Four weeks.

  ?I stared blankly at the endless, miserable line of prehistoric, mist-shrouded trees ahead of us. The giant walking tin can had just casually informed me that his glorious city of Aeridor was a four-week hike from this scorched ravine.

  ?"Four weeks," I repeated out loud, my voice completely devoid of emotion. I looked down at my shredded combat leathers, which currently looked like they had been chewed on by a bear and violently spat back out. I was covered in dirt, dried blood, and dragon-ash. "You want me to walk for a month. Through a monster-infested forest. Without a bath, a change of clothes, or a toothbrush."

  ?"You have functional legs, do you not?" Dhakul grunted, not even looking at me as he effortlessly hoisted his colossal emerald broadsword onto his heavily armored back. "And your wrists are free. Consider yourself privileged."

  ?"Oh, yes. I am practically royalty right now," I muttered, dripping with so much sarcasm it was a miracle the dead grass beneath my boots didn't wither.

  ?I crossed my arms, watching him prepare to march. A wicked, irresistible urge to annoy him bubbled up in my chest. He had spent the last twenty-four hours tossing me around like a sack of potatoes, acting like he owned the entire continent. But I had seen the mask slip.

  ?"I'm just curious," I started, matching my pace to his massive strides as we began to walk away from the blackened glass of the dragon's border. "For a terrifying Demon Lord who drags people by their ankles... you got really polite, really fast, when that flying lizard showed up."

  ?Dhakul’s heavy footsteps stopped.

  ?He slowly turned his head, his obsidian antlers catching the pale morning light. His crimson eyes narrowed, locking onto me with the kind of lethal intensity that would normally make a seasoned warrior drop to their knees and beg for mercy.

  ?I just raised an eyebrow at him.

  ?"I do not fear the Queen," Dhakul rumbled. His voice was incredibly deep, carrying a warning tremor that vibrated right through my ribcage. "Do not confuse self-preservation with cowardice, human."

  ?"Could have fooled me," I chirped brightly, entirely ignoring his terrifying aura. "Because I'm pretty sure your exact words were 'Oh, shit,' right before you literally took a step away from me and told me I was on my own. Very heroic, by the way. Ten out of ten for the rescue effort."

  ?A muscle twitched violently in Dhakul's jaw. He turned fully toward me, looking like a mountain about to cause an avalanche.

  ?"You are a fool if you do not understand what stood before you," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, serious rumble. "The Dragon Queen is not a mere beast, Valerie. She is a primordial force of nature. Her breath can melt the very bedrock of this world into glass. If she and I were to actually clash, we would not just destroy this ravine. We would crack the continent in half."

  ?He stepped closer, towering over me.

  ?"I am a warlord. I conquer armies," Dhakul stated, tapping his massive, gauntleted finger against his chest plate. Then, he pointed a finger toward the sky where the dragon had vanished. "But she conquers the sky. I do not fear her. I respect the sheer, catastrophic scale of her power. A concept you clearly have no grasp of, considering you threatened to shove kinetic magic up her... tail."

  ?I crossed my arms defiantly, though my heart did skip a little beat at the reminder of exactly how close I had come to being incinerated.

  ?"Well, it worked, didn't it?" I pointed out stubbornly. "She didn't eat me. In fact, she laughed. I think she liked me better than she likes you."

  ?Dhakul stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. He looked at my wild red hair, my glowing green eyes, and my absolute refusal to back down from a creature ten times my size. He let out a long, exhausted sigh that sounded like a dying forge.

  ?"You have the survival instincts of a suicidal moth," Dhakul muttered, turning his back to me and resuming his heavy march into the dense woods. "Keep up, moth. We have four weeks of walking, and if a stalker eats you, I am not stopping to pull you out of its throat."

  ?"I'd just blow the stalker up from the inside!" I yelled after him, jogging to keep up with his massive strides. "And then I'd complain about the smell for the rest of the trip!"

  ?"I have no doubt that you would," he grunted.

  ?And so, the miserable, month-long hike to Aeridor began.

  CRACK!

  ?The heavy wooden training dummy violently splintered into a dozen pieces, scattering across the cold, misty cobblestones of the Academy's training grounds.

  ?Roc-ta stood panting heavily, her razor-sharp claws fully extended and dripping with the sap of the shattered wood. Her yellow eyes were bloodshot, burning with a feral, exhausted rage that hadn't faded since Headmaster Solon told them the horrific lie about Valerie’s death. She didn't sleep anymore. She just hit things until her knuckles bled.

  ?Sitting on a cold stone bench nearby, Bram slowly ran a whetstone down the edge of his heavy dwarven axe. He watched the werewolf tear another dummy to shreds with a heavy, grieving heart. Beside him, little Pip sat quietly, wrapping his bruised hands in white bandages, staring blankly at the ground.

  ?They were the victors of the Crucible, but they looked exactly like ghosts.

  ?Then, the cold, rhythmic sound of high-heeled shoes echoed across the empty courtyard.

  ?Click. Click. Click.

  ?Roc-ta’s ears twitched. A deep, threatening growl immediately started vibrating in her throat.

  ?Emerging from the morning mist was Eleste. The high-born Drow noble wore a flawless, midnight-blue Academy uniform, her crimson eyes scanning the outcasts with a look of profound, aristocratic pity. She was completely alone, armed only with her suffocating, arrogant confidence.

  ?"Training so early?" Eleste purred, her melodic voice slicing through the damp air like a poisoned blade. "How incredibly tragic. The little pack, desperately trying to sharpen their claws after the alpha has already been slaughtered."

  ?Bram stopped sharpening his axe. He stood up slowly, his muscular frame tense, his dark eyes fixed on the noble.

  ?"Watch your venomous tongue, Eleste," Bram rumbled, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Or I'll cut it out of your mouth. We have nothing to say to the High Court."

  ?Eleste didn't flinch. She simply offered a cold, elegant smile, stepping closer to the ruined training dummies.

  ?"Oh, put the axe down, dwarf. I am not here to fight you," she sighed, waving a slender, black-gloved hand dismissively. "In fact, I am here as a courtesy. Headmaster Solon is too busy managing the fallout of your little friend's demise, so he asked me to deliver a warning to Dorm 13."

  ?Roc-ta bared her fangs, taking a menacing step forward. "We don't need your warnings."

  ?"You will want to hear this one, mutt," Eleste replied softly, her crimson eyes gleaming with calculated malice. She let the silence stretch for a fraction of a second to ensure she had their absolute attention.

  ?"Prince Demian has escaped."

  ?The words hit Dorm 13 like a physical blow. Pip gasped, shrinking back into the stone bench. Bram’s knuckles turned entirely white around the hilt of his axe.

  ?"What?" Bram breathed, his voice dangerously low.

  ?"Last night," Eleste continued, playing the role of the concerned noble to absolute perfection. "He broke out of the maximum-security wing of the Night Court. He didn't just escape, Bram. He violently slaughtered his own guards in cold blood. The madness that caused him to murder Valerie has completely consumed him. He is a rabid, rabid dog."

  ?Roc-ta’s claws dug deep into the cobblestones. The sheer hatred radiating from the werewolf was palpable.

  ?"Why are you telling us this?" Bram demanded, his dwarven stubbornness fighting through the red haze of his anger. He didn't trust Eleste. He knew she despised them. "Since when does House Nox care about our safety?"

  ?"I don't care about your safety," Eleste laughed, a short, cruel sound. "But the Academy cares about its reputation. Demian is unstable, heavily armed, and extremely dangerous. If he decides to return to Aeridor to finish what he started in the arena... well, Solon believes he will likely target the three of you first. After all, you are the last living reminders of the girl he butchered."

  ?She turned her back to them, adjusting her immaculate silk gloves.

  ?"Keep your eyes open, Dorm 13," Eleste called out over her shoulder, her voice dripping with fake sympathy as she walked away into the mist. "It would be such a shame if the tragic Prince added three more names to his bloody legacy."

  ?As the sound of her heels faded away, silence returned to the courtyard.

  ?But it wasn't the silence of grief anymore. It was the terrifying, heavy silence of a loaded weapon. Eleste’s manipulation had worked flawlessly. She had taken the raw, bleeding trauma of Dorm 13 and successfully weaponized it. They didn't know if Demian really killed his guards, or if he was coming for them, but the seed of hatred was now fully grown.

  ?Roc-ta looked at Bram, her yellow eyes practically glowing in the mist.

  ?"If that murderer steps one foot onto Academy grounds," Roc-ta snarled, her voice trembling with absolute, murderous intent. "I will rip his throat out myself."

  ?Bram didn't argue. He just looked down at his axe and gave a slow, grim nod.

  ?"We don't wait," Bram rumbled, his deep voice vibrating with a dark, lethal finality. He shoved the whetstone into his pocket and hoisted the heavy dwarven axe onto his shoulder. "If that murderer is loose, I am not sitting in this stone cage waiting for him to find us. We pack our gear. We track him down before he leaves the territory."

  ?Roc-ta let out a low, terrifying snarl of agreement. Her yellow eyes were completely dilated, her predatory instincts fully taking over. "I can catch his scent. Void-magic leaves a trail. We find the Prince, and we end him."

  ?They both took a heavy step toward the courtyard gates, ready to leave the Academy and wage a three-person war against House Nox.

  ?"No."

  ?The word was small, trembling, but it echoed loudly in the damp air.

  ?Bram and Roc-ta stopped, turning around in surprise.

  ?Little Pip was standing up from the stone bench. His oversized sleeves practically swallowed his bruised hands, and his knees were physically shaking. He looked terrified of his own friends, but he stepped forward anyway, placing his small body directly between the dwarf, the werewolf, and the exit.

  ?"Move aside, Pip," Roc-ta warned, her voice a dangerous, feral rumble. "This isn't a game. He killed her."

  ?"I know," Pip choked out, tears welling in his eyes. He squeezed his hands into tight little fists. "But we can't go. We can't hunt him."

  ?"Give me one good reason, lad," Bram growled, his grip tightening on his axe. "Before I move you myself."

  ?"Because Valerie wouldn't want us to!" Pip shouted, his voice cracking with raw grief. "She didn't fight that Demon so we could turn into murderers! Look at yourselves! If we sneak out into the dark to butcher someone in cold blood... if we let hatred turn us into killers... then we are exactly what Eleste and the High Court think we are. We're just lowering ourselves to the level of the demons."

  ?Pip took a shaky breath, looking up at his towering friends. "Valerie proved we were better than them. If we hunt him for revenge... her sacrifice means absolutely nothing."

  ?The words hit Bram and Roc-ta harder than any physical blow they had taken in the Crucible.

  ?Roc-ta’s jaw snapped shut. The feral, glowing intensity in her yellow eyes slowly flickered and dimmed, replaced by a profound, crushing sadness. She looked down at her own hands, staring at the razor-sharp claws that she was about to use to tear a boy's throat out. Slowly, painfully, she retracted them.

  ?Bram stared at the little mage for a long, heavy moment. The dwarf’s broad shoulders sagged. The burning fire in his chest didn't go out, but Pip's words had successfully caged it. With a heavy, metallic thud, Bram lowered his axe, letting the blade rest against the cobblestones.

  ?"You're right, Pip," Bram whispered, his voice incredibly tired. "We stay. We train. We survive. We don't become the monsters they want us to be."

  ?Pip let out a trembling breath of relief, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

  ?The three outcasts stood together in the cold morning mist of the Academy courtyard, bound by grief and a desperate need to hold onto their humanity.

  ?The pale, gray fog swirled around their boots, thick and suffocating.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  ?Miles and miles away, far beyond the pristine walls of Aeridor, that very same mist rolled across the continent. But as it crossed the jagged, unnatural borders of the Night Court, the fog didn't stay white.

  ?It turned pitch-black.

  ?The Land of Nox was a desolate, freezing nightmare of jagged obsidian mountains and dead, petrified forests. The sun never truly pierced the heavy, suffocating clouds here; it only offered a sickly, bruised twilight. The air smelled of sulfur, frozen blood, and ancient dark magic.

  ?Moving silently through the freezing, black fog was a solitary figure.

  ?Prince Demian did not look like the rabid, mindless beast Eleste had described to Dorm 13. He moved with the terrifying, calculated precision of an apex predator in its natural habitat. He wore a stolen, heavy black cloak that absorbed the little light there was, his face entirely hidden in the shadows of the deep hood.

  ?In his right hand, he held the crackling void-dagger he had taken from the dead guard in the dungeons.

  ?He was a fugitive in his own kingdom, hunted by his own father’s elite assassins. But Demian wasn't running away in a blind panic. His glowing purple eyes pierced through the dark mist, scanning the dead forest with cold, absolute clarity.

  ?He had lost his title. He had lost the girl he loved. He had been framed for a murder he didn't commit.

  ?But as the shadows coiled eagerly around his boots, responding to his unchained void-magic, Demian knew one thing for certain. He was going to burn his father's kingdom to the ground to find the truth.

  ?The village of Ashmire was suffocating.

  ?Located at the desolate edge of the dead forest, it barely resembled a settlement. It was a crumbling collection of rotting wooden shacks and broken stone, permanently swallowed by the toxic, heavy black fog that the locals simply called The Nox. It was a poisonous byproduct of the High Court's dark industrial magic, a heavy smog that settled in the lowest valleys of the kingdom, slowly choking the life out of anyone too poor to live above it.

  ?Demian walked through the narrow, mud-slicked alleys, his face hidden deep within his stolen black hood. The stench of decay and sulfur was unbearable, but what truly turned the Prince's stomach was the sound.

  ?From every dark corner, every shadowed doorway, came the wet, rattling coughs of the dying. Sickly, pale children in ragged clothes huddled together in the freezing mud, their lungs heavily corrupted by the toxic damp in the air. They stared at the cloaked stranger with hollow, sunken eyes, far too exhausted to even beg for scraps.

  ?This was his father’s kingdom. The glorious, untouchable Night Court.

  ?Demian's jaw clenched. He had spent his entire life in the pristine, magically purified halls of his palace. He knew his family was ruthless, but he had never seen the agonizing, slow death they forced upon their own lower-class citizens.

  ?A sudden, terrified scream shattered the miserable silence of the alley.

  ?Demian stopped, melting seamlessly into the thickest shadows of a crumbling stone wall.

  ?Fifty feet ahead, the black fog parted as two massive, armored figures marched into the narrow street. They were not Drow. They were monstrous, corrupted trolls loyal to the High General—hulking beasts encased in thick, rusted iron plates, wielding massive spiked maces. They were the brutal enforcers of House Nox.

  ?One of the monsters lashed out with a heavy, iron-shod boot, viciously kicking a small, coughing boy who had been too slow to clear the path.

  ?The boy slammed into the mud, crying out in pain as his meager sack of scavenged root vegetables spilled into the filth.

  ?"Filthy little rats," the troll spat, its voice a wet, guttural gurgle. It raised its massive mace, bringing the heavy iron weapon down to crush the child’s skull simply for being in the way.

  ?The mace never connected.

  ?Demian didn't shout. He didn't issue a royal command. He simply moved.

  ?With a burst of pure, unchained void-magic, he instantly teleported through the shadows, materializing directly behind the hulking troll. The air temperature plummeted to absolute zero. Before the monster could even register the shift in the air, Demian drove his crackling, purple void-dagger straight through the gap in the rusted armor at the base of the beast's thick skull.

  ?The troll’s eyes rolled back, and it collapsed into the mud with a deafening crash, dead before it even realized it had been struck.

  ?The second guard roared in surprise, raising its weapon. But Demian was already moving. He ducked beneath the clumsy swing, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, lethal purple light from beneath his hood. He swept his hand outward, unleashing a sharp, concentrated arc of shadow-magic that sliced cleanly through the leather straps of the troll’s breastplate, followed instantly by a devastating, upward strike of his dagger into its throat.

  ?The brief, brutal skirmish was over in less than three seconds.

  ?Demian stood over the two massive corpses, breathing heavily, the purple void-magic bleeding from his blade into the fog.

  ?He turned around, pulling his hood back slightly to check on the boy. "Are you—"

  ?"Stay back!"

  ?Demian froze.

  ?An old, frail man with a long gray beard hobbled out from a nearby doorway, violently pulling the coughing boy behind him. The village elder wasn't looking at Demian with gratitude. He was looking at the Prince with absolute, unadulterated terror.

  ?"You fool," the elder rasped, coughing violently as the toxic fog filled his lungs. "You arrogant, stupid fool. Do you know what you have done?"

  ?Demian frowned, lowering his dagger. "They were going to kill the child. I stopped them."

  ?"And tomorrow, when the High General's patrol finds these bodies, they will burn the rest of this village to the ground!" the old man cried, tears cutting clean lines through the soot on his cheeks. He pointed a trembling, desperate finger toward the dead forest. "We cannot fight them! Your 'heroism' has doomed us all! Go! Get out of here, before you bring the wrath of the King upon us!"

  ?Demian stared at the old man, the heavy, crushing reality of his world sinking deep into his bones.

  ?Killing two guards didn't save the village. It only accelerated their destruction. The corruption of his family was too deep, too systemic, to be fixed with a single dagger in an alleyway. To save these people, he couldn't just play the vigilante. He had to tear the entire throne down to its foundation.

  ?Without a single word, Demian pulled his dark hood back over his glowing purple eyes.

  ?He turned his back on the crying boy and the terrified elder, stepping away from the corpses. As the toxic, black mist of the Nox swirled around him, the fallen Prince of the Night Court faded completely into the shadows, disappearing into the dead forest.

  ?Demian froze at the edge of the suffocating black mist.

  ?He looked back at the terrified village elder and the coughing, bruised boy in the mud. The old man was right. Killing two guards was a momentary victory, but tomorrow, the High General’s elite patrols would reduce the miserable village of Ashmire to ashes in retaliation.

  ?Demian couldn't stay to protect them forever, but he could give them a shield.

  ?Slowly, he reached up with his black-gloved hand and pulled the heavy hood back from his face.

  ?The sickly, bruised twilight of the Nox illuminated his striking, aristocratic features. But it was his eyes—glowing with the terrifying, volatile purple void-magic of the pure royal bloodline—that made the old man gasp. The elder’s eyes widened in absolute shock, and he immediately dropped to his frail knees in the mud.

  ?"My... my Prince," the elder stammered, trembling uncontrollably.

  ?"Do not bow to me," Demian commanded, his voice cold, steady, and entirely devoid of his former arrogance. It was the voice of a true leader. "You are right. They will come for blood. So you will give them mine."

  ?The elder looked up, confused.

  ?"When the High General's reinforcements arrive to find these corpses," Demian instructed, his purple eyes burning through the gloom, "you will not hide, and you will not lie. You will tell them exactly who did this. You will tell them that Demian of House Nox was here. Tell them the fallen Prince slaughtered their men in seconds, and that he is heading north toward the jagged peaks."

  ?The elder stared at him, realizing exactly what the Prince was doing. By claiming the kill, Demian was painting a massive, irresistible target on his own back.

  ?"They will be so desperate to claim the royal bounty on my head," Demian finished, pulling the dark hood back over his face, "that they will completely forget this village even exists. Survive, elder."

  ?Without waiting for a response, Demian took a single step backward into the toxic, black fog. The shadows eagerly swallowed him whole, leaving absolutely no trace of the Prince behind, save for the two dead monsters in the mud.

  ?Silence descended upon the dark alley.

  ?And then, a sound echoed in the darkness.

  ?SWISH. CRACK!

  ?The sharp, heavy sound of a blade biting through thick wood snapped through the silence.

  ?SWISH. CRACK!

  ?The toxic, freezing black fog of the Night Court suddenly began to dissolve, violently tearing apart as the timeline shifted thousands of years into the past. The freezing air was instantly replaced by the suffocating, humid heat of a primordial, sun-drenched jungle.

  ?THWACK!

  ?A colossal emerald broadsword violently severed a wall of thick, prehistoric vines, sending heavy green leaves cascading to the forest floor.

  ?Dhakul swung his glowing green sword again, effortlessly clearing a path through the dense, seemingly endless undergrowth.

  ?I let out a miserable, exhausted groan, dragging my boots through the thick mud right behind him. We had been walking for what felt like an eternity, though the giant walking tin can informed me it had only been a few hours.

  ?"If this is the scenic route to Aeridor," I complained, aggressively swatting a buzzing insect the size of a sparrow away from my face, "I would like to speak to your travel agent."

  ?Dhakul swung his glowing green sword again, slicing through another thick wall of prehistoric vines.

  ?"Cease your whining, human," he grunted, stepping through the cleared foliage. "We are here. A sanctuary for the night."

  ?I stumbled through the opening behind him, wiping a streak of mud from my cheek. I looked up, fully expecting to see another miserable cave or a terrifying, monster-infested ruin.

  ?Instead, nestled in a wide, misty clearing surrounded by the giant trees, was a surprisingly organized little settlement. It wasn't built of stone, but of intricately woven branches, giant leaves, and mud. Dozens of small, domed huts formed a neat circle around a central fire pit.

  ?And then I saw the locals.

  ?They looked like a bizarre cross between goblins and hyperactive tree-frogs. They were small—barely reaching my chest—with vibrant, moss-green skin and two small, jagged horns protruding from their foreheads. But the most striking thing about them was their eyes: massive, completely pupilless, and shimmering like polished, milky pearls.

  ?The moment Dhakul’s heavy armored boots hit the dirt of the clearing, the entire village stopped.

  ?Dozens of the little green creatures popped out of their huts. They didn't look terrified of the giant demon warlord. In fact, they looked incredibly curious. They possessed an energetic, almost twitchy body language, practically vibrating with excitement as they quickly swarmed around us, keeping a respectful distance but tilting their horned heads to examine my shredded clothes and Dhakul’s massive sword.

  ?One of them, slightly taller and wearing a necklace of polished bones, stepped forward. It opened its mouth and unleashed a rapid, chaotic string of clicks, hisses, and deep, guttural chirps.

  ?I looked at Dhakul, expecting him to just intimidate them into giving us a place to sleep.

  ?Instead, the giant Red Warrior cleared his throat. And to my absolute, jaw-dropping shock, Dhakul answered the creature perfectly. A flawless, rapid-fire series of bizarre clicks, low hisses, and chirps rumbled from the demon lord's chest.

  ?I stared at him. "Wait... you speak whatever that is?"

  ?Dhakul didn't even look at me. "I am the Lord of this continent, Valerie. I speak every tongue spoken upon its soil, from the High Court's elvish to the mud-chatter of the forest tribes."

  ?The creature with the bone necklace chirped excitedly, pointing a long, green finger at me. Dhakul replied with a short click and a nod.

  ?"What did he say?" I whispered suspiciously, crossing my arms. "Did you just sell me for a handful of magic beans?"

  ?"He offered us a hut for the night," Dhakul translated dryly. "And a hot bath."

  ?The entire jungle seemed to go dead silent.

  ?"A... what?" I breathed, my emerald eyes going completely wide.

  ?"A bath," Dhakul repeated. "He says the thermal springs run beneath their village. They have carved a stone basin behind the elder's hut."

  ?Euphoria. Absolute, unfiltered, unadulterated euphoria washed over my soul. I could have dropped to my knees and kissed the muddy dirt. The pain in my muscles, the trauma of the ravine, the sheer terror of the dragon—it all instantly evaporated.

  ?"Oh, my god," I gasped, looking at the little green monster as if he were an actual angel sent from heaven. "Tell him I love him. Tell him I will personally fight anyone who ever disrespects him. Where is it?!"

  ?An hour later, I felt like a human being again.

  ?The 'bath' was little more than a hollowed-out stone pit filled with naturally heated, sulfur-smelling spring water, but to me, it was a five-star luxury spa. I scrubbed the dirt, dried blood, and dragon-ash from my skin, washing the absolute misery of the last twenty-four hours out of my wild red hair.

  ?By the time I emerged, wrapped in a surprisingly soft, woven tunic the villagers had given me (since my combat leathers were basically unwearable rags), night had fallen over the jungle.

  ?I walked toward the central fire pit, feeling warm, clean, and completely ravenous. My stomach gave a loud, violent rumble.

  ?Dhakul was already sitting on a heavy log by the fire, his massive broadsword resting against his knee. He had removed his heavy gauntlets and was casually chatting in clicks and hisses with the village elder.

  ?As I sat down on a woven mat next to the fire, one of the hyperactive little villagers scurried over with a wide, wooden bowl and shoved it enthusiastically into my hands.

  ?"Oh, thank you," I said, offering the creature a warm smile. "I am starving. What is—"

  ?I looked down into the bowl.

  ?My smile instantly vanished.

  ?The bowl was filled to the brim with giant, roasted, heavily spiced insects. They looked like an unholy hybrid of cockroaches and locusts, each one the size of my thumb. Their little roasted legs were perfectly intact, sticking up into the air.

  ?I slowly turned my head to look at Dhakul.

  ?The giant warlord casually reached into his own bowl, picked up a massive, crunchy beetle, and tossed it into his mouth, chewing it with loud, horrifying crunching sounds.

  ?"Eat," Dhakul commanded, catching my horrified expression. "It is rich in protein. We have weeks of walking ahead of us."

  ?"I am not eating a bowl of giant bugs," I stated firmly, pushing the bowl away. "I would rather eat my own boots."

  ?"Your boots are leather, which is technically also an animal," Dhakul pointed out, entirely missing the sarcasm. "Eat the grubs, Valerie. Or starve."

  ?My stomach let out another violent, agonizing rumble. It was practically screaming at me. I hadn't had a proper meal since the morning of the Crucible.

  ?I looked at the bowl. I looked at the little green villager, who was watching me with wide, expectant pearl-eyes, eager to see me enjoy his cooking.

  ?I survived a demon. I survived the arena. I can survive a crispy bug, I told myself.

  ?With a look of sheer, unparalleled misery, I squeezed my eyes shut, pinched my nose, picked up one of the roasted insects, and threw it into my mouth.

  ?CRUNCH.

  ?I chewed aggressively, trying not to think about the legs. It tasted like heavily salted ash and burnt almonds. I forced myself to swallow, shivering violently in disgust.

  ?I opened my eyes, glaring at Dhakul across the fire.

  ?"I hate this," I muttered, grabbing another bug. "I hate it so much."

  ?Dhakul just smirked, popping another beetle into his mouth.

  ?Far beyond the ancient forests, hundreds of miles away from the quiet pearl-eyed village, the pristine borders of the Dragon Realm were being systematically violently torn apart. The clouds were not gray here; they were a suffocating, churning vortex of unnatural black mist and putrid purple lightning.

  ?Queen Sylvana, the ancient Scale-Lord, banked violently through the chaotic winds. Her colossal wings beat with the force of a hurricane as she unleashed a devastating, blinding torrent of emerald-green dragon-fire upon the valley below.

  ?The earth melted into bubbling glass, but it wasn't enough. It was nowhere near enough.

  ?Below her, crawling across the landscape like a parasitic disease, was The Blight. It corrupted the soil, withered the ancient trees into ash, and swallowed the light itself. Marching within that creeping darkness was an endless, terrifying tide of shadows—the primordial Army of the Nox, twisted and empowered by the Blight's absolute corruption.

  ?And standing at the vanguard of that apocalyptic army, hovering completely untouched above the burning earth, was a single figure.

  ?He did not wear the shimmering, starlight-woven robes of a Headmaster. He wore jagged, pitch-black armor that seemed to bleed darkness into the air around him. His eyes burned with a sickening, corrupted void-magic.

  ?Solon.

  ?The ancient harbinger of the Blight raised a single hand. A massive spear of condensed, crackling black void-magic materialized in the sky and shot upward with blinding speed.

  ?Sylvana roared in agony as the spear pierced the wing of her closest lieutenant, a massive elder dragon who had fought by her side for centuries. The dragon’s emerald eyes dimmed as the Blight instantly infected the wound, and the great beast plummeted from the sky, crashing into the corrupted valley below with a devastating shockwave.

  ?"My Queen!" The telepathic scream echoed in Sylvana’s mind. It was her remaining Royal Guard, three massive dragons desperately circling her, shielding her from the relentless barrage of dark magic shooting up from the Nox army.

  ?"The border is lost! There are too many of them!" the captain of the guard roared, his own scales scorched and bleeding black smoke. "You must retreat, Sylvana! If you fall, the pure bloodline falls with you! Flee!"

  ?Sylvana’s emerald eyes burned with an indescribable, heart-shattering fury. She looked down at the encroaching darkness, locking eyes with the tiny, arrogant figure of Solon far below. She wanted nothing more than to dive into the abyss and tear him to shreds.

  ?But as another of her kin was struck from the sky, the cold, bitter logic of a monarch took over. She could not win this battle. The Blight was too strong.

  ?"Hold the line," Sylvana commanded telepathically, her voice trembling with the weight of her own failure. "Buy me time. I will return for his head."

  ?With a final, deafening roar of absolute hatred that shook the very bedrock of the continent, the Dragon Queen turned her back on her burning homeland.

  ?Shielded by the noble, suicidal dive of her remaining guard, Sylvana beat her massive wings and shot southward into the clouds, fleeing into the storm.

  ?The ancient war had truly begun.