eyes.“Feed,” Eryx rasped, his voice low and firm.Drogo stepped out of the shadows. The dragon didn’t thrash or roar. He lowered his broad snout, clamped his jaws around the beast’s chest, tore out i

The Vanguard Academy was silent, save for the rhythmic metallic clicking of the projection array mounted atop the Spire of Order.Thousands of students, nobles, and junior instructors stood shoulder to shoulder across the cold marble plaza. No one spoke or cheered. A suffocating dread hung over the crowd as the massive blue spirit-lens projected the recovered memory crystal's contents onto the white stone face of the central tower.The footage was shaky but clear.It showed the narrow, fog-covered entrance to the Devil’s Trench. It captured the exact moment Lieutenant Vane’s gilded spear snapped like a dry twig. It showed Eryx, barefoot and drenched in blood, his chest covered in jagged scars, taking down twelve fully armed lieutenants with frightening efficiency.Then came the part that made even the hardened third-year instructors turn away in disgust.The lens zoomed in on Drogo. The massive shadow dragon didn't simply kill the marsh drakes. It pinned them against the granite roc