The dragon landed with enough weight to make the ground tremble beneath the feet of the few men still standing.
Its wings opened slowly, vast membranes pushing dust, ash, and the bitter scent of burned wood into the air. Heat radiated from the creature, almost tangible, as though the very air around it had been warmed by the fire still raging behind the ridge.
No one advanced.
No one raised a weapon.
The surviving soldiers stood scattered across the slope, covered in soot, blood, and dirt. Broken shields. Splintered spears. A few still held swords, but not like men ready to fight — only like men who had not yet realized there was no battle left to win.
The silence that followed was not peace.
It was exhaustion.
Rowan stood among them, leaning heavily on Garron. His arm was slung over the captain's shoulders, more to keep himself upright than as any gesture of strength. Blood ran steadily from his wounded leg and had already begun staining the ground beneath his boot.
He breathed with difficulty.
His head still spun faintly.
But his eyes were open.
Watching.
The woman dismounted the dragon with a simple, practiced movement. Her boots touched the ground without haste, as though she were stepping down from a horse after a long journey.
The dragon remained still behind her.
Head lowered.
Its enormous eyes watching the men.
She walked several steps forward.
The distance between her and the survivors was far too small for comfort.
Then she spoke — not loudly, but with a clarity that cut through the silence.
— The first man who raises a weapon… — she said calmly — or even looks like he might…
She tilted her head slightly toward the dragon behind her.
— …and I will order it to incinerate all of you.
No one moved.
Some even dropped their weapons to the ground, the small metallic sounds swallowed by the presence of the creature breathing behind her.
The woman watched them for several seconds.
There was no triumph on her face.
No anger.
Only cold interest.
Then a faint smile appeared at the corner of her lips.
— I must admit… — she said, glancing around the devastated field — these last few moments were… entertaining.
She walked a few more steps among the scattered bodies, observing the survivors the way someone might study the remaining pieces after a long game.
Her eyes returned to the men.
— That change in formations — she continued. — The disruption of the rhythm between dives and advances.
She looked directly at the group.
— Who came up with it?
Silence returned.
No one answered.
Some soldiers lowered their gaze. Others remained perfectly still, as though the question were simply another threat they had no desire to provoke.
Rowan stayed where he was.
His hand still gripped Garron's shoulder tightly enough to keep his balance. Blood continued to run slowly down his leg and drip onto the ground.
Garron noticed the woman's eyes moving across the men.
Weighing each of them.
Searching.
Rowan noticed it too.
And for the first time since the dragon had touched the ground, he felt something different from fear or pain.
The strange sensation of being observed by someone who already knew the answer.
The dragon exhaled heavily behind her.
A hot breath that made a few men step back instinctively.
She waited another moment.
Still watching the survivors.
The question hung in the air.
Heavy.
No one responded.
The silence stretched until it became nearly unbearable. Some soldiers avoided looking at her. Others stared at the ground, as though the earth itself might offer some kind of shelter from the attention of that woman — or from the presence of the dragon behind her.
The creature released a slow breath.
The heat spilling from its nostrils shimmered through the ruined field.
The woman tilted her head slightly, as if her patience were thinning.
— I do not enjoy repeating questions.
She raised her hand slightly — a minimal gesture.
But it was enough for the dragon behind her to lift its head a few centimeters.
The effect was immediate.
Men shrank where they stood.
Some took half a step back.
— So let's try again — she continued with the same controlled calm. — Who had the idea for the formations?
If no one speaks…
She did not finish the sentence.
She did not need to.
The dragon opened its mouth slightly.
A faint red glow appeared deep inside its throat.
That was enough.
— It was him.
The voice came out hoarse.
Tired.
Garron.
The captain's hand tightened on Rowan's shoulder as he spoke, as if apologizing and betraying him at the same time.
— The boy.
Several men immediately looked toward Rowan.
Others simply stepped aside.
Making space.
The woman's eyes found his.
She remained silent for a few seconds, observing.
Then she made a small gesture with her hand.
— Move.
The soldiers obeyed without argument.
Men slowly shifted aside, revealing Rowan leaning on Garron, covered in blood and dust, his injured leg trembling under the weight of his body.
She began walking toward him.
Calm steps.
Measured.
When she stopped a few meters away, she studied his face the way someone might examine something curious.
— You.
Rowan did not answer.
He only breathed with difficulty.
The battle still echoed inside his head — the sound of wings, the fire tearing through the air, men screaming.
Plans that had worked.
For a few minutes.
Strategies that had seemed intelligent.
Until they stopped being so.
He finally understood.
This had never been a fair battle.
A dragon was not merely a weapon.
It was another order of power.
Another scale of the world.
The woman studied him for a few seconds longer.
— Interesting.
Her eyes drifted to the sword at Rowan's waist.
— Pick up your weapon.
The field remained silent.
Rowan looked at her.
Then at the sword.
Then back at her again.
Slowly, he released Garron's shoulder.
For a moment it seemed he might actually do as she ordered.
His hand even moved toward the sword.
But it stopped.
Hovered there.
The weight of defeat settled over him in a way no wound ever could.
His hand remained suspended for a moment that seemed too long.
The entire field appeared to wait.
He breathed with difficulty, his chest rising slowly, as though even air had become too heavy to draw.
His eyes dropped to the sword at his side…
Then returned to the woman in front of him.
He exhaled.
— It's over.
The voice came out low. Hoarse. Weak.
There was no defiance in it.
No pride.
Only the tired conclusion of someone who had finally accepted what stood before him.
His hand fell back to his side.
The sword remained where it was.
For a few seconds, the woman said nothing.
Her eyes stayed fixed on Rowan, studying him.
Then she turned her head slightly toward the dragon, as if the decision had already been made.
The creature behind her shifted its head a few centimeters. Its wings slowly opened, stirring dust and ash across the battlefield.
It looked as though everything would end there.
But before she took another step, she stopped.
Slowly… she looked back at Rowan.
And walked toward him again.
Without hurry.
The soldiers watched in silence as she approached once more.
Rowan barely had time to notice the movement.
The kick came fast.
Her boot struck the side of his face hard enough to knock him off balance. His weakened body could not resist. Rowan collapsed sideways onto the hard ground, his vision bursting into white sparks for a moment.
Garron tried to step forward.
The dragon behind her opened its mouth slightly.
The captain froze immediately.
Rowan remained on the ground, dazed, the metallic taste of his own blood filling his mouth.
The woman looked down at him with an expression entirely different from before.
The smile now was cold.
Cruel.
— No.
She slowly shook her head.
— No… this is wrong.
She stepped closer to him on the ground.
— They're lying to me.
Her eyes moved across the men around them, one by one.
Then returned to Rowan.
She tilted her head slightly, studying him like someone examining a defective piece.
— This man… — she said calmly — cannot be the same one who entertained me up there.
A heavy silence settled over the survivors again.
The dragon exhaled warm air behind her.
— That man… — she continued, looking down at Rowan on the ground — was thinking.
She took another small step, her shadow falling over him.
— This one…
Her gaze drifted over Rowan — covered in blood, dirt, defeat.
— …has already given up.
She remained silent for a few seconds.
Watching.
Waiting.
As though curious whether something inside him would still move.
Her shadow fell over Rowan before he could even push himself up.
The woman stopped beside him and observed him briefly. His face was still turned slightly from the kick, blood running from the corner of his mouth into the dust.
Then she lifted her foot.
The sole of her boot came down on his chest.
At first the weight was light — just enough to keep him pinned to the ground.
But then it began to press harder.
Rowan drew in a strained breath.
His ribs protested beneath the pressure.
She tilted her head slightly, looking down at him.
— Why did you change the formations?
Rowan did not answer.
The field remained silent around them. The few survivors watched without daring to interfere. Garron stood only a few steps away, rigid as stone, knowing exactly what would happen if he moved.
The dragon watched everything behind her.
Unmoving.
She pressed harder with her foot.
The weight increased on Rowan's chest, forcing the air from his lungs.
— I asked you a question.
Still he did not answer.
His eyes were distant, as if still seeing the burning sky of the battle that had just ended.
She pressed harder.
This time with intention.
Her heel twisted slightly, grinding the blood-soaked fabric against his wounded ribs.
Rowan let out a low sound of pain.
Even so, when he spoke, his voice was weak.
— It's over.
He closed his eyes briefly, as if repeating the words might make them true.
— It doesn't matter anymore.
The woman was silent for a moment.
Then she sighed.
Almost bored.
— No.
She removed her foot from his chest.
For a moment it looked like she had lost interest.
But then she crouched.
One hand moved down to her boot.
The blade of a dagger appeared between her fingers in a quick, familiar motion.
Small.
Sharp.
Without ceremony.
She glanced at Rowan's wounded leg — the torn flesh that had been bleeding since the beginning of the battle.
And then, without warning, she drove the blade straight into the open wound.
Rowan screamed.
The sound tore through the silence of the field.
The pain was immediate, brutal, ripping through his entire body like living fire. His fingers clawed at the dirt instinctively as his body tried to twist away from the blade.
She kept the dagger there.
Buried.
Her eyes remained fixed on his face.
— Let's try again — she said calmly. — Why did you change the formations?
The blade twisted slightly inside the wound.
Her voice remained calm.
Almost curious.
— Because the man who did that… — she tilted her head slightly — is not someone who lies on the ground saying it's over.
She leaned a little closer.
Her eyes were completely focused now.
— So tell me.
Her voice lowered slightly.
— Where is he?