Swift-River's talons scraped through the crisp morning air. The silver necklace from Zirien, the Grand Druid's gift, cooled against her scales. She touched it briefly, wondering about its true purpose. Was it merely a token of approval now that Adamar had finally sanctioned her Orc mission? Or did it still watch her every move?

  Trust came slowly with Adamar. His words and actions often contradicted, but at least he'd acknowledged that helping the Orcs was necessary. Perhaps this necklace represented a fragile truce between them. A symbol of conditional trust rather than surveillance.

  She remembered the warmth of Zirien's embrace before they parted, his fingers lingering on her neck as he fastened the clasp. With Wyvern's Whisper in hand, she flew battle-ready through shifting wind currents. Ahead stretched a vast, empty landscape. Hours of flight. Hours to think about him.

  It's still a long flight. I need to stay on course. Her breath came in ragged bursts. The dragon inside whispered chaos.

  Get it together, she thought, pressing onward. Saving the Orcs matters, not some half-elf's smile.

  Her mission outweighed everything. The beast within and the heart's confusion.

  She spotted zombis lurking near the Glistening Ring Route. Damn, more obstacles. Her tail lashed behind her. These creatures threatened innocent travelers. Despite her urgency to reach KyKlaw and Roar'Z, she couldn't ignore the danger.

  I can't let those abominations roam free.

  The necklace grew colder. Was Adamar watching her decision? For a moment, she considered ripping it off. But that would only prove his suspicions right. Redemption meant proving her worth through actions, not rebellion.

  She caught herself wondering what Zirien would do. Her cheeks flushed. Foolish thought.

  Swift-River weighed her options. This diversion would hone her aerial combat skills. She secured Wyvern's Whisper and unsheathed Dragon's Reach. The familiar weight settled in her grip.

  Fighting would clear her head. With a decisive stroke, she veered toward the threat. The simplicity of combat beckoned. Much cleaner than the mess of emotions and politics entangling her now.

  She angled her wings for a fast dive. Wind screamed past her face. Her muscles tensed for impact. She sliced through five zombis with a swift fly-by strike.

  Thick green gas spewed from a bloated zombi's wound. The stench hit her nostrils. Rotting meat mixed with sulfur and something chemical. Her eyes watered.

  Again and again, she plunged her blade. The sound of decaying flesh splitting open filled her ears. Limbs and heads fell to the ground with wet thuds. A dozen strikes later, the zombis realized they were under attack.

  The most decayed ones shattered bone shards in her direction. Too slow. With powerful wingbeats, she sought new targets. Air rushed against her scales, and her blood sang.

  Her throat warmed. Her southern girl's voice broke free.

  "Die, abominations!"

  The zombis shambled forward. Their joints creaked and popped. Filthy rags hung from gray skin. Swift-River's chest tightened. The heat in her throat intensified.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Enough!

  She exhaled, expecting a tiny flame. Instead, an inferno erupted from her mouth. The roar of fire filled her ears. The heat scorched her own face. Dozen zombis vanished in the blaze. Green toxic gas exploded from their bodies.

  Swift-River roared. Her voice mingled with dawn's light. The sound echoed across the landscape.

  "Burn, you wretches!"

  She spewed fire and dove with blinding speed. Dragon's Reach danced through zombi ranks. The blade sang as it moved. Bone and decayed flesh fell beneath her strikes. The tang of burnt meat and rot thickened the air.

  A bone shard grazed her cheek. Blood trickled warm down her scales. The copper taste touched her tongue.

  She laughed. "You think that hurts?"

  Her attacks grew sharper. More precise. A final sweep of her breath weapon reduced the remaining zombis to ash. The smell of victory. Smoke and char. Filled her nostrils.

  Swift-River soared through the sky afterward. Her wings caught thermals, lifting her higher. The landscape blurred below. Despite her joy, vigilance remained.

  The necklace bounced against her chest with each wingbeat. The metal dragged at her throat. Symbolic weight. Zirien's affection or Adamar's surveillance? Both, probably.

  She'd betrayed the Druids' trust during her captivity with Crimson Ruby. Now, she sought redemption while potentially betraying them again by helping the Orcs. The irony wasn't lost on her.

  Would Zirien understand her divided loyalties? And what of Adamar, speaking trust while crafting pretty spies to hang around her neck?

  Dusk approached the following day. Exhaustion pulled at her wings. Muscles burned with effort. She reached the tranquil valley Lixiss had described. The air carried earthy scents mixed with pine. The sweet tang of wild berries drifted up from below.

  She circled above, scanning for Roar'Z. The valley's winds carried whispers of recent conflicts. Cool air washed over her heated thoughts. Her path to redemption ran through this valley, whatever magical trinkets might report back to Adamar.

  The zombi battle troubled her. They lacked coordination and purpose. Nothing like Lixiss's reports. They moved aimlessly, driven only by attack instinct. Recalling Ivory's words, Swift-River understood that the undead became ineffective without leadership. Without commanders, they formed mindless hordes easily outmaneuvered.

  She touched the necklace. If it truly spied for Adamar, perhaps her observations might prove valuable to him. Maybe this small rebellion, helping Orcs while gathering intelligence on undead, could be her redemption path. Not blind obedience but initiative and courage.

  "Zirien would appreciate this tactical revelation," she muttered.

  She clenched her jaw in frustration. Why did every thought lead back to him? Such distraction could kill her in battle. She did not need this soft-hearted confusion clouding her judgment.

  Swift-River watched Orcs being chased by zombis below. Their frantic sprint headed directly into the shadowed valley. The scent of fear, sharp and metallic, drifted upward. Sweat and desperation.

  The Orcs intentionally led zombis into the valley. Using terrain to their advantage. Smart.

  Survival instinct drove each stride of the Orcs. Their faces etched with determination. The firelight from their torches revealed clenched jaws and narrowed eyes.

  Should I intervene or observe their tactics?

  The dilemma gnawed at her. Intervention could help the living, but observation might reveal new strategies. Her wings beat steadily as she considered options. Her claws flexed with anticipation.

  The necklace pressed cold against her chest. If she intervened, would Adamar see it as defiance or necessary action? Redemption wasn't about following orders but making the right choices when they mattered.

  If Zirien stood beside her now, they would debate strategy. His methodical approach balanced her impulsiveness. The thought both comforted and infuriated her. She didn't need him. She'd managed countless missions alone before meeting him.

  This new dependence frightened her more than any battle. Yet she couldn't deny how their strengths complemented each other.

  Swift-River recalled her earlier assessment: zombis needed leadership. She scanned the horde. Her enhanced vision picked out a solitary figure amidst the undead. He moved with purpose, not shambling confusion.

  The figure orchestrated chaos through deliberate gestures. His black hair caught the moonlight. His movements were calculated and efficient.

  I was correct.

  Bile rose in her throat. The acid taste lingered on her tongue.

  A living person orchestrates this chase... Vardan, Crimson Ruby's pawn.

  The realization chilled her to the bone. Ancient hatred boiled beneath her scales as she watched the puppet master at work.

  In that moment, personal concerns fell away. Zirien, redemption, the necklace. Here stood a true enemy, not phantom distractions. This was evil worth fighting, regardless of what Adamar thought.

  Author's Note: Swift-River's fire breath wasn't planned for this chapter. She just... did it. Sometimes characters surprise you.

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