Still, nothing. No roar. No shadow. No beating wings cutting through the sky. Just silence.
Heavy, and unnatural.
Then, Edmond burst into laughter. "Maybe your dragon has turned deaf," he said mockingly. "You should call her louder."
Dereek's jaw tightened. His fingers curled slowly into fists..Something was wrong. Very wrong. Before he could speak again,
Some moved through the crowd. Fast, and unsteady. Prince Domion rushed forward, breaking through the line behind him.
His breathing was uneven. His face was pale. His body trembled.
Dereek turned sharply. "Why are you here alone?" he demanded. "Why are you not with your dragon?"
Domion didn't answer immediately. His lips parted. But no words came. Then, tears flowed down his cheeks. They spilled before he could stop them. "My dragon," his voice broke, "is dead."
The words barely held together. "Yours too." Everything stopped completely.
Dereek's hand trembled. Just once. Then again. He staggered back slightly. As if something invisible had struck him.
"No!" he whispered. Domion shook his head. Unable to hold it in anymore. "Every dragon in the Dragon Bay," he said, his voice cracking completely, "is dead."
Silence fell.
Total, and absolute. Even the soldiers behind Dereek stood frozen. The world seemed to pause.
Except for Edmond. And his men. They didn't move. Didn't react. Because they already knew. And in that moment, It all connected.
Not today. Not sudden. Not unexpected. This had been planned. Prepared, and executed for weeks.
Maybe longer.
Dereek's breathing slowed. Not from calm. But from realization settling deep in his chest. "The rebellion," he said quietly, his voice hollow now, "did not start today."
He looked up. At Edmond. At the army behind him. At the city already beginning to crumble around them.."It started weeks ago." And now, there was nothing left to summon.
Meanwhile, Robert did not slow. He rode at the front, his cloak snapping behind him like a warning the city refused to hear. The walls of Kings' City rose ahead, proud and careless, untouched by the fear that should have lived inside them. No horns. No alarms. No frantic movement along the towers.
Just men watching. Watching him. Some even relaxed.
Robert saw it in their posture. In the way their shoulders dropped. In the way a few leaned casually against the stone, as though this was a procession, not an invasion.
They recognized him. Robert Rendell. The King's nephew. That name still opened gates. Still softened suspicion. Still carried the illusion of loyalty.
For a moment, it almost felt insulting. Then the arrows came. They did not whistle long. They did not give warning.
They struck. Sharp, sudden, and precise. The watchmen dropped where they stood. One clutched his throat, choking on blood that spilled through his fingers. Another staggered backward, his eyes wide with confusion, before he toppled over the wall.
A third didn't even make a sound. He just collapsed. Dead before his body hit the ground.
The silence that followed lasted only a breath. Then movement. Men inside the city rushed forward. Not in panic. Not in defense.
In purpose. The gates groaned as they opened wide. Robert did not hesitate. "Forward," he said. Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just enough.
His horse surged ahead, hooves striking the ground like thunder, and the army followed. Steel clattered. Armor shifted. The air changed.
By the time they crossed the threshold, Kings' City was no longer a city.
It was a battlefield waiting to wake up. Robert's eyes moved quickly, taking everything in. The streets. The rooftops. The shadows between buildings.
Allies. Hidden in plain sight, and waiting.He turned his head slightly. "Lord Ezion." The man rode up beside him immediately. "My lord."
"You and your men will take over the city gate," Robert said, his voice steady, his eyes still scanning ahead. "If there is any reinforcement for the king."
He paused.
Not because he needed to think..But because he wanted the words to settle properly. "fuel it before it gets in."
Lord Ezion bowed his head. "As you command." He did not wait for further instruction. He peeled away with his men, already shouting orders before they reached the gate.
Robert continued forward. The deeper they moved into the city, the more it changed.
At first, it was subtle. A door slamming shut. A woman pulling her child indoors. A merchant abandoning his stall. Then it spread. Like fire catching dry grass.
Men emerged from alleyways, already armed. Some wore armor beneath cloaks. Others carried weapons they had hidden in carts, under cloth, behind false walls.
Loyalists. Not to the king. To Robert. They joined without ceremony. Without question. The army grew. And then, it broke apart..Not in chaos, but in strategy.
Groups split off, moving toward key points. Barracks. Guard towers. Noble houses where loyalty to the king still held strong.
Steel met steel. The first screams cut through the air. Then more followed. Kings' City woke up screaming.
Horses reared. People ran. The sound of clashing metal echoed through the streets, sharp and relentless. Fires began to spark in corners where resistance was strongest.
Robert did not look back. He kept moving. Toward the palace. Always the palace. Behind him, the city tore itself apart. Ahead of him, the real war waited.
King Derion did not hear the city at first. Not the arrows. Not the screams. Not the sound of his own kingdom beginning to crumble.
He was too occupied. The girl struggled beneath him, her hands pushing weakly against his chest. Her voice had long since broken into hoarse cries, the kind that no longer carried hope, only pain.
Derion ignored it. He had heard worse. He had caused worse. To him, it was nothing. Just another moment. Another possession. Another reminder that he was king and has the power to do whatever he wishes.
Then, a bang echoed from his door.
Loud, sharp, sharp, and unforgivable. The door shook under the force of it.
Derion froze. His waist paused mid-action. For a single heartbeat, the world seemed to stop. Then his head snapped toward the door.
His eyes darkened. Nobody did that. Nobody. He pushed himself up slowly, his movements deliberate, controlled. The kind of control that came just before violence.
Another bang. Louder this time and impatient.
Derion stepped off the bed. The girl curled into herself immediately, pulling what little cloth she could find around her body, shaking.
He did not look at her..His focus was entirely on the door. "Do you know," he said, his voice low, dangerous, "that I will have your head for this?"
He moved toward it, each step heavy with restrained rage. He yanked it open. The guard outside dropped to one knee instantly, his head bowed so low it almost touched the ground.
"Your Grace," he said quickly, his voice tight. "The city is under attack."
Derion stared at him for a moment, the words did not settle. They hovered.
Unreal.
Then, he spoke. "What did you just say?" The guard did not move. "The city is under attack." This time, it landed. Derion's jaw tightened.
Something cold slid into his chest. Not fear. Not yet, but something sharper. "Who dares," he said slowly, "attack the capital of Astarous?"
The guard hesitated for the briefest moment..Then answered. "The lords of Astarous." Derion's eyes narrowed. That didn't make sense.
"Which of my lords?"
"The army carries the flag of Iron Valley, and of Westmoor."
The silence was heavy.
Then, recognition hit hard. Derion's fist clenched. "That bastard!" His voice dropped into a growl. "Nephew of mine."
Something ugly twisted across his face. Not a shock, but disbelief.
"He has decided to go the path of betrayal after all the support I have given him…" he muttered, more to himself than the guard. "After everything."
His teeth ground together. "He has decided to turn against me." Behind him, the girl shifted slightly.
A small movement. But enough. Derion turned back into the room. For a moment, it almost looked like he had forgotten why he was there.
Then he reached for his robe. His movements were faster now. Sharper. Every motion edged with anger that had found a new direction.
War.
He tied the robe roughly around himself and grabbed his sword. The familiar weight of it seemed to settle something inside him.
"Good. Let them come. Let them all come."
He stepped back into the corridor, his presence immediately shifting the air. Guards straightened. Servants froze. Fear spread. Not from the attack, but from him.
He pointed at one of the guards. "You." The man stiffened. "Yes, Your Grace." "Send a raven to Dragon City."
Derion's voice was calm again. Too calm. "Inform my sons that there is a rebellion here."
He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto the guard's. "I need them, and their dragons here immediately."
The guard swallowed hard. "At once, Your Grace." He turned and hurried away, nearly stumbling in his urgency.
Derion watched him go. Then he exhaled slowly. The sounds of the city were clearer now.
Distant, but growing. Screams. Clashing steel. The unmistakable rhythm of battle. He began to walk.
Not rushed. Not panicked. Each step measured.
Certain. "They want to be burned to ashes," he muttered under his breath.
There was almost amusement in it. Almost. "Fine." His grip tightened on his sword. "I will grant them their wishes."
And just like that, the king stepped into war.