The Dragon's Shadow

The air grew thin and sharp, biting at exposed skin with a cold that had nothing to do with the dwindling sunlight. We’d been climbing for what felt like days, though the sun had barely dipped below the jagged peaks surrounding us. Each step was a labor, each breath a shallow gasp stolen from the unforgiving heights. Riverbend, with its familiar scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, was a distant memory, a dream we were fighting to reclaim.

The path had dwindled to a treacherous scramble over scree and loose rock, a testament to Agnes’s dominion. This was her domain, a kingdom carved from stone and shadow, where even the wind seemed to whisper her name in a low, menacing hiss. Bowen, ever the steady presence, kept a hand on Lyra’s back, guiding her over the more perilous sections. Addison moved with a familiar grace, her bow slung across her back, her eyes scanning the terrain with an intensity that mirrored my own. I found myself watching her, a familiar ache in my chest, the words I’d rehearsed with Bowen and Lyra still lodged somewhere in my throat, stubbornly refusing to find their way out.

Keal was gone. The silence he’d left behind was a gaping wound, a constant reminder of Roric’s vacant space beside us. We’d buried him near a small, trickling spring, the earth hard and unforgiving, much like the man we’d lost. Lyra had sung a quiet lament, her voice a fragile thread against the vast emptiness of the mountains. Bowen had stood stoic, his jaw tight, and I’d felt a cold dread settle in my gut. The betrayal had been swift, brutal, and it had left us all shaken to our cores. Roric, the warrior who’d seen more battles than I’d had hot meals, taken down by a man we’d welcomed into our ranks.