Rena stood at the edge of camp, staring in the direction of the small town, her jaw set with determination despite the exhaustion still evident in her face.

“We move in five minutes,” Darian announced.

“Stay close, stay alert. The Blaedred Sect won’t give up their prisoners easily.”

They broke camp quickly, erasing what traces they could of their presence, and set off through the forest. Rena led the way, her memory of the previous night’s flight guiding them back along her desperate path.

It took nearly an hour to reach the area where she’d escaped and another twenty minutes of careful searching to find the clearing where Baren had made his stand.

The destruction was evident immediately.

Trees were scorched black, their bark cracked and peeling from intense heat.

The ground was churned up as if a giant plow had torn through it. Dark stains that might have been blood—or something worse—marked the earth in scattered patterns. And scattered among the devastation were the corpses of three massive black wolves, their bodies twisted and broken, already beginning to decompose with unnatural speed.

But of Baren, Hilda, or any Blaedred soldiers, there was no sign.

“They took him,” Rena said, her voice hollow.

“They must have subdued him and taken him away.”

Darian crouched near one of the dead wolves, studying it with a warrior’s analytical eye. “These things are abominations. Dark miasma, corrupted nature spirits forced into physical form. Killing three of them, even in dragon form, would have required tremendous effort. Baren put up one hell of a fight.”

“But not enough,” Taeryn muttered, his knuckles white on his spear shaft.

Raelana was moving in a slow circle around the clearing, her eyes distant, reading traces of Origin energy invisible to normal sight.

“The energy residue here is… chaotic. Dragon fire, origin energy. It’s a wonder this entire section of forest isn’t a blasted wasteland.”

She paused, focusing on something. “They left maybe three hours ago. Heading east, toward—”

She never finished the sentence.

A roar split the morning air, so loud and so primal that birds erupted from trees for a hundred yards in every direction. The sound resonated in their chests, in their bones, carrying power that made Rena’s origin energy stir in response.

“Dragon!” Taeryn shouted, his spear coming up defensively as he scanned the sky.

Through the gaps in the canopy, they caught glimpses of something massive moving overhead.

A shape that blotted out the pale morning sun, wings that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon. The displaced air from its passage bent trees and kicked up whirlwinds of leaves.

Then it was descending, and Darian was shouting for everyone to take cover.

The dragon landed in an adjacent clearing with an impact that shook the ground. It was enormous—easily sixty feet from nose to tail, with scales that seemed to shift between silver and pale blue depending on how the light caught them. Its eyes were like massive sapphires, ancient and intelligent, regarding them with curiosity rather than hostility.

A mudragon.

Rena had only seen illustrations in books and had thought them extinct or purely mythical. They were creatures of an old era, beings that existed partially in the spirit realm, summoned rather than born. Only the most powerful witches could even attempt to call one, and even then, success was rare.

And suddenly she recalled that she knew the person who had such a dragon.

And there were two figures seated on its back.

The woman dismounted first, sliding down the dragon’s foreleg with ease. She wore traveling robes of deep blue trimmed with silver, and her dark hair was bound in a severe style. Even from a distance, she radiated authority and power. The air around her seemed to shimmer slightly, as if reality itself bent to accommodate her presence.

“Morgana,” Darian breathed.

The second figure followed, younger, moving with less grace but no less confidence. He wore dark traveling clothes and carried himself like someone who’d recently discovered his own strength and wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it yet. His blue eyes swept the clearing, taking in everything with sharp intelligence.

Morgana strode toward them, the mundragon settling behind her like a mountain made of living crystal. As she approached, Darian stepped forward to meet her.

“You got my letter?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

Morgana’s eyebrow arched. “Letter? What letter?”

“I sent word three days ago. Rena and Baren had been taken by the Blaedred Skull.”

“I received no such message.” Morgana’s expression darkened.

“Either it went astray, or someone intercepted it. Neither possibility is comforting.”

“Then why are you here?” Darian looked between her and her young companion.

“This is… quite a coincidence.”

“A rather good one.”

“Hardly a coincidence. We were in the area dealing with our own problems.”

Morgana gestured to the young man beside her. “We’ve just fled from Baron Roland’s hospitality after Jaenor decided to assault several nobles and declare his family name in front of half the realm’s aristocracy.”

“It was justified,” Jaenor said flatly, then his attention shifted as Rena stepped forward from behind Raelana.

“Jaenor?” Rena’s voice cracked slightly.

His head snapped toward her, and his expression transformed from guarded neutrality to genuine shock.

“Rena? What are you—you look terrible. What happened?”

She crossed the distance between them at a run and threw her arms around him, ignoring propriety and the watching eyes. Jaenor hesitated for only a moment before returning the embrace, his arms wrapping around her tightly.

Taeryn also came to him, looking at his friend, who seemed to have changed yet again.

“They took us,” she said into his shoulder, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“Elizabeth and Katerina, they sold us to the Blaedred Skull. We escaped, but Baren stayed behind to fight, and now they have him, and we have to find him, Jaenor, we have to—”

“Breathe,” he said quietly, one hand coming up to rest against the back of her head.

“Just breathe. Start from the beginning.”

So she told the story again, this time to someone who mattered in a different way.

When she finished, Jaenor’s expression was cold fury barely contained.

“The Blaedred Skull,” he said, his voice flat and dangerous.

He had seen them once and they were responsible for him being apart from his friends. To think that they came after his friends too, Jaenor’s gaze sharpened as his aura surged.

“They’re going to regret this.”

“First we need to find them,” Darian interjected, his tone pragmatic.

“The trail is hours old, and they could be anywhere in the Reaches by now.”

“Not anywhere,” Jaenor said, his eyes distant.

“If they’re operating in this forest, they need a base. Supplies, shelter, security. Somewhere isolated but with access to whatever resources they’re after.”

Then Darian said, “As far as I know, there are a few scattered homesteads and a trading post about a day north. And there’s the Ki’thara tribal village, maybe two hours east. But they keep to themselves, won’t—”

“There must be a small town around here, isn’t there?” Jaenor interrupted.

Darian pondered for about a minute and said, “I think there is a small town that doesn’t have many people.”

Then Jaenor remembered that they were supposed to go to the small town, but they stopped as they thought they were people, so they wanted to ask for directions to the town, but after coming down and seeing them, he had forgotten.

“We should head to the town and see if we can find any clues there,” Jaenor suggested.

Morgana watched this exchange with an expression of faint approval. “The boy learns quickly. Very well, let’s move.”

The dragon rumbled deep in its chest, a sound like distant thunder, and then seemed to shimmer and fade. One moment it was solid and massive, the next it was translucent, spirit-like. Within seconds, it had vanished entirely, though Rena could still feel its presence hovering at the edge of perception.

They moved through the forest at a quick pace, following Darian’s lead.

The town appeared after about thirty minutes and they saw a homestead, a small clearing with a sturdy wooden house, a barn, and fields that had been carved from the forest with obvious effort over many years.

An older man was outside chopping wood, his movements efficient and practiced. He looked up as they approached, his expression wary but not hostile.

“Help you folks?” he called out, his hand not quite reaching for the axe but close enough to grab it if needed.

Jaenor stepped forward before anyone else could speak. “We’re looking for information about activity in the town. Groups of people moving through, possibly armed, possibly wearing crimson robes.”

The man’s expression closed down immediately. “Don’t know nothing about that. This is a quiet area. We keep to ourselves.”

“I’m sure you do,” Jaenor said, his tone conversational but carrying an edge.

“But you also live here. You know the forest and know when things are out of place. And something is very out of place right now.”

“Even if I did know something, why would I tell you? Could be you’re with them, trying to find out who’s been talking.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep