[Draven’s POV]

I see the aftermath from Khaira’s back.

The eastern gate held. The chokepoint where the rocks narrow to a single passage is choked with bodies — Mintian warriors piled three deep, cut down trying to force through a gap that should have fallen in minutes.

“The gate held longer than any strategic model would have predicted.”

“Someone bought time. Who was stationed there?”

“Torren’s unit was assigned to the eastern defense. But the chokepoint — that narrow passage between the boulders — was held by a single fighter.”

“One person held that gap against Aldric’s elite guard?”

“Long enough for Torren’s unit to reinforce and for Riven’s flanking force to complete the encirclement. The eastern assault broke against that position.”

I bank Khaira lower. A body propped against stone, with a hand still on a sword and a face turned toward the enemy.

“Venna.”

The name hits me like a blow. Venna — who betrayed my house to Mintia, who spent months convinced Evelyn would be our ruin. That woman held the eastern gate alone.

“She chose her death well.”

“There’s no choosing well in war. There’s only choosing.”

I pull Khaira south. The main fleet is visible — dozens of warships, the blue dragon banner snapping in the wind, but the coordinated assault is fragmenting. Ships are losing cohesion.

“The secondary assault has failed. They are receiving reports from the eastern shore.”

“And realizing their elite force was destroyed at the gate.”

Then Evelyn appears. She rises from the east on Aspis — the white dragon climbing through smoke and ash, moonlight blazing from her scales like a star ascending.

The dragon’s wing is damaged, the flight uneven, but she’s airborne. She’s alive.

“She should not be flying. That wing damage is severe.”

“Try telling her that when she has her mind set on something.”

The sight of us together — white and black dragons, damaged and bleeding, still flying side by side — breaks something in the fleet below.

Ships begin to turn: not retreat, not yet, but the wavering that precedes retreat.

“The Mintian sailors are superstitious. They are seeing what they believe to be prophecy fulfilled.”

“Good. Let them carry the story back to every port in the realm.”

I bank Khaira toward the eastern gate. The battle here is over — Riven’s flanking force has completed the encirclement, and the surviving Mintian warriors are surrendering.

The killing zone worked exactly as designed, but the cost is written in blood across every stone.

I land near the gate as medics rush toward the wounded. Riven is already there.

My brother is kneeling beside Venna’s body, his expression shattered in a way I haven’t seen since Lyanna.

His hand rests on Venna’s shoulder — not touching the blade still embedded in her chest, not trying to move her, just making contact with someone who can no longer feel it.

“Riven.”

He looks up. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw clenched against whatever is trying to break free.

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