Kael walked through the gates of the main camp as sunlight spilled across the fields. Above him, the Archgriffin wheeled through the sky, its vast wings catching the morning light like hammered bronze. The creature's eagle head turned with sharp precision, golden eyes scanning every shadow. Its leonine body glided with effortless power, and when it cried out, the sound carried across the Vale like a clarion horn, fierce and commanding.

The beast was a terror to behold, talons sharp enough to rend stone, wings broad enough to darken the ground below, yet no fear lingered among the beastkin. It was no invader, but a protector. A sentinel sent to guard the Vale.

Kael lifted his gaze, and for the first time in days, the weight on his shoulders eased. With the Archgriffin watching from the skies, no assassin would cross the walls unnoticed.

Still, the Vale's safety was not won by a single guardian. The vampires' strength had been a harsh lesson. Assassins had left a trail of his kin dead before they fell. Beastkin pride was not enough, not anymore.

His hands brushed the hilts of his twin daggers. The Vale must grow stronger. The pack must be sharpened until even shadows fear to enter.

For now, sunlight gleamed off the Archgriffin's wings as it circled high above, the living banner of their protection.

The black spires of Vaelith loomed against a blood-red sky as Lady Sera entered the throne chamber, her surviving assassin kneeling at her side. Torches of green flame lined the walls, their light casting twisted shadows across the polished crimson stone. At the end of the hall, upon his throne of jagged obsidian, sat Maltherion, heir of Corvanyth, his gaze burning like cold fire.

Sera's voice rang through the silence as she lowered her head.

"My lord, I thank you for granting me this audience."

She straightened, calm but unflinching. "Thyra is dead. Another of my Veilborn has fallen with her. The Huntmaster of Veyra yet lives. I do not believe this was chance. The task was child's play for Thyra, yet she faltered. I smell sorcery. I name the Wyrms."

The chamber darkened at her words. Maltherion's fingers curling against the armrest of his throne. The silence hung heavy before he turned his eyes upon the kneeling assassin.

"You. Speak. Tell me how Thyra fell."

The assassin trembled but obeyed, recounting the ambush at the Vale, Thyra's sudden weakness, her collapse, the chaos that followed. Every word fell into the hush like a stone into deep water.

Maltherion leaned forward, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "If betrayal festers within my court, I will drag it into the light, and the guilty will be broken until even the dust remembers their screams." His voice rumbled like a storm. "But for now, there is only failure. Twice you have failed me. Twice, and still Kael draws breath."

The assassin shivered, pressing his head lower to the stone. Sera stood tall, but her hands were coiled at her sides.

"This cannot go unpunished," Maltherion said, his voice final, absolute. The hall quaked faintly with his fury, and even the green fire dimmed.

Maltherion rose from his throne, towering ten feet tall, his shadow stretching long across the crimson stone. Each step he took made the chamber tremble, the green flames along the walls guttering low as though they too feared his approach.

He stopped before the kneeling assassin. His voice rumbled like iron breaking.

"Rise."

The vampire staggered to his feet, trembling, eyes downcast. In an instant, Maltherion's right hand closed around his throat, lifting him effortlessly from the floor. The assassin's legs kicked weakly, claws scraping at the grip that crushed his windpipe.

Without breaking his gaze from Sera, Maltherion raised his left hand. With a motion as casual as tearing parchment, he ripped the vampire's arm free, then his leg, blood spraying across the polished stone. The assassin's scream echoed once, then cut to a wet gurgle.

Still holding the broken body by the neck, Maltherion turned, dragging the weight with him as though it were nothing more than cloth. Sera stood motionless, her face calm, though her hunger for vengeance burned behind her stillness.

He returned to his throne and sat, the corpse still dangling in his hand. A rumble stirred in the dark corner of the hall, and from the shadows slithered a hulking beast of twisted flesh and fang. With reverent care, the creature took the remains from Maltherion's grasp and retreated back into the blackness, vanishing with its prize.

Silence fell. The green flames licked higher again, their hiss filling the void where the assassin's screams had been.

Maltherion's voice rolled out low and thunderous, echoing against the crimson stone.

"I will look into the matter of Thyra," he said, the words dragging like iron chains. "If the Wyrms are to blame, I will tear their secrets from their withered throats myself."

His burning eyes narrowed, fixing on Sera like spears. "But hear me well, Regent. Fail me again, and I will not stop with you. I will tear down Craveth Hollow stone by stone. I will end your bloodline, and every vampire under your banner will be dragged screaming into my pits. My beasts will feed on them until nothing remains but bones."

The green flames along the walls flared with his words, casting jagged shadows across Sera's pale face.

He leaned forward, voice cutting sharper. "And one more thing, you will not go near the Wyrms. Not until I have dug out the truth. Obey this".

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the hiss of the torches.

Sera did not flinch, did not lower her gaze. She bowed her head with measured calm, masking the venom that churned within her.

"As you command, Sovereign," she said softly.

The late sun poured across the stone courtyards of Dawnspire, gilding the banners of Falrion in hues of gold and crimson. Queen Seralyth sat beneath the arching colonnade, her hand brushing the edge of the Necklace of Dawn, its warmth steady at her throat.

Sir Taron entered at pace, helm tucked beneath his arm. In his gauntleted hand was a parchment, the wax seal unbroken, black and etched with the mark of the Salt King.

"My queen," he said, bowing low, "a crow from Tharos."

Seralyth took the letter, cracked the seal, and read aloud so Taron might hear.

"'To Seralyth, Dawnkeeper of Veyra. Word has reached me across the tides, I will grant you audience. In two days' time, I will set foot at your port, and there we shall see if light and storm may share the same table. Rovan Blackwake, Salt King of Tharos.'"

A faint smile touched her lips. "At last, some good news."

But before the words had settled, the bells of Dawnspire rang out violently, iron clanging against the sky. Seralyth rose at once, her expression sharpening.

"What now?"

A guard ran into the courtyard, dropping to one knee, breathless. "Your Grace, an army approaches the Great Wall, to the west!"

Taron's face hardened. "How large?"

The guard swallowed. "Large, my lord. Bigger than any we've seen in years."

Seralyth's voice cut swift, decisive. "Then we prepare for a full defence. Sir Taron, muster the Dawnforge Order, ready every knight, ranger and beast."

Taron bowed deeply. "At once, my queen." He turned and departed at a run, his armour ringing with each step.

Seralyth looked to her personal guard, her eyes fierce. "Bring me my battle armour. I will not sit idle within these walls. If war has come to the Dawnlands, then I shall meet it with steel."

The courtyards erupted into motion, horns blaring, soldiers rushing, the first stirrings of battle rising like a storm on the horizon.

A deadly army had arrived at Veyra.

The end of chapter three.