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THIRTY

A s Rust outlined defensive positions around the spa, Xai’s mind flashed to a similar council meeting centuries ago—Vienna, 1683—when supernatural allies had gathered to defend the city from Ottoman forces. The same tension, the same hurried planning. He’d seen these cycles repeat across history: conflict, resolution, peace, then conflict again.

“We should focus our strongest wards here and here,” he said, pointing to the intersections on the map where ley lines converged. “I’ve seen similar patterns in Barcelona during the Succession War and again in New Orleans in the 1920s. When magical boundaries are compromised, they always fracture at the junctions first.”

The others nodded, accepting his assessment without question—the benefit of centuries of observation. Sometimes Xai wondered if any of them truly grasped what it meant to watch civilizations rise and fall, to see the same mistakes repeated by different generations. Enchanted Falls was just one more point on a very long timeline, yet somehow, this conflict felt more personal than any before it.

Near midnight, he stepped onto the balcony alone, staring toward Madrigal’s estate in the distance. Azure flames danced around his fists, casting eerie light across his features.

Dragon’s fire had never felt so personal, so vital. This wasn’t just about a town or an artifact or even a century-old family feud.

This was about her.

For the first time, Xai Emberwylde had found something—someone—worth burning the world down to protect. The realization should have terrified him. Instead, it filled him with clarity.

Madrigal had made a critical error. He’d threatened what a dragon considered his greatest treasure.

And dragons never surrendered what they claimed as their own.