The night had already taken the castle when Garron was led inside.
The courtyard was lit by torches fixed to the stone walls, their flames dancing under the cold wind that came down from the hills. The murmur of soldiers and servants followed Garron as he crossed the open space, like a low wave of uneasy voices.
Everyone had heard something.
But no one yet knew the truth.
Two guards pushed open the heavy doors of the great hall.
The warmth of the hearth struck Garron first. Then came the eyes.
Several men were gathered there — knights, advisors, and a few minor lords who had been summoned to discuss the campaign against Marrick. They were speaking among themselves until Garron's presence was announced.
— Captain Garron, of the border forces.
The conversations slowly died.
The man seated on the elevated chair at the far end of the hall lifted his gaze.
Lord Edric.
The lord of all this.
His hair had begun to turn gray at the temples, but his posture remained firm. One hand rested on the carved arm of the chair as he watched Garron cross the hall.
Something about the captain's condition drew immediate attention.
The dirty armor.
The dried blood.
And the absence of any other soldier beside him.
— Captain, — Edric said, his steady voice echoing through the hall. — Where is the rest of your detachment?
Garron stopped a few steps before the main table.
For a moment, he simply breathed.
All eyes were on him now.
Waiting.
— Dead.
Silence fell across the hall.
Some men exchanged glances. An older advisor frowned.
— Dead? — he repeated. — By whom?
Garron lifted his eyes.
— A dragon.
A murmur immediately ran through the hall.
Some men let out small, incredulous laughs.
A dark-bearded knight shook his head.
— A dragon? — he said with contempt. — You expect us to believe that?
Another man added:
— Perhaps the captain encountered something stronger than a dragon… fear.
A few quiet laughs echoed.
Garron did not respond.
He simply stood there.
It was Lord Edric who raised his hand.
The hall fell silent again.
The lord's eyes were fixed on Garron now.
— Continue.
Garron swallowed.
— The rider came from the sky.
His voice was rough.
— The dragon burned through entire lines.
— Shields melted.
— Men… vanished in the fire.
The silence returned, heavier this time.
No one laughed now.
Edric narrowed his eyes slightly.
— A rider.
Garron nodded.
— Serving Marrick.
The name fell heavily between the stone walls.
At that moment, another voice rose in the hall.
Softer.
— So he really did it.
Everyone turned.
Near one of the side columns stood a young woman who until now had remained silent.
Maelyra.
Edric's daughter.
Her eyes were fixed on Garron now, but something heavy lay in her expression.
Not surprise.
Something closer to guilt.
She stepped forward slowly.
— He said he would come.
Her voice was low.
— But I thought it was only… a threat.
Her gaze fell for a moment.
— I didn't know he would bring a dragon.
One of the minor lords spoke angrily:
— This all started because of that absurd refusal!
Maelyra lifted her eyes.
— I am not a coin to be traded.
The words came out firm, though pain lingered behind them.
— I would not marry a man I have never seen… simply because two lords decided it would be convenient.
She drew a slow breath.
— I thought he would only be offended.
— Not that he would start a war.
Silence once again filled the hall.
Edric finally rose from his chair.
The wood creaked loudly in the space.
— Marrick has crossed a line.
His voice had grown colder.
— If he has brought a dragon into my lands…
His hand slowly closed over the arm of the chair.
— Then we will have war.
One of the advisors stepped forward immediately.
— My lord, with all respect…
He hesitated.
— A dragon changes everything.
Another man added:
— Our armies cannot face that.
— It would be suicide.
Edric looked at them.
His eyes hard.
— Then what do you suggest?
The advisor hesitated again.
— We need allies.
Another added:
— Or another way to deal with the creature.
Silence began to grow again.
Then Edric looked back at Garron.
— Was there any survivor besides you?
Garron hesitated for a moment.
Then answered.
— Yes.
All eyes turned back to him.
— Rowan.
Maelyra frowned slightly.
— Rowan?
Garron nodded.
— He realized how the dragon was attacking.
Some men exchanged glances.
— He changed the formations.
— That's why we survived as long as we did.
A small pause.
— The rider noticed.
Garron lowered his gaze slightly.
— And she took him.
The hall fell completely silent.
Far from there…
Night had fully taken the enemy camp.
Inside the tent, Rowan was awake.
The pain in his leg had eased a little, but his body still felt far too heavy to move.
He heard it first.
A distant sound in the sky.
Then another.
The deep beating of enormous wings cutting through the air.
The dragon was returning.
The sound approached slowly.
Heavier.
Closer.
Then something else.
Footsteps outside the tent.
And the familiar shadow stopping at the entrance.
The shadow remained outside the tent for a few moments.
Rowan first heard the heavy sound of the dragon settling its massive body onto the ground.
The impact made the earth vibrate slightly beneath the tent, like distant thunder rolling across the soil.
Then came the breath.
Deep.
Hot.
The air pushed through the canvas and carried with it the strong smell of burnt flesh.
The dragon had hunted.
Rowan remained still on the makeshift bed, his eyes fixed on the tent ceiling. His body still felt too heavy to react quickly, and his leg throbbed beneath the dirty bandages.
Then the entrance canvas moved.
She entered.
The rider pushed the fabric aside and stepped into the tent with calm movements, like someone returning to a familiar place.
The armor she had worn earlier was gone; now she wore only a dark traveling tunic, stained with dust and soot.
Her hair was loose, slightly disordered by the wind of flight.
She paused for a moment near the entrance, as if simply listening to the space.
Outside, the dragon released another deep breath.
Then she walked to the table.
She poured water from a small jug and took a few sips before looking toward Rowan.
— Still alive.
The observation came casually.
Rowan slowly turned his head toward her.
— Seems so.
She observed the bandaged leg.
— I had the wound treated.
— You should be grateful.
Rowan didn't answer.
She leaned lightly against the table, crossing her arms.
— My dragon is satisfied today.
A small pause.
— That improves his mood.
She looked at Rowan again.
— And mine.
Rowan took a slow breath before speaking.
— Then why am I still alive?
She raised one eyebrow slightly.
— We already talked about that.
— You're interesting.
Rowan let out a dry, small laugh.
— Interesting enough to become a trophy?
She smiled.
— Exactly.
She walked slowly through the tent, observing him as if examining a rare artifact.
— You saw something today that most men don't see.
Rowan remained silent.
She continued:
— When a dragon dives from the sky, men look at the fire.
— At the panic.
— At death coming toward them.
She tilted her head slightly.
— You looked at the wings.
Rowan looked away for a moment.
— I was trying to survive.
— No.
She slowly shook her head.
— You were trying to understand.
Silence returned to the tent.
Outside, the dragon scraped the earth with one of its enormous claws, making the ground vibrate again.
She studied Rowan for a few seconds.
Then spoke again, calmer now.
— Do you know the curious part?
Rowan didn't answer.
— Even knowing you were going to lose…
She tilted her head slightly.
— You kept thinking.
Another pause.
— I like that.
Rowan finally looked back at her.
— And what do you plan to do with that?
She thought for a moment.
Then shrugged.
— I haven't decided yet.
She walked to the entrance and pulled the canvas aside slightly, looking out over the camp lit by dozens of fires.
Rows of tents.
Soldiers moving between them.
And farther out, a gigantic shape resting on the earth — the dragon, partially illuminated by the firelight.
Rowan followed her gaze.
Only then did he notice something he hadn't seen before.
The banners.
Many of them.
Hanging from spears and improvised towers throughout the camp.
Not a few.
Not a small detachment.
It was an entire army.
Much larger than the one he had faced on the battlefield.
The realization came slowly.
Heavy.
He was far deeper in enemy territory than he had imagined.
She noticed the look in his eyes.
— Ah.
A small smile appeared.
— Now you're understanding.
She let the entrance canvas fall and looked back at him.
— That battle today?
She made a vague gesture with her hand.
— That was only the edge.
Rowan felt something tighten slowly in his chest.
She crossed her arms again.
— Rest.
Her voice returned to its casual tone.
— Tomorrow maybe I'll find something new to do with you.
She extinguished one of the candles on the table.
The tent sank into half-darkness.
Outside, the dragon breathed deeply once more.
And Rowan realized, for the first time since he had been captured…
That the war that was beginning was far larger than anything he had imagined.