Aerion unrolled the wrinkled paper Eana brought back. He smoothed it against the rock. His blue eyes followed the rough lines and symbols.
"The camp is bigger than we thought," he said. "Twenty soldiers is the smallest number. There are at least two watchtowers. And this... this is a new fort."
He tapped a square drawn roughly on the map. "It is being built near the old mining roads. They are getting resources there."
Aerion looked up. His gaze swept over the others. Ryn still huddled low, and his face was a mess. Garren looked tired, but his eyes now held a new and grim understanding. Eana was pale, but her chin was held high.
"This changes what we do next," Aerion said with a low and chilling voice, it was almost a whisper. But it cut through the silence clearly. "We need to watch this new fort. We need to understand its purpose. We need to know its defenses. It could be a supply center. Or it could be a base for something more important."
He pointed to some sharp, distant mountains. Twilight was making them dark.
"We will move towards the Black Tooth mountains. There are old, unused paths there. From the high ground, we can watch them, and they will not see us. We need to know who is in command there. What they are digging for. And how many of them there are."
Ryn stirred with a soft whimper, but he said nothing. Garren simply nodded, but his face showed grim acceptance.
***
The move to the Black Tooth mountains revealed more than just Vaelgard positions. It also brought them closer to the fringes of the displaced population.
Small groups of refugees huddled in ruined villages or hid in makeshift camps. They were survivors, like Aerion's group, but without direction, lost in their fear.
Meanwhile, Aerion noticed the subtle changes in his own body. The pain in his bones, though constant, sometimes gave way to sharper senses.
He could hear the faint scurry of mice far below. He could smell the lingering scent of damp earth and fear on the wind.
His vision, especially in the low light, became incredibly sharp. He saw patterns in the movement of leaves, the way shadows shifted, things a human eye might miss.
These moments were fleeting. They came with a sudden surge of heat. But they helped him. They gave him an uncanny sense, an intuition that guided his steps, aiding their survival in ways he could not explain.
One afternoon, while Garren mapped distant Vaelgard patrols, Aerion observed a nearby refugee camp. It was small. Maybe fifteen people.
They fought over a small pile of old tools. Their voices grew loud. Soon, arguments turned into curses. An old man, weak from hunger, was pushed to the ground.
Aerion watched them. Their desperation was clear. But so were their internal rifts. Old loyalties, family disputes, and mistrust between different villages made them weak.
He saw a chance to test something new. It would not be brute force, but something subtler.
He called Eana over. "Go to that camp," he ordered in a low voice. "Watch them closely. Find the leaders. Learn what makes them angry. Find their weak points."
Eana nodded, her face calm now. She understood his task.
She moved like a shadow, blending into the broken landscape. Hours later, she returned, her small frame weary. Still, her eyes held a strange spark.
"They argue over food," she whispered. "They also argue over who keeps watch. There is a woman, Beltha. She claims the old man, Joric, took too much food from the last raid. She feels bitter about it."
Aerion's blue eyes narrowed. "Good," he said. "Go back. Tell Joric that Beltha spreads rumors about him. Tell him she claims he hides food."
Eana's eyes widened slightly. This was not simply gathering facts. This was planting false words.
But she did not question his order. She simply nodded and left.
Hours later, the sounds form the refugee camp changed. Arguments grew louder, turning into shouts.
Then, a sharp cry pierced the air. Aerion could not see clearly from his distant spot. Yet, he heard the rising anger, and he felt the shift within their small community.
Eana returned before dawn. Her face showed no emotion. "Joric confronted Beltha," she reported. "There was a fight. Other families chose sides. They split apart, half of them left the camp that night and they went west."
Aerion felt a cold satisfaction. It was a small win, but it showed his power to influence. He had not used his great draconic strength. He had not pulled out a sword. He had only used words.
This small test taught him much. He learned about human nature, and how quickly great need could become deep distrust. He learned how easily a few quiet words could break a group.
This was a key lesson for him. It was not about hurting bodies, it was about breaking spirits. It was about making people fight each other.
His mind began to fill with new ideas. If he could do this to a small group of refugees, what about a whole city? Or a kingdom?
What about Therion's new government? He could spread trouble and great disorder. He could turn the people against their new rulers.
***
The wind whipped through the jagged peaks of the Black Tooth mountains, a cold, thin cry.
Aerion, his blue eyes unblinking, watched the Vaelgard fortification below. It was a crude but effective stronghold, carved into the mountainside, smoke curling from its crude chimneys.
Days had passed since their arrival on the ridge. Days of cold observation, of charting patrol routes and noting every shift in the Vaelgard's movements.
Garren sat beside him, sketching diligently on a scrap of scavenged parchment, his old hands surprisingly steady. Eana moved like a ghost, slipping in an out of the shadows, her small form barely visible even when she was near.
Ryn was at the hidden camp, a few miles back, guarding Mira and the child, his spirit still visibly broken.