[Draven’s POV]

The war council fills the chamber for the last time before the fleet arrives.

Every seat is taken. Sera and Theron at the flanks, Riven standing at the map, and Torren and the senior warriors lining the walls. Evelyn beside me, silver hair braided back from her face in the warrior’s plait Seren taught her.

“Here’s what we know,” I say. “The southern fleet is a feint. Forty ships bearing down on the harbor to pin our defenses and draw every eye west.”

I tap the map at the Shattered Coast.

“The real assault comes here. Two hundred elite warriors in longboats, threading the eastern channel at dawn during the spring tide. They’ll stage behind the outer reef islands and move through when the water clears the rocks.”

“Aldric’s personal guard,” Sera adds. “Veterans, hand-selected, not conscripts.”

Riven takes over. “My flanking force has repositioned to secondary concealment along the eastern ridge. The original positions were compromised by the intelligence leak, so we’ve shifted north — new angles, new terrain, same killing principle.”

He traces the approach with his finger. “When the longboats commit to the beach, we hold. Let them land, form up, and start moving toward the gate. Then we hit their flank from the ridge and funnel them into the corridor.”

“The eastern gate becomes the kill zone,” Theron says.

“Exactly. Fifty yards wide, palisades on both sides, archer platforms at elevation. Anyone who makes it past Riven’s flanking force walks into a corridor of crossfire.”

“And the southern fleet?” Maret asks.

“We hold the harbor defenses with the main garrison. Cliff batteries, harbor chains, catapult positions — everything stays manned. The fleet has to believe we’ve taken the bait.”

I look around the table. “If the south holds and the east holds, we win. If either breaks, we’re fighting on two fronts with half the numbers we need.”

The room absorbs this. Warriors exchanging glances, running calculations, weighing odds. The particular silence of soldiers who’ve heard the plan and are deciding whether it’s enough.

“There’s one more element,” I say.

The room focuses.

“Evelyn and I will fly. Khaira and Aspis — together, providing aerial support over the eastern approach and drawing the fleet’s attention from the southern engagement.”

The ripple moves through the room like wind through tall grass. Heads turn and eyes widen. Torren’s scarred face goes still.

Black and white dragons flying together. Every person in this room grew up on stories of the last convergence — the destruction, the madness, the Alliance shattered.

Now I’m proposing they do it deliberately, in combat, over the heads of people they’re trying to protect.

“The tactical advantage is significant,” Sera says into the silence. “No one alive has faced dual dragon combat. The fleet won’t have doctrine for it. The psychological impact alone could break their formation before the first catapult fires.”

“And if the dragons don’t cooperate?” Theron asks.

“They will,” Evelyn says. “Aspis and Khaira have been sharing territory for months. The bond between riders reinforces coordination through the dragons.”

“You’ve tested this?”

“We’ve drilled formations flying over the eastern water for the past week. Khaira takes high position, and Aspis takes low. The crossfire pattern covers twice the area of a single dragon pass.”

The room digests this. The strategic advantage is immense — but the symbolic weight is heavier. The houses that have warred for generations, their dragons united in the sky.

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