POV: Ravenna
The attack comes at dawn.
No warning. No declaration. Just—ATTACK.
I'm with Father and Thalassa in the war room finalizing arrest plans when alarm bells EXPLODE across the capital. Urgent. DESPERATE. The kind of bells that mean IMMEDIATE danger.
"What—" Thalassa starts.
Then we hear it. Dragon roars. Not fire kingdom. Not water kingdom. EARTH kingdom. Deep. Resonant. The sound of massive earth dragons descending on the capital.
"VOLCRIS!" Father is already moving. Running toward the ramparts. Everyone following. "He's attacking during negotiations. While our forces are divided—"
We burst onto the ramparts and my heart STOPS.
Earth dragons. DOZENS of them. Brown and grey and copper-colored. Massive. Built for endurance and strength over speed. They're attacking from the north. Targeting the palace specifically.
"He's trying to kill us," Thalassa says. Voice sharp with understanding. "Kill both monarchs during peace negotiations. Destabilize both kingdoms simultaneously."
"Get to safety!" Hadrian shouts. Already coordinating defense. "Both of you! NOW!"
But Father isn't listening. He's watching the sky. Watching earth dragons use seismic attacks—shockwaves that crack stone, destabilize buildings, DESTROY.
"Veyron!" He shouts. "Where's VEYRON?"
I scan the sky. Looking for the legendary dragon combat master who's defended Cindravale for four decades. Looking for that distinctive grey dragon with scars from a hundred battles.
There. Veyron's dragon launching from the military courtyard. Leading younger warriors into formation. Directing aerial defense with precision born from experience.
"He's organizing the response," I say. Relief mixing with terror. Because Veyron is SIXTY-TWO. Ancient for dragon warriors. He should be retired. Not fighting.
But he IS fighting. Because that's who he is. Loyal until death.
More earth dragons descend. They're using siege tactics. Coordinated strikes on defensive positions. Trying to CREATE chaos while targeting Father.
Water kingdom dragons join the defense—Thalassa's escort transforming the battle. Fire and water working together. Actually coordinating. It's—incredible. And terrifying.
"Princess!" Someone grabs my arm. Palace guard. "You need to evacuate! Eclipse could use this chaos to—"
"I'm not LEAVING." I pull free. "There will be wounded. I need to prepare healing stations."
"Ravenna—"
"GO!" I'm already running toward the courtyard. Toward where wounded will arrive. Where I can actually HELP instead of hiding like coward.
Morgana and Lyris follow. Of course they do. We set up emergency healing in the main courtyard. Ready for casualties that WILL come.
Above us, the battle rages. Earth dragons clash with fire dragons. Water dragons use ice attacks to ground earth dragons. It's brutal. VICIOUS. Dragons falling from sky. Warriors dying.
Then I see it. Massive brown dragon. HUGE. Easily twice the size of any other dragon in the sky. With golden stripes marking him as royalty.
"That's Volcris," Theron says. He's materialized beside me. Armed. Ready. "That's the KING himself. He came personally."
"To kill Father."
"Yes."
Volcris's dragon dives. Straight toward the ramparts where Father stands directing troops. Seismic attack building in the earth dragon's throat. Impact would DESTROY the ramparts. Kill everyone standing there.
And Veyron sees it.
His grey dragon intercepts. Faster than should be possible for dragon that age. Slamming into Volcris's dragon. Stopping the attack before it reaches Father.
"VEYRON!" Father's shout carries across the battlefield.
The two dragons clash. Midair. Vicious. Brutal. Veyron is skilled. Legendary. But Volcris's dragon is younger. Stronger. Massive.
They fight. Tearing at each other. Veyron using technique over strength. Targeting weak points. Fighting like he has nothing to lose and everything to protect.
But Volcris's dragon is relentless. He goes for killing blows. Not honorable combat. Not warrior's duel. Assassination.
"He's going to lose," I whisper. Horror filling me. "Veyron is going to—"
Volcris's dragon twists. Impossibly fast despite size. Claws rake across Veyron's dragon's throat. Deep. Fatal.
Blood. So much blood.
Veyron's dragon falls. Not controlled descent. Not landing. FALLING. Like stone. Like something already dead.
He crashes in the courtyard. Maybe fifty feet from where I stand. The impact is—devastating. Stone cracks. Dust explodes. The sound of dragon dying.
"NO!" Father is screaming. Running from the ramparts. "VEYRON!"
I'm already moving. Running to the fallen dragon. But I know. I know before I reach him.
Veyron shifts back to human form. Lying in the crater created by impact. Blood everywhere. His throat torn open. Chest crushed. Dying. Dead.
But his eyes are open. Looking toward Father running toward him. And he's—smiling. Satisfied. Like he accomplished exactly what he intended.
Father reaches him. Drops to his knees. "You idiot. You old fool. Why did you—"
"Protecting... my king," Veyron rasps. Blood bubbling from his throat. "My duty... always."
"I ordered you to retire years ago!"
"You... ordered. I... ignored." That smile again. Peaceful. "Can't... retire when... kingdom needs... defending."
"Veyron—" Father's voice breaks completely. "You can't—you have to—"
"Tell my... wife... sorry." Each word costs him. "Tell her... worth it. Protecting you... always... worth—"
He stops. Eyes still open. Still looking at Father. But NOT seeing anymore.
Dead. Master Veyron. Legendary warrior. Dragon combat master. Loyal defender of Cindravale for four decades.
Dead. Protecting his king. Loyal until the very end.
Father makes a sound like something breaking. Holds Veyron's body. This man who served him. Who trained him. Who was more than warrior—was friend. Family.
Gone.
I can't heal this. Can't FIX this. Can't bring him back.
Death is beyond even healing gift.
Around us, the battle continues. Earth dragons retreating now that Volcris's assassination attempt failed. Water and fire dragons pursuing. Victory but at cost.
Too high a cost.
"FALL back!" Volcris's voice booms across the battlefield. "RETREAT!"
Earth dragons flee. Coordinated withdrawal. They came. They tried. They failed.
But they killed Veyron. And gods know how many other warriors.
The battle ends. Silence descending except for wounded crying. Dying.
I move mechanically. Healing wounded warriors. Saving who I can. But I keep seeing Veyron. Keep seeing him FALL. Keep seeing Father holding his body.
"How many?" Thalassa asks hours later. When wounded are treated. When dead are counted.
"Seventeen dead," Hadrian reports. Voice hollow. "Forty-three wounded. Most will recover." He pauses. "We killed eight earth dragons. Wounded dozen more. Drove them off."
"Victory," Father says. But there's no satisfaction. Just—grief. "We won. But Veyron—"
"Died protecting his king," Hadrian finishes. "Exactly as he would have chosen."
"That doesn't make it hurt less."
"No. It doesn't."
I watch Father grieve. Watch him lose someone who was more than warrior. More than friend. Was family in all ways that mattered.
And I realize this is what war costs. Not just numbers. Not just casualties on parchment. But people. Relationships. Love.
Veyron died protecting Father. Loyal until death. Exactly as he lived.
It should feel noble. Heroic. Meaningful.
Instead it just feels—wrong. Like waste. Like loss that never should have happened.
"We end this," I tell Father later. When bodies are removed. When wounded are sleeping. "We end Eclipse. We end Volcris's aggression. We END all of it before more people like Veyron die protecting kingdoms that should never have been fighting."
"Yes," Father agrees. Voice heavy with grief and determination. "We end it. Tomorrow. We arrest Eclipse members. We build case. We finish this."
"For Veyron."
"For Veyron. And Elara. And everyone else Eclipse and Volcris killed." He looks at me. "We end this war. All of it. Permanently."
I think about Veyron. About his satisfied smile as he died. About him choosing to intercept that attack despite knowing it would kill him. About loyalty so absolute it demanded sacrifice.
That's what Eclipse and Volcris take from us. Not just lives. But people. Warriors like Veyron who dedicated decades to protecting their kingdoms. Healers like Mother who used gifts to save instead of destroy. Every gift-bearer Eclipse murdered over thirty years.
We owe them more than grief. We owe them justice.
"Tomorrow," I say firmly. "We arrest everyone. We expose everything. And we make sure Veyron didn't die for nothing."
Father nods. Exhausted. Grieving. But determined.
Tomorrow everything changes.
Tomorrow we stop being victims and become hunters.
Tomorrow the Eclipse learns what happens when you push too far. When you kill too many. When you make enemies of people with nothing left to lose.
Seris should be terrified.
Because we're coming for her.
All of us.
Together.
And this time, we're not running. Not hiding. Not surviving.
We're ending this.
For Veyron. For Mother. For every life the Eclipse and Volcris destroyed.
We end this. Starting tomorrow.