The message Elowen Virelle had sent, a desperate scrap of parchment written before everything unraveled, reached the capital by dusk the following day. It carried a heavy, jagged urgency but no context; the ink was silent on the horrors she had seen.
At the cold stone headquarters of the Griffon Order in the capital, her most trusted second-in-command received it personally. Vice Commander Roland Dain. He was a veteran of a hundred storms, measured in his movements, and unshakably loyal to his captain. The message was brief—requesting reinforcement and discretion regarding developments in High Valmere. There was no explanation. But Elowen did not waste words; she was a woman of iron, and if she called for support, it mattered.
Roland wasted no time. He hand-selected six griffon knights—veterans only. No initiates and no political appointees. Within a day of the request for reinforcements to High Valmere, seven griffons launched from the capital, their wings beating a rhythmic thunder against the clouds.
They flew hard and took minimal rest. They took the most direct route, pushing their mounts to the limit. By the time they neared High Valmere's skyline, something felt wrong. The air was heavy, smelling of distant smoke. Citizens were outside but each of their movements were cautious. They were looking up, watching the sky with a deep, visceral apprehension; and some out of fear. Some flinched when the griffons approached, ducking as if expecting them to attack. Roland exchanged a glance with one of his knights, perplexed but none of the knights descended immediately. Their first priority was to find their captain.
They landed near her lodging. It was empty. There were no signs of a griffon. No personal effects seemed to have been disturbed recently and there were no signs of a struggle within the premises. As they prepared to lift off again after their search of her lodging, a woman came sprinting toward them, her boots clattering on the cobbles. She looked pale, breathless from running and her eyes held a deep sense of panicked.
"Wait! Wait!"
The knights tensed, hands near their blades. She stopped several paces away, gasping for air. "I'm Vera," she said quickly. "Aid to the town healer."
Roland's expression sharpened. "Are you here with information about our captain?"
"She's alive," Vera said hurriedly, her voice trembling. "But—she's at the healer's clinic. She hasn't… she hasn't spoken to anyone yet."
The knights exchanged glances, a cold dread settling in their chests. She is Alive but unresponsive? Roland mounted immediately. "Lead us to her."
The healer's clinic when they arrived was quiet. Too quiet. The bell above the door chimed as they entered, the sound startlingly loud in the sterile silence. There were no patients in the front room. Shelves were neatly arranged. Everything was clean and orderly. From the back, a middle-aged healer stepped out, wiping her hands on a stained apron. She stopped when she saw the men enter. She saw the Griffon insignias branded on their armor.
"You must be her people," the healer said softly.
Roland stepped forward, his spurs jingling. "My name is Vice Commander Roland Dain. We are here to see our Captain. Where is she?"
The healer hesitated, her eyes downcast. "She's resting. But her condition is… perplexing."
Roland's jaw tightened. "Show us."
The room was dim, the curtains partially drawn against the afternoon sun. Elowen Virelle lay in the bed. Her complexion was pale. Her eyes were open but unfocused. There were sunken shadows beneath them. Whatever fire or sense of determination found within them were gone. The knights froze. This was not the woman who led aerial charges against siege towers or outmaneuvered wyverns in the mountain passes. This was—hollow.
Roland approached slowly. He pulled the small bench beside the bed and sat. "Captain," he said gently. There was no response. He tried again. "It's Roland."
Nothing. Minutes passed in agonizing silence. The others stood silently, fists clenched. He tried asking about the city. About the mission. About the summons. Nothing.
Then, he asked the wrong thing. "Where's your griffon?"
It was instinct; she never went anywhere without it. Even when off duty. At the word, her fingers tightened violently around the bedsheet. Her breathing hitched. She began trembling, a fine, rhythmic shaking.
"I was told not to go back," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. "I was told to get an invited first." Her breathing quickened, becoming a frantic panting. "I should have listened… should have listened… should have listened…"
Each repetition grew faster. More frantic. Her hands flew to her head. She began rocking back and forth. Roland stood abruptly, startled—and in doing so, his hand brushed across the sheet where it covered her leg. His palm pressed lightly—and she screamed. It was raw and immediate. The sound tore through the room.
Roland stepped back, his face pale. "What—?"
The healer moved forward quickly. "She has extensive burns along her legs," she said carefully.
Roland stared. "Show me."
The healer nodded reluctantly. With deliberate care, she lifted the sheet just enough to preserve modesty. The sight silenced the room. The outside of her leg—from knee to nearly her hip—was severely burned. Angry red and blackened tissue covered seventy-five percent of her upper legs. Healing salves had been applied, but there were bandaged sections where the skin had split, and beneath it—the smell. It was subtle at first. Then the smell became undeniable. It was the smell of cooked flesh.
One of the younger knights turned away, holding himself back from emptying his stomach. Roland stood frozen, his eyes not leaving her legs for one second. His hands began trembling, not from fear, but from a rising, icy fury. He did not look at the healer when he spoke. "What happened to her?" His voice was low. "How did she get hurt like this?"
The healer swallowed hard. "She was dropped in the middle of a street yesterday," she said quietly. "By what witnesses swear was a dragon."
Silence.
The word landed like a blade. A Dragon. Roland's eyes darkened. "And her griffon?" he asked.
The healer's gaze lowered. "It's gone."
No more needed to be said. The atmosphere in the room felt heavier, more suffocating. Roland looked at his captain again. Still rocking faintly. Still whispering, "Should have listened…" He stood slowly. The rage inside him was cold. It was not explosive or reckless. His rage was now focused. Someone or something had done this. Someone powerful enough to command dragons and High Valmere became far more complicated than a simple reinforcement mission.
He turned to his knights. "Two remain here," he ordered quietly. "Guard her." The rest straightened. "We are going to find out exactly what happened."
Outside, citizens still glanced nervously at the sky, afraid something might return. They were not wrong. Because now, the Griffin Order was there.
Roland stepped out of the room slowly, his mind a whirlwind of steel and fire. The two knights assigned to remain with Elowen took position at the door. The remaining four followed him down the narrow hallway of the healer's clinic. Once outside, the cool air hit them, but it brought no relief. None spoke at first.
Roland finally did. "If a dragon truly did this," he said quietly, "then we are not enough." The others stiffened. They had all seen battlefield wounds. They had seen arrows sticking out of chests, saw the result from crushed ribs and witnessed the unforgiving damage talon marks from a wyvern. But dragon burns? That was different. "If it really was a dragon," Roland continued. "we need to be smart of this." He exhaled slowly. "We need to find all the information we can about it and who might be controlling it."
One of the knights clenched his jaw. "Then we retaliate."
Roland shook his head. "Yes but not blindly." He looked toward the skyline where smoke from the mass pyre still faintly lingered. "If a dragon acted openly in High Valmere and the city still stands, then whoever or whatever it listens to does not want to hide anymore."
Silence.
"First, we need to report this to the King." That settled it. It was the only path that made sense. This was beyond the Order's jurisdiction now. Roland turned to them. "You four. Secure an inn. Stable your griffons properly. Rotate the watch between you and the two here."
They nodded. "And you, Sir?" one asked.
"I'll go to the capital." Roland mounted his griffon in one smooth motion. "This information isn't something that should be sent through intermediaries." His voice hardened. "I will brief His Majesty personally." He looked once more toward the clinic. "I will return in two days, maybe three with orders."
With that, he kicked off. Wings snapped open. And he shot into the sky toward the capital.
+++++
Outside the city—in Aleric's manor—the atmosphere was far quieter but no less tense. Baron Edrin sat across from Aleric in a private chamber, the shadows of the evening stretching long across the floor. Wine sat untouched between them. The Baron's hands were steady only because he forced them to be. He had seen a dragon. A real one. A living apex predator descending from the sky at another man's command the day before. That man now sat calmly across from him.
Edrin cleared his throat, the sound dry. "So… are you truly a summoner?"
Aleric did not hesitate. "Yes."
"No exaggeration?"
"No lie."
The Baron studied him, searching for a crack in the armor. "You registered as a summoner with the Mercenary Guild. I assumed it was…the normal 'summon a beast and send him back when your done with it' kind of summoner."
"It was still accurate to say that I am a summoner."
Edrin leaned back slowly. "Then who are those men outside?" His voice sharpened slightly. "They are not from my city. Everything from their accents, their armor to their discipline. Everything points to them being from somewhere else." He exhaled. "I know I did not pay for armor like that. One set of plate armor on a single heavy infantryman could cost me several gold coins." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "And there are fifty of them."
Aleric's gaze did not shift. "There were fifty."
The correction was quiet. Edric blinked. "…Were?"
"Three fell during the siege."
Silence. The words settled slowly. Edric's mind recalculated. Five hundred attacked this estate. They had breached the gate. The dragon was nowhere near the fight and he says only three men died? He stared at Aleric more intently now. "You lost… three men?"
"Yes."
The Baron's throat tightened. He had seen the courtyard. The sea of black armor. He had recognized the fallen lord. It was Lord Malrec Daine from House Vaelor. He had brought five hundred to fight and all of them died only to inflict three casualties on Aleric's men. That was not a defense. That was absolute annihilation.
Edrin leaned forward slightly. "I hope you understand what all this means."
"Yes, I do."
"It demonstrates that your forces are not merely strong." A pause. "It shows to the people in power that you may be a threat."
Aleric did not deny it nor did he boast. He simply let the truth remain in the air. The Baron looked down briefly. When he spoke again, his voice carried less fear—and more calculation.
"Everything you had negotiated with me at the time..it was for this, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
Edrin exhaled slowly. "In hindsight," he murmured, half to himself, "this may be the most profitable investment of my life… if I can survive the politics." He looked back up. "You realize what yesterday's events mean right?"
"You killed a lord on my soil."
"I did."
"The smoke from that mass grave pyre is still faintly visible across half the city a day later."
"The remains are almost all ashes by now. It won't be visible for long now."
"Then there is the issue of your dragon publicly executed a griffon in my skies."
Aleric paused at that. He chose his next words carefully. "The griffon captain was warned not to return here without invitation."
Edrin held his gaze. "That doesn't change anything!"
"No," Aleric agreed. "It was not meant to."
Another silence.
"I know you only defended yourself and the estate but this...," Edrin said slowly, testing the words.
Aleric leaned forward slightly. "All the things I have done yesterday was to end all possible retaliation from the man who attacked us, and as for that griffon captain, it was her own fault for ignoring my warnings. I gave her a chance when she intruded on this estate during its construction. I gave her the opportunity to be civil and to ask for a meeting if she wanted to see me. Instead she thought flying over my estate would lead to no consequences. She is lucky to still be alive."
Edrin's eyes sharpened after that. "Tell me Baron, did your city fall?" Aleric asked quietly.
"No."
"Did your citizens die in that assault?"
"…No."
"Do you believe those five hundred would have stopped at my gate?"
The Baron did not answer immediately. Because he knew. They would not have.
"They would have taken your walls next," Aleric continued calmly. "And once inside, do you think they would have left your citizens alone? No, once inside your walls, all hell would have broken loose. Your citizen would have been killed, their women raped, every home looted. What I did was stop all of that and more."
Edrin nodded once. Slowly. "Do you believe the Crown will see it that way?"
"I don't know how your king will see it but I believe I just ended the start of a war."
"What about your strength, how am I supposed to explain it?"
Aleric's expression did not change. "Don't. Let the king decide what he wants to think. Whatever happens, you have seen what I'm capable of. I doubt he'll make any rash moves."
Outside—Fenrir's distant growl rolled faintly across the estate. Edrin felt it in his chest. He glanced toward the window instinctively. Then back at Aleric.
"You are either the greatest shield High Valmere has ever acquired…" He paused. "…or the spark that ignites something much larger."
Aleric did not smile. "Those are not necessarily mutually exclusive."
And now—the Baron understood something fully. The man across from him had gained power far beyond what he thought possible. Because of him, High Valmere will change. It won't be gradual or subtle. It will change decisively and the next moves to be made would not belong to him.