“My king.”

  Cast’s voice carries softly through the heavy doors of the king’s quarters. She stands there, composed but uncertain, the faint hum of the Dominion’s resonance brushing the air between us. I had come here first for a reason, to speak with her before the march began.

  “I wanted to thank you,” I begin, gesturing for her to enter. “For what you told me yesterday. It took courage to share that with me, and I don’t take it lightly. I hold nothing against you, Cast. If anything, I’m grateful to you and to your mother. I only hope I can become a king worthy of that kind of loyalty, and of her sacrifice.”

  Her eyes soften, but she gives only a small nod, professionalism sliding back over emotion like armor. “You already are, my King. But you still have far to rise.”

  We walk together from the private chamber through the hall of mirrors and into the cathedral’s main sanctum. The sand map dominates the center, an enormous basin of living grains that shift and shimmer under invisible threads of resonance.

  Cast runs her fingers across its edge, focusing the field until the Dominion’s territories appear in miniature: fortress, outposts, moving dots of soldiers and beasts.

  “There’s been no motion near the caldera,” she reports, leaning forward to adjust the projection. “Our scouts have held position since the Ashwing fled a week ago. No sightings. No disturbances.”

  “Then it’s healing,” I say, tracing the perimeter with one gloved finger. “But if it hasn’t fed in that time, how has it sustained itself?”

  “The theory remains that the caldera’s vents reach deeper than we thought,” Cast replies. “It could be feeding through another opening, or there could be prey that live in the vents. The magma pools stretch far underground, and we have not been able to ascertain if they open out anywhere else in the dominion.”

  I nod grimly. “I had the same thought. Sent scouts in every direction days ago, but nothing has been reported yet. Either there isn’t anything to find or it’s further out than I expected.”

  The sand shifts again, drawing my attention to the far border where my black sand meets with Scott’s red. His forces are gathering, the formations already aligning toward the meeting point. I exhale slowly. “Looks like it’s time.”

  I glance at Cast. “You’ll stay here and observe. Relay what you see through the resonance, be my eye in the sky. If anything changes, if the Ashwing stirs, I want to know the moment it happens.”

  She bows. “As you command.”

  I take a deep breath and reach for the pouch of resonant sap at my belt, heavy with the golden liquid. It hums faintly against my side. “I’ll take as much as I can carry. The rest stays here for the reserves.”

  Outside, the courtyard is alive with motion. Hekari soldiers in black chitin armor form into disciplined ranks, the Sablehounds restless beneath their riders. From my vantage on the upper terrace, the Dominion looks like a living organism preparing to strike, a heartbeat of unity and purpose.

  The Emberheart units stand at the front lines, steam whispering from the cracks of their carapaces as they prime their molten cores. Behind them, the ranged divisions, armed with resonant longbows grown from crystalized sap, test their drawstrings and harmonize their bowstrings to a single tone. Each arrow is a shard of humming energy waiting to be loosed. Beyond them, the Shield Guard, larger, broader Hekari built for endurance, lock their tower shields into formation, the plates interlacing to form walls of dark resin.

  To the far left, my Sableriders adjust saddles and reins, the sleek beasts pacing restlessly. They are the spearpoint of the Dominion, swift and feral. At the rear, the Engineer Corps load their sleds with bundles of harpoon anchors, chains, and entrenchment gear, each sled pulled by draft beetles bred for endurance. If the battle stretches longer than a single night, they’ll have the materials ready to dig in, form barricades, and raise a fallback camp near the lair itself.

  “First Division, forward scouts to the caldera rim! Second, reinforce the eastern ridge and await the main force! Third and Fourth, prepare to delve into the lair once the signal is given!” My voice rings out across the grounds, amplified by the resonance. Commands ripple outward, each unit responding in perfect synchrony. It feels right, like conducting an orchestra of war.

  As the ranks settle into order, I descend to the lower courtyard where Cast waits beside the sand map’s basin. She straightens as I approach, eyes sharp.

  “I had a thought after our fight yesterday,” I say. “I’ve been so focused on using the Dominion Chime as a weapon that I’ve neglected the other half of battle, defense. When you cornered me, I changed it into a shield without thinking. That’s when it clicked. I need a blade to match it.”

  Her brow arches slightly. “A sword?”

  I nod. “A longsword. Something balanced, resilient enough to match the Chime’s resonant output. I was thinking the Ashwing’s scales or talons might make the perfect reagent once we take it down. Have the smiths prepare for that outcome. Until then, I’ll carry one of the blacksteel resin blades.” I pat the weapon at my hip.

  “A fine idea, my king,” she says. “A worthy reward, and a calming thought before the storm. You plan not as a dreamer, but as one who expects victory. That’s how leaders think.”

  I extend my arm, and she clasps it firmly, forearm to forearm. “Hold the Dominion steady, Cast. I trust you.”

  “You will return,” she says quietly. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  With that, I turn toward the open gate, the wind carrying the faint hum of distant drums. The Sablehounds paw at the stone, eager for the march. I swing into the saddle of the lead mount, its crystalline mane flickering with pale light.

  “My Hekari, we advance to the Ashwing lair.” I strike a tone with the Dominion Chime, sending my signal to move out through the resonance.

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  The gates rise. The columns advance.

  I rode out with a contingent of twenty?five Hekari, the rank and file cutting a black silhouette across the dunes. I rode Iskri, sleek and silent beneath me, nuzzling the reins against my hip whenever the wind kicked grit into our faces. The border-fort build site sat in a shallow hollow where Scott had already made progress: sandstone slabs laid low in staggered rows, short breastworks, and a handful of hastily mortared buttresses. From a distance it looked like a promise of something more, small, stubborn, and practical.

  The layout pleased me and set fresh nerves rolling under the skin. If the Ashwing had retreated to lick wounds, then good; recovery takes time, and time is something I cannot afford to give it. If it had found other vents, other warm mouths of the world to feed from, then there were more unknowns than maps could show. I rode slowly along the line of slabwork, eyes scanning for scorch or nested airflows, the way a hunter might look for the faintest print in fresh snow.

  Scott met us at the front of his line, a hammer raised and sun catching off his polished breastplate. The brass and gold of his men gleamed as the sun gathered itself toward the horizon. When he rode up and threw a casual salute my way, Hamu, huge and indulgent, purred from beneath him like a bass chord. Scott’s grin was a grin I’d seen my whole life; the kind that said nothing would be decided by fear today.

  "That’s a sleek ride you’ve got there, Kyris," he called, nudging Hamu to a louder chuff.

  "Hey, now, don’t make him jealous," I shot back, watching Scott ruffle Iskri’s neck with the same ridiculous fondness he reserved for his own beast. Hamu responded with a low vibration that moved through the saddle and made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  We toured the modest ramparts as the remaining contingents filed in. The border fortress sat a good half hour’s march from the Ashwing’s caldera, a separate staging ground rather than the front itself. I had already sent my main force ahead to secure the lair’s perimeter, leaving me and my sablehound riders to guide Scott’s army in from his side of the border. Foot soldiers moved with the weary rhythm of long travel while cavalry formed up around the sandstone breastworks. Heavy infantry positioned themselves along the ramparts, fortifying what would soon become the forward bastion before the real fight began. The sight steadied me, not because numbers equal victory, but because order beats chaos every time.

  "Do you really think we need all this?" Scott asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he gazed at our assembled strength.

  "Better to be safe than sorry, Thalos," I told him. "Our strike team will be surgical. If we fail, if the Ashwing surges past our point of attack, I need a posted force to intercept its exit. If it runs, it must not escape. If it comes out, we hit it again. No half measures. No second chances."

  He considered that and nodded slowly, boots settling into the sand. "Fair. Your plan, your call. I trust you on this, Kyris. We’ll hold the line and catch whatever crawls out." He gave a bark of a laugh and then, with a more serious look, added, "Just make sure we’re not the ones crawling afterward."

  We made the final adjustments: scouts filed back with fresh reports on wind and thermal drift, a pair of Emberheart Hekari walked the perimeter with steam hissing from their joints, and the smiths were told to keep a sharp eye on the signal torches that would call them into action. I checked iskris's flanks, tightened a strap here and there, and felt the tiny tremor of resolve run up my spine.

  Night would bring a thousand small noises, some harmless, some portentous. I let the thought sit with me, folded it into the saddle, and turned to Scott and his line.

  "We leave at dusk," I said. "Strike small, strike hard. Keep positions tight, and if you see something that looks like it can’t be taken, pull back and signal. We don’t win this on bravado. We win it on execution."

  Scott thumped his chest with a grin, Hamu answering with a rumbling chuffle. "Execution it is, King. Let’s make it regret messing with Songbird."

  With final checks exchanged and the sun slipping low, we mounted, the fortress foundation behind us a stubborn promise in the sand. A promise that we will return to finish building it. Ahead: a lair that smelled of heat and old danger, and a night that would not forgive mistakes.

  We enter the caldera as the sun vanishes from sight, the dying light clinging to the jagged rim before surrendering to shadow. Thalos rides beside me with his hammer slung across his back, the head still faintly glowing with stored Tremor, each pulse echoing like a heartbeat of the earth itself. His three honor guards flank him: Kaira, the girl from before when we first met up, her cestus-style gauntlets mirroring Thalos’s weapon in miniature. The bronze metal glowing with dim blue lines that surge when she tightens her fists.

  Galic, the quiet giant who fights with twin maces heavy enough to dent stone, carries himself like a mountain in motion. Lastly Haren, the spearmaiden whose throwing lances hum with faint golden light, stands poised, her eyes fixed on the horizon. My five captains ride close, forming a half-circle around us. My five captains take their postitions in a half circle behind me, making adjustments to armor, and talking with their cohorts.

  Our beasts, Iskri beneath me and Hamu under Thalos, round out the vanguard, their claws crunching the glassy sand beneath their feet.

  The heat greets us like a living creature, breathing, pressing, testing the metal of our armor and the endurance of our lungs. The rim glows with the reddish haze of active vents, rivers of molten stone threading through the black crust like veins of blood. The ground trembles underfoot, each crack and pop in the stone echoing through the hollow. Around the edge, my siege teams have completed their work. Tall resin amplifiers the size of telephone poles stand like black spires around the circumference of the bowl, vibrating with the Dominion’s hum, casting a sonic net across the whole basin. Setting these up was risky, but it will prove envaluable if the ashwing were to try and escape its lair. Nearby, Emberheart Hekari stand by their harpoons anchored into the stone. The weapons glow with liquid heat, chains taut and ready. If the beast tries to rise, it will not rise far.

  From here, the camps stretch outward like a ring of watchfires, the Dominion’s black banners flutter beside Thalos’s gold. I can hear the clamor of soldiers as they settle into formation, the ring of tools striking armor, the rhythmic beating of war drums from the lower encampments. The air tastes of sulfur, ash, and steel.

  Even the wind feels thick, as though the mountain itself was trying to suffocate me.

  Not much has changed since the battle a week ago, except for the new fortifications. Trenches and barricades crisscross the outer rim. The molten glow from the vents paints everything in violent amber, shadows flaring across helmets and the mirror finish of polished weapons. I remember the first fight here, the blinding heat, the sound that seemed to tear the sky apart. The Ashwing’s scream still lives in the back of my skull. My pulse quickens.

  This time, we end it.

  Thalos turns his hammer, the glow along its spine reflecting in his eyes. "Never thought I’d be fighting a dragon in real life. Well, sorta real life. This is just wild man," he mutters with a grin that’s half excitement, half disbelief.

  I smirk beneath my helm. "Let’s make it the last time."

  We ride to the edge of the rim. The vents stretch before us, glowing rivers of magma spilling into unseen depths. The waves of heat blur the world below, but the rhythmic breathing of the volcano is unmistakable. Every exhale of steam hisses like a whisper from something ancient and angry. Beyond that lip is uncharted territory. The air trembles with energy, the faint vibration of the Dominion’s amplifiers forming a harmonic cage. I can almost feel the Chime at my side resonate in answer.

  For a fleeting moment, I think of Victor and the others watching from the waking world, maybe joking in chat, maybe holding their breath. Somewhere far above this place, their words echo through the Dominion. It makes the world feel bigger, yet lonelier all at once.

  I lean forward in my saddle, gazing into the scarlet abyss. The heat reminds me of the sauna at the hot springs Victor and Scott dragged me to, but only in temperature. There is nothing peaceful about this place. This heat is hostile. It wants us gone.

  “All right, Thalos,” I call over the wind, my voice carrying over the hum of molten air. “You ready?”

  He grins wide, fire glinting off his eyes. “Hell yeah, buddy. Let the Ashwing Lair Raid begin.”

  I look around at our team, their armor gleaming, faces hard with resolve, yet alive with purpose. Each of them is a note in the balad of this moment. I raise the Dominion Chime, adding my own note to ripple through the air, harmonizing with the amplifiers until the entire caldera hums with a singular tone.

  “Ready check!”

  Each warrior slams a fist to their chest, a thunderous rhythm of unity that echoes off the molten walls.

  The tone fades, replaced by the steady beat of my heart. The Dominion hums around me, waiting for my word.

  “Raid team, commencing!”

  And we jump into the gaping maw of the lairs fiery depths.