Evening — Northern Road Approach
Five kilometers from Bloomring Hold, a scout's voice crackled through the Bloomscript network.
"Movement from northeast. Unidentified force. Fast approach."
Brenn raised his spyglass from the eastern wall, scanning the horizon.
Dust cloud. Too organized for bandits. Too fast for Dominion formation.
Then: Mira's Falcon, visible above the dust, circling.
His heart clenched. "It's them. They're back."
In her sanctuary, Feyra's eyes snapped open.
Through the Lightfield: distant pulse. Familiar. Warm. Him.
Her glow brightened for the first time in days. Petals burst from her fur, scattering across the courtyard like golden rain.
Every soldier in the Covenant network felt it—surge of hope, warmth, welcome.
On the northern ridge, Varyn stood, ribs mostly healed.
He looked northeast. Sensed: Fire. Distant but growing. The other King returns.
His mane blazed brighter. Time to stop resting. Time to fight.
Draven rode at the column's head, Zor circling overhead—lightning barely controlled, storm clouds gathering unnaturally fast. Sylvara walked beside his horse, staff striking earth in steady rhythm. The expedition followed.
And at the rear, moving slow but steady: Terys. Massive, patient, inevitable.
Bloomring's gates opened. No ceremony. No fanfare.
Just Brenn, standing at the threshold, exhausted and relieved.
Draven dismounted, walked forward, stopped before him.
Brenn: "You made it."
Draven: "You held."
"Barely."
"Barely's enough."
They clasped forearms—warrior's grip. No more words needed.
That Night — The War Council
The great hall was packed.
Draven, Brenn, Lysara, Joran (bandaged), Thea (bandaged), Dorn (via secure relay), Mira, Ryl (with Terys outside, too large for the hall), Sylvara.
Feyra rested near the hearth, glow steady again now that Draven had returned.
Brenn presented the situation: "Stonecross evacuated. Silent Bloom contained temporarily. Dominion vanguard repelled. Casualties: 47 dead, 183 wounded. Morale: strained but unbroken."
Lysara added, "Dominion main force—80,000 troops—will arrive in ten days. We have that long to prepare."
Draven laid three items on the table:
The Severance Scroll.
The Anomaly Network Map.
The Displacement History Crystal.
"We found weapons they can't counter. Truth. Freedom. And knowledge."
He explained: how chains were made, how to break them permanently, how anomaly zones worked, safe training grounds identified.
Joran listened, eyes widening. "If we break their slave bonds during battle..."
"Their beasts choose," Draven finished. "And most will choose freedom over chains."
Lysara leaned forward. "How fast can we deploy this?"
Draven turned to Joran. "How long to forge severance tools?"
Joran thought, calculating. "With Thea's help, full forges running... seven days for fifty units. Enough to affect the battlefield."
"Do it."
Brenn laid out the revised strategy:
Days 1-7: Forge severance tools, train deployment teams
Days 8-9: Position forces, evacuate remaining civilians
Day 10: Dominion arrives, battle begins
Mid-battle: Deploy severance teams, break slave bonds en masse
Goal: Turn Dominion's enslaved army into free agents mid-combat
Lysara's expression was thoughtful. "It's risky. Chaos favors bold plans and punishes hesitation."
Draven's voice was steady. "Then we be bold without hesitating."
Dorn's voice crackled through the relay. "I'll have Veil operatives positioned to extract severance teams if things go wrong. They won't die alone."
"Appreciated," Brenn said.
The council continued late into the night—logistics, positioning, contingencies. But beneath the planning, something else hummed through the room.
Hope.
Not blind optimism. Earned hope. Hope built on sacrifice, held through three days of hell, and now reinforced with knowledge that could change everything.
As the council dispersed, Draven walked to Feyra. Knelt beside her.
"I heard you held the network alone. Thank you."
She pressed her nose to his forehead. Warmth, relief, family.
He whispered: "Rest now. I'm home. And I won't leave again until this war is over."
Her petals drifted around them both like blessings.
Outside, Zor landed on the battlements. Lightning crackled intensely now—barely controlled, arcs jumping between feathers, storm building inside him.
Draven felt it through their bond: Soon. Must answer soon. Storm will not wait much longer.
He looked at the sky. Dark clouds gathering unnaturally fast, swirling in patterns that had nothing to do with weather.
"When the Dominion comes, you answer. Storm meets chains. And we break them forever."
Thunder rolled in agreement.
Far to the north, Varyn watched the same sky, mane flickering with understanding. Two Kings. One storm, one flame. And between them, the chains would shatter.
The northern ridge glowed with molten light as Varyn's wounds finished healing. He stood, stretched, tested his strength.
Ready.
In the courtyard below, Terys settled near the western wall, shell warm against the stone. Her voice rumbled softly to Ryl, who sat beside her:
"Stone endures. Fire burns. Storm breaks. And when they move together, nothing stands."
Ryl looked toward the war room where light still burned. "Ten days."
"Ten days," Terys agreed. "Then we show them what patient stone can do."
In his chambers, Draven opened his field journal and wrote:
Day 3 of return. Covenant held without me—barely, but held. Joran and Thea nearly died buying time for civilians. Feyra held the network alone until she almost broke. Varyn chose to heal for us, not just with us. Brenn led without doubt. Lysara fought because she chose to, not because she had to.
They don't need me to survive. They need me to finish what we started.
Ten days until the Dominion arrives. Seven to forge the tools that will break their chains. Three to position our forces.
Then we show them what freedom looks like when it fights back.
He closed the journal and looked at the Grimoire of Life floating beside his desk.
"You chose me because I see connection as sacred. I won't fail that trust."
The Codex pulsed warmly. Not words. Just certainty.
Outside, the storm continued gathering. Inside, forges burned bright through the night.
The countdown had begun.
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