Page 29 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)
A s evening fell, we gathered in the village square for what might be our last night together.
Someone had brought out drums, and the ancient rhythms filled the air as families said their goodbyes.
Children who were too young to understand what was happening laughed and played between the adults' legs, while their parents watched with hearts full of love and terror.
I found myself thinking of Sirrax, wondering how he was adapting to Academy life.
Was he flying free, or was he still trapped in that cursed collar?
I pictured him soaring over peaceful fields with Livia on his back, both of them safe and happy.
The image brought me comfort and pain in equal measure—comfort that they were far from this war, pain that I might never see them again.
"You're thinking about her," Septimus said, settling beside me on the log where I sat watching the farewell celebration.
“Aren’t you?”
Septimus sighed. “Naturally. With every breath, and every heartbeat. I feel like my soul is missing without her here.”
It was a strange kind of solace, knowing he felt the same gaping wound I did. We were two broken halves of something that had only ever been whole when she was between us. "She's why we have to win," I said finally, my voice rough. "So there's a world for her to come back to."
"For all of them," he agreed, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
The drums beat on, a steady, relentless pulse that was both a lament and a call to arms. It was the heartbeat of the Talfen people, a sound that spoke of ancient sorrows and unbreakable will.
For the first time, I felt it not as a foreign rhythm, but as something that resonated deep in my own blood.
Septimus laid a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm.
"We'll see her again," he said, not as a promise, but as a vow. "Whatever it takes."
I met his gaze, and in the flickering firelight, I saw not a rival, but a brother. "Whatever it takes," I echoed.
As the night deepened, couples slipped away to spend what might be their final hours together in private. I watched them go with a mixture of envy and longing, thinking of the love I'd found with Septimus and how precious it had become to me.
"Come," he said softly, taking my hand. "Let's not waste what time we have."
We walked to our hut in comfortable silence, both lost in thought. Inside, by the light of a single candle, we helped each other out of our gear and weapons. There was nothing hurried or desperate about it—just two people who loved each other taking comfort in closeness.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," Septimus said as we lay together afterward, his arms warm around me, "I want you to know that these weeks with you, with your people—they've been the best of my life.
I was living a lie before, Tarshi. A beautiful, comfortable lie that let me sleep at night while people suffered.
You and the Talfen showed me what truth looks like. What honour actually means."
I turned in his arms to face him, seeing the candlelight reflected in his dark eyes. "I love you," I said, the words coming easier than they once had. "Whatever comes, I need you to know that."
"I love you too," he replied, and kissed me with a tenderness that made my heart ache.
We didn't sleep much that night. Instead, we held each other and talked in whispers about everything and nothing—memories of our childhoods, dreams for the future we might not live to see, small observations about the people we'd come to care for in this village that had become our temporary home.
Dawn came too soon, painted in shades of red that seemed ominous given what lay ahead. We rose and dressed in silence, the weight of the day settling on our shoulders like a cloak. Outside, the village was already stirring as the volunteers prepared to depart.
The gathering at Ironwood Ridge was unlike anything I'd ever seen.
Warriors came from every corner of Talfen territory—mountain clans with their ancient traditions intact, valley farmers who'd taken up arms to defend their crops, nomadic tribes whose entire lives were spent moving between dragon and human form.
There was no formal military hierarchy like the Empire would have imposed.
Instead, each group maintained its own identity while contributing to the whole.
I saw weapons that ranged from masterwork blades passed down through generations to simple farming tools adapted for war.
Some fighters wore armour crafted by legendary smiths, while others made do with leather and determination.
What struck me most was the absence of rigid formations or standardized equipment. Where an Imperial army would have presented uniform ranks of identical soldiers, the Talfen gathering looked more like an extended family preparing to defend their home—which, in many ways, it was.
The dragon shifters were perhaps the most impressive sight.
Unlike the collared dragons of the Empire, forced to bear riders whether they wished to or not, these were free beings who chose their own forms and fought on their own terms. I watched them practice aerial manoeuvres, shifting between human and dragon forms with fluid grace, coordinating attacks that no Imperial commander would expect.
"They won't know what hit them," said Kessa, one of the clan leaders who'd taken me under her wing during training. "The Empire thinks all dragons are slaves. They have no concept of what free dragons can do."
I nodded, words failing me at the thought. Around me, other fighters were going through their own rituals—sharpening weapons, adjusting armour, saying prayers to gods both old and new.
Septimus stayed close to my side, his familiar presence a comfort in the chaos of preparation. I could see the conflict in his eyes as he watched the Talfen warriors, knowing that tomorrow he would be fighting against people who shared his blood and his former loyalties.
"Any last advice?" I asked him, half joking. "From an experienced gladiator to an amateur?"
"Stay alive," he said seriously. "Don't try to be a hero. Watch your back, trust your instincts, and remember that the goal is to get home afterward, not to die gloriously in battle."
"Romantic," I said dryly, earning a snort of laughter.
"Romance is for afterward," he replied. "When we're both still breathing to enjoy it."
As the sun reached its zenith, the war leaders called for our attention. Chief Thane stood before the assembled host, his weathered face grave but determined.
"We go now to meet the Empire's war machine," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the gathering.
"They come to our lands believing we are barbarians to be conquered, animals to be caged or killed.
They do not know that we fight not just for territory, but for the right to exist as free beings. "
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, growing stronger as he continued.
"Some of you were born free and have never known Imperial chains. Others, like our young friend Tarshi here, have felt those chains and broken them through courage and determination. All of you understand what we stand to lose if we fail."
His eyes found mine in the crowd, and I felt the weight of expectation settle on my shoulders.
I wasn't just fighting for myself or even for the village that had taken me in.
I was fighting for every Talfen child who might otherwise grow up in captivity, for every dragon who might be collared and enslaved, for the very survival of our people.
"We do not fight as the Empire fights," Thane continued. "We do not march in lockstep or follow rigid commands. We fight as we live—as individuals united by common cause, as families defending our own, as free beings who choose to stand together against tyranny."
The response was not a disciplined cheer like an Imperial army might give, but something wilder and more primal—a sound that started in human throats and became something else entirely as emotions ran too high for mere words.
It was a roar of pure, untamed will, a sound born of mountains and forests and skies that had never known a master. It was the sound of a people who would rather die free than live caged, and it resonated in my bones like a forgotten song of home.
Thane raised his hand, and the great host dissolved.
There was no order to march, no barked commands.
They simply broke apart into smaller bands, clan by clan, family by family, melting into the ancient woods like mist. They were a living part of the landscape, moving with a silent purpose that was more terrifying than any legion’s march.
Septimus and I moved with a vanguard of hunters and five other shifters.
We were the tip of the spear, tasked with the first strike against the enemy’s long, vulnerable supply train.
“Ready?” he asked, his hand briefly finding the back of my neck in a gesture of grounding reassurance.
“Born for it,” I said, and the words felt truer than anything I had ever spoken.
I let the change take me, not with pain or disorientation, but with a feeling of rightness, of coming home to my own skin.
Power surged through me, a bonfire of righteous fury that burned away the last traces of my injuries.
I was whole. I was a weapon. The other shifters joined me, and we launched ourselves into the sky, a silent wing of vengeance.
Below us, Septimus and the hunters moved like shadows through the trees.
The Empire thought they were hunting animals.
They were about to learn they were walking into the dragon’s den.