The wind howled through the mountain pass, screaming like the ghosts of the dishonored dead. The st of frost-bitten stone and old blood g to Wulfric’s cloak as he rode through the hidden aqueducts of Bckfrost Keep.

  Torches burned in iron sces along the walls, their flickering light carving jagged shadows across his scarred face. His fiightened around the reins. Something was wrong.

  The keep should have been quiet, its halls occupied by those awaiting his return. Instead, he found men scrambling. Armor being donned. Swords being strapped to belts. Orders being shouted that did not e from him.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Where the fuck was Lyrius?

  He stormed through the keep like a wrathful god desding from the heavens. Servants fttehemselves against the stone walls, fearful of catg his gaze.

  Then, he saw one of his lieutenants.

  Wulfric moved faster than the man could react, his hand closing around the bastard’s throat, smming him into the pilr. The sound of boting stone cracked through the hall like a whip.

  "Whose orders did you follow?" Wulfric growled, his voice thick with restrained fury.

  The lieutenant’s hands cwed at Wulfric’s iron grip, eyes wide with shock. "Y-yours, sire!"

  For a single moment, Wulfric did not breathe.

  His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  His rage deepened into something worse—doubt.

  A—

  His mind reeled.

  The men. The Iron Revenants. Already marg on Vellmont.

  A deade in his name.

  "That fug whore's son!"

  Wulfric stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the heat of his presence became unbearable. "Tell me everything Lyrius said before he left."

  The lieutenaated.

  Wulfric grabbed his sword belt, yanked him forward, and smmed his forehead against his.

  "Speak. Now."

  The man gasped, hands trembling. "He said—we had to move now, sire. He said we couldn’t wait any longer."

  Wulfriarrowed his eyes. "And why the fuck is that?"

  The lieutenaated again.

  Wulfric reached for his dagger.

  "I don’t know!" the man blurted, fling. "But he said—we weren’t the only ones looking for it anymore."

  Silence.

  Wulfrit still.

  Not the only ones.

  Something cold curled around his spine.

  His grip loosened on the man’s belt, letting him stumble back, but Wulfric was no longer looking at him. His mind was already elsewhere.

  The Starfe was no longer a secret.

  Someone else was making a move.

  And Lyrius, reckless, brilliant fug bastard that he was, had acted before Wulfric could.

  "Sound the horns," Wulfrianded. "We leave now."

  His men snapped into motion, ation.

  Wulfric turo his scout. "Fly ahead. Take a Drakeguard mech to Elderwynd. Look for the Helmed Man and the Adventurer’s Guild. We need reinforts in Vellmont. Tell them we have a traitor to put down."

  The scout hesitated. "Traitor, sire?"

  Wulfric’s expression was unreadable. "If Lyrius has put my name on a war I didn’t start, then I’ll make damn sure he remembers whose name he stole."

  The scout paled, saluted, and ran.

  Wulfric exhaled.

  Lyrius had forced his hand. Again.

  And this time, Wulfric would make him regret it.

  The heavens trembled beh his wings.

  Lyrius sat enshrined in steel and gold, the cockpit of Soldraknirr humming with power as he soared above the roiling clouds of Vellmont. Below, the nd stretched vast and defiant—a city on the brink of war, oblivious to the dragon that watched from above.

  His fingers flexed against the trol grips, the haptic feedback of the suit responding as though the mech was aension of his own body. His own will.

  And it was.

  The pte armor eng him was unlike anything the on rabble of the Vale could ever prehend. Segmented like a knight’s pte, but reinforced with the adaptive pting of Drais engineering. The helm locked around his head, gold-trimmed, the crest embzoned with the sigil of his lost mother’s house. Ihe neural link pulsed against his temples, feeding him information iime—weather patterns, thermal readings, trajectories of luminite onry and siege ons still hiddeh their pathetic illusions of secrecy.

  "Fools," he murmured.

  Soldraknirr respoo his thoughts, shifting its wings—great auric sails trimmed with bck alloy. The twin to Mortivax, yet where his brother’s mech was a beast of iron and ruin, Lyrius had built his own legend from the bones of the Sorius line.

  Where Mortivax crushed, Soldraknirr outmaneuvered.

  Where Mortivax burned, Soldraknirr outshone.

  A—he had never fought alongside his brother as intended.

  A shame.

  Lyrius’ visor flickered as he sed the city below, isoting movement, heat signatures, leyline disturbances. If the Starfe had been awakehere would be traces—fractures iy itself.

  Nothing.

  Not yet.

  A voice crackled through his earpiece.

  "Sire. ositioned outside the eastern district. Vellmont’s watchtowers remain unmanned, but there is no sign of Wulfric."

  Lyrius' lips curled into a smirk.

  Of course there wasn’t.

  The brute had no doubt realized exactly who had ordered this attack.

  A shame he would be too te to stop it.

  Lyrius flicked a trol switch, opening s.

  "Hold position," he anded, his voice smooth. Undeniable. "Send more scouts into the city. I want movement patterns, weaknesses in the defenses. And I want more eyes looking for the Starfe."

  A pause. Then—

  "...And Wulfric, sire?"

  He exhaled, his voice a whisper of ironcd certainty, and then he smirked.

  "Of course. We shall look for him as well."

  The night sky was vast, an endless void of stray clouds and distant stars.

  Cutting through it like a falling spear was the Drakeguard Mech—a mae built in the image of a void-drake, but devoid of life, its metalli humming with an unnatural stillness. Its wings, thin and bded, were spread wide, adjusting their angles with silent precision, catg the wind with a predatrace. Gold-glowing optics flickered along its streamlined, draic body, sing for hostiles as it carried its sole passenger.

  The scout, a soldier of Wulfric’s ranks, g to the mech’s back, half-frozen, half-broken.

  His cloak had been shredded by the winds, his face marked with the deep lines of exhaustion. He had been riding the Drakeguard for more than two hours, its smooth, unfeeling armor no warmth, no fort. His fingers had long since gone numb, his breath ing in ragged clouds as he fought to stay scious.

  But he had no choice.

  His orders had been clear.

  And now, finally, Elderwynd was in sight.

  The watchtuards were the first to spot him—a dark figure against the clouds, desding fast. The Drakeguard’s metal wings hissed as they cut through the sky, its talons shifting as it prepared to nd.

  "Void take me..." one of the guards muttered, gripping his spear.

  An Embercd rebel.Trouble.

  At least—that’s what they thought at first.

  Then, they saw the fg strapped to his back, snapping wildly in the wind. A banner of surrender.

  "Hold fire!" the captain barked.

  The guards hesitated but obeyed.

  The Drakeguard nded in a crouch, its cwed feet scraping against the cobblestone. With a final, meical exhale, its wings folded in, the golden optics dimming.

  The scout slid off its back like a man moments from death. He colpsed onto one knee, chest heaving, but forced himself upright. He had made it.

  And now, he had to deliver the message.

  Cedric of Elderwynd sat upon a carved sto, his fingers steepled before him. A man of broad shoulders, gray eyes, and the quiet weight of a ruler who had survived too much. The flickering dlelight cast deep shadows across his face as he studied the wretched man before him.

  The scout had been given water, a cloak, and time to catch his breath—but not much.

  Now, he k, his voice hoarse as he spoke.

  "Wulfric Bckmere sends word," he rasped. "The armies in Vellmont do not marder his and." He swallowed hard. "He requests aid. The Adventurer’s Guild. Your men. Anyone you send."

  The chamber was silent.

  Cedric leaned back, expression unreadable.

  A betrayal within the Embercd?

  Before he could speak—the doors opened.

  Garett and Leoered.

  The chamber was heavy with silence, save for the quiet crag of the hearth.

  Garett’s brows furrowed deeply as he stared at the scout, the man’s face pale from exhaustio resolute.

  "You fight for Wulfric?" His voice was steady, but his knuckles had gone white where they gripped his belt. "You're telling me—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it. "—Wulfric Bckmere has been the leader of the Embercd rebels all along?"

  The scout hesitated, but only for a breath. "Aye, sir. He’s the one who’s been holding them together."

  Garett took a step back, his mind reeling.

  He turned sharply to Cedric, searg the Ealdorman’s worn, unreadable face fuidance.

  Cedric said nothing, his gray eyes shadowed with thought. Beside him, Lyra stood with her arms crossed, her pierg gaze fixed on the scout. She had been silent up to now, watg, waiting.

  Garett’s gaze flicked to Leona. "What do you think?"

  She crossed her arms, lips pressed into a thin line.

  "I think it’s a fug trap."

  The words nded like steel on stone.

  The scout bristled, but Leona held up a hand.

  "I’m not calling you a liar," she said, eyeing him carefully, "but this whole thing stinks of some greater scheme." She turned back to Garett. "Think about it—why would Wulfrie alone and unarmed after Elderwynd burned? If the Embercd were responsible, why return to the ruins, knowing full well he’d be torn apart?"

  She shook her head. "Doesn’t add up."

  Garett remained silent, his mind rag.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  But—

  The facts did line up. At least in his mind.

  If Wulfric truly led the Embercd, and if the traitor had acted without his sent, it would expihing. The division. The sudden attack. The recklessness.

  He took a breath.

  The problem was that he didn’t know if he was thinking clearly.

  Wulfric was his friend.

  Was he just searg for a reason to believe him?

  His jaw tensed. "Then what do we do?"

  He turned back to Cedric.

  "Do we help him?"

  The Ealdorman finally stirred. His gaze moved from Garett to Leona, then to Lyra, before settling on the scout still kneeling before them.

  Cedric exhaled heavily. "Elderwynd is in no state to help anyone, least of all Vellmont. We ck men, arms, and time." His voice was firm, unyielding. "Even if I wished to send aid, I could not."

  The words settled in the chamber like a final toll of judgment.

  Garett ched his fists, but before he could speak, Lyra stepped forward.

  "I will go," she said.

  All eyes turo her.

  Cedric frowned. "Lyra—"

  "No." Her tone was sharp, unyielding. "You have no forces to spare. But I do." She looked at Garett. "We both know Vellmont won’t stand on its own. Whatever the traitor is after, he means to cim it soon. If Wulfric is truly marg to stop him, then that means our enemy is already ahead of us."

  She pced a hand oaff. "And if Wulfric is lying? Then we kill him ourselves."

  Garett studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  The decision had been made.

  The fires of war burned anew.