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Small flames danced in my hands, ready to unleash on the forces below us.

Beside us soared Nightclaw. If Hawl was right, the older exmoor was the veteran of countless battles. He moved with a sure and primal grace.

Astride him sat my mate, commanding shadows as easily as one might wield a blade.

Below us, the dark fae foot soldiers now found themselves confronting forces beyond their darkest imagining.

I ignited my flames. Trails of searing fire cascaded down from my fingertips, raining over the masked hordes like divine retribution.

The obsidian armor that made my father’s infantry look so fearsome and unassailable now began to sizzle and melt under the assault of my flames.

But I had seen my own abilities in action before. It was Draven beside me who I found truly impressive. Unleashing himself on our enemies below and invoking the very essence of true darkness.

As Nightclaw surged forward, the two of them became a shadowy blur amidst the chaos of battle. Darkness clung to the exmoor’s form as Draven lashed out with coils of shadows, manipulating an inky abyss to devastating effect.

Ethereal black blades slashed through the ranks of our enemies, cutting them down in great swathes.

Animated by Draven’s will, shadows ensnared groups of foot soldiers with an otherworldly grip. Dark tendrils writhed and clung to our foes, sapping the life from their bodies as they hacked and cut fruitlessly at the intangible coils embracing them.

I watched as huge lines of my father’s foot soldiers convulsed and then collapsed, lifeless husks in armored forms.

As the lines of foot soldiers fell, Draven extended his powers, weaving a veil of shadows to provide cover for our weary allies, concealing their movements as they moved to new and stronger positions and disorienting the dark fae forces, obscuring their vision and muddling their attempts to pursue.

I watched gleefully as the general stomped and screamed at the soldiers around him.

More arrows and missiles launched into the air towards us, but this time, Sunstrike and I were prepared. We didn’t have the same bond as the one Nightclaw and I shared, forged of trust and time. But she was his mate. And I was her rider’s. And that meant a great deal to us both.

So trust blossomed and grew swiftly as we flew through arrows streaking and projectiles soaring over our heads.

After a few minutes, I realized that Sunstrike was enjoying herself. The smaller battlecat veered and swerved midair with impressively deft motions, becoming more and more confident in her maneuvers as she took me precisely where I needed to go.

As we flew low over the battlefield, bursts of heat emanated from my palms as I unleashed my torrents on the foes below us. Flames erupted in brilliant hues, consuming the enemy ranks as an inferno swept over the battalions, leaving behind charred remnants.

My flames danced in harmony with my mate’s shadows. The light to Draven’s darkness. Together we created a symphony of devastation. The battlefield became a tapestry of fire and shadows as we fought on relentlessly, holding nothing back.

Gradually, exhaustion tugged at the edges of my senses. But beneath me, Sunstrike soared on with fierce determination. Pushing tendrils of damp hair out of my face, I met her resolve, and together, we burned brighter than the flames I conjured.

When a wave of raucous cheering finally erupted from the Tintagel soldiers spread on the field below us, I knew the battle would soon conclude.

The dark fae foot soldiers were scattering, their forces decimated by the combined might of the Tintagel troops and my mate and me. Even from my lofty vantage point, I could see their disarray. The dark general’s authority could not reverse the tide of their defeat. I wondered what awaited him if he made it home to my father’s court. I hoped his fate would be all that he deserved.

I could sense Sunstrike’s elation. She purred with accomplishment, her fatigue forgotten in the face of our victory.

Across the expanse, Draven and Nightclaw hovered, both watching the retreat of the dark forces.

My mate’s eyes never left the general as he struggled for control of his fleeing infantry, and immediately, I understood. We could not leave the leader of our enemy’s forces standing to fight another day.

Before I could move Sunstrike into position, Draven had beat me to it. Guiding Nightclaw into a swift descent, he dove upon the general like a shadowy tempest.

The dark fae lord must have heard the beating of battlecat wings. He turned to face his unexpected adversary, hoisting a halberd in one hand.

But it was useless. In a blur of motion, Draven extended a hand, almost lazily, and from his shadows emerged a dark, slender blade. The shadow knife sliced through the air with a preternatural precision. As the dark general, caught off guard, struggled to parry, Draven’s onslaught danced around his defenses, and in a final, sweeping motion, cleaved his blade through the general, slicing through armor and flesh and rending both in two.

I shuddered, suddenly reminded of the scene I had witnessed in my dream. The memory of my brothers struggling over an innocent mortal woman, and when they had not been able to come to an accord...

But this. This was different. When Draven moved in violence, he was a punishing force of justice. I had no qualms over this type of bloodshed. Watching my mate execute our enemies did not leave me feeling pity or nausea. It left me filled with a strange and wild joy and pride that could easily have turned to desire.

Draven swooped upwards, flying Nightclaw towards where Sunstrike and I hovered. Though weariness clung to him, our eyes met in the shared satisfaction of a hard-fought victory.