The wyvern rose onto her clawed feet, breathing heavily, wings half-spread for balance.

  She was enormous—dark as night. A subspecies of black dragon.

  Her long body was covered in dull, heat-rippled scales. Her tail ended in a brutal bone-club, and around her head, a ring of natural spines formed a retractable frill that quivered when she grew agitated.

  Her slit-pupiled eyes gleamed with raw, primal intelligence.

  Then she opened her jaws wide—revealing rows of serrated fangs—

  And spat.

  A torrent of dark fire, laced with flickers of violet, erupted from her maw with a deafening roar.

  Garlan, pure reflex, raised both hands and spun the air before him. A dense, concentrated gust surged outward, forming an invisible shield. The flames curved around them, diverted in a wide arc.

  The heat bent their knees, but they held firm.

  — “So much for the diplomatic route,” Garlan muttered.

  But Marenna wasn’t listening anymore.

  She had dropped to her knees, palms pressed to the cold stone beneath them.

  Her eyes closed. She breathed in—slow, deliberate.

  The magic of earth, of life itself, surged through her in a low, vibrating pulse.

  She reached out—not with words, but with feeling. With intent.

  In the quiet space of energy, she whispered:

  We did not come to kill.

  The wyvern did not react.

  Or rather… she didn’t seem to understand.

  Her head lifted. Her breath hissed through her teeth.

  Claws scraped the stone—impatient, or anxious.

  But Marenna didn’t give up. She opened her eyes, then shut them again and pushed deeper, as though the land itself might help her cross this barrier between species.

  We understand fear. But we are not hunters. We seek peace.

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  Tharion took a cautious step forward, arms still open, palms visible.

  — “You’re protecting something, aren’t you?” he said, voice calm and steady.

  “We don’t want it. We just want to talk. Maybe help.”

  He wasn’t speaking to a monster.

  He was speaking to a mother.

  Garlan moved closer and gently placed his hand on Marenna’s back.

  She shivered. The touch made her blush—but this time, she said nothing.

  She closed her eyes again and accepted the flow of mana he passed to her, as naturally as breathing.

  Her heart pounded harder—not just from the magic, but from the gesture itself.

  It was soft. Simple.

  And yet it shook her.

  Something old stirred, something intimate. The connection deepened.

  A shimmer of light ran down her body. Her senses expanded.

  She felt not just the land, but the creature’s breath… her pain… her fear.

  The magic swelled. Opened. Blossomed.

  And this time—the link held.

  Marenna’s eyes flew open, glowing with a vivid green light.

  — “I’ve got her,” she said, breathless. “Thanks, Garlan.”

  — “Good,” Tharion replied, never taking his eyes off the wyvern.

  “Tell her why we’re here.”

  Marenna took a long breath. Through the bond, she sent images—simple, instinctive:

  The village.

  The stolen livestock.

  Children’s frightened faces.

  Then their small group, walking toward the mountain with no weapons drawn.

  She let the feeling of respect pass through—of curiosity.

  Of a desire to understand.

  The wyvern stirred. Her wings fluttered, kicking up dust and dry leaves.

  A low rumble rose in her throat—deeper this time. Less hostile.

  Marenna continued.

  She projected a new vision: the wyvern herself, curled protectively around her young…

  Then a shift—villagers panicking. Pitchforks. Torches.

  Terrified children.

  Cries in the night.

  An army in the distance, banners raised.

  Tharion stepped forward again—slow, steady. His tone was firm, but not aggressive.

  — “If this continues—and we can’t find common ground—we’ll have to fight.

  And none of us want that.”

  The wyvern reacted instantly.

  Her eyes locked on Tharion.

  Then shifted to Marenna.

  And in the next heartbeat, a violent mental surge exploded from her—

  A vision. Brutal.

  Battle. Flames.

  Talons tearing.

  Fangs sinking into human flesh.

  Marenna was thrown back, ripped from the psychic link like someone wrenched from a dream too vivid.

  She hit the ground hard, gasping, eyes wide with shock.

  The wyvern let out a guttural cry, dug her claws into the stone—

  And launched skyward with a single, mighty wingbeat.

  Her shadow swept over them—vast and menacing—as she spiraled upward into the sky.

  — “She’s going to strike,” Tharion growled.

  “Garlan—watch Marenna!”

  Garlan lunged forward, shielding her as he raised his arms.

  Another wall of wind burst into being just as the wyvern unleashed a second blast of flame—denser, hotter, more furious.

  The firestorm crashed into the barrier with thunderous force, deflected by shimmering waves of air and heat.

  — “I didn’t want it to come to this…” Tharion said, voice suddenly hard.

  “…But kill her.”