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Alaric

The First SoulTaker Invasion In the North

Smoke curls through the sky like dark serpents, trailing from the pyres and shattered siege carts that litter the field.

The battle below thunders like an angry god.

Steel on steel, screams carried on the wind, and the unnatural growl of SoulTakers in their frenzied bloodlust.

Tents line the ridge behind our frontline, a makeshift war camp rising from the snow-dusted earth like a desperate gasp of order in a storm of chaos.

I have seen this before. But never have I felt so unsettled by it.

Because it’s too close to her.

Because it is my fault she is here.

And if anything should happen?

I will never forgive myself, and the whole realm will suffer for it.

“How do they have so many?” Dagan growls as we duck into my command tent, brushing aside the heavy flap just as another distant explosion rattles the ground.

Blood and soot streak his jaw, and one of his curved axes still drips with black ichor.

“The SoulTakers have never been this organized,” I admit grimly. “I was not expecting their numbers. Or their tactics.”

“None of us were,” Kael agrees, shaking off his helm and dropping it onto the nearest table.

He grabs a mug of mead and downs half of it before wiping his mouth.

“They have formation now. Rank discipline. Reinforced fronts. What the fuck is that about?”

“They’ve got a new leader,” Thorne says, his voice like gravel as he enters behind us, black robes swirling and his fire magic already prickling against mine.

“A necromancer from my lands.”

“From the Broken Plains?” Kael asks.

“Yes. He calls himself a Dark Sage. Master of the Dead. But his name is Idris.”

I snarl low in my throat.

“I know the name. He used to be a monk of the Silver Flame.”

“Yes! He was until he burned the abbey to the ground and stole their relics,” Dagan mutters, throwing a dagger onto the battle map with a loud thud.

“He’s the one? Well, that explains how he’s raising shadows, pulling from the very veil that keeps the death realm sealed.”

I glance at the map. Lines mark our position on the crest of the Vale, just south of Mount Thorn, with our forces fortified along the two ridgelines bordering the North Road.

But we’re stretched thin.

“Their dead don’t stay dead,” Kael mutters, scowling. “I watched three of my men take down a SoulTaker beast. And then it got back up.”

“We’ll hold them here. We must,” I say.

My voice sounds calm. But inside?

I burn.

It’s been seventy-two hours since I left the Eyrie.

I haven’t slept.

I haven’t shifted.

I haven’t allowed myself to think about anything but the fight.

But I feel her.

My Myrrin.

My viyella.

Jules’ emotions seep through our bond.

And they humble me.

Gods, I believe that woman might actually love me.

Me? Imagine that?

I don’t deserve her or her love. Not with how I tricked her to begin with. But now that I have it? I plan to keep it and her.

Mine.

My Dragon agrees.

Her presence is a silver thread in my chest.

Tugging. Anchoring.

If I fail here— if I fall —those monsters will take her.

And the thought alone is enough to make my Dragon shake the fucking foundation of Nightfall.

“I’ve sent Dauphiné to the Eyrie,” I say, forcing myself back to strategy, the battlefield map before us blurring at the edges of my vision.

Kael arches a dark brow. “I saw that. She came seeking sanctuary when her borderlands fell,” he muses, sipping mead like we aren’t half a breath from war.

“And did you warn your lady fair about your old love interest coming to stay?”

My jaw flexes. “I never had anything with Dauphiné. You know that.”

“Does Jules? Does she know anything about the woman?” he counters.

I cut him a look sharp enough to cleave steel. “Shade will put her in the south wing and see to her needs as a guest of the Eyrie. That’s all.”

Dagan chuckles without humor. “Wait. Dauphiné? That noble bitch from the Onyx Marches? Thought she had you marked as hers once upon a time.”

“She did, but I was not on board,” I say tightly, the words scraping like stone in my throat. “No matter. I have a mate. Jules is all that concerns me. Dauphiné is an ally and a guest of the Eyrie. That is all.”

A moment of silence stretches. Until Thorne speaks, calm and careless. “I thought Jules was a means to an end?—”

I don’t remember crossing the space between us.

But one second, I’m breathing through the hot pulse in my temple, and the next, my hand is around Thorne’s throat, slamming him back against the center pole of the war tent.

The entire space shudders with the force of my fury. His boots drag the dirt.

“She is my viyella,” I snarl, voice low and lethal. “And you will give her the respect she deserves.”

The fire in Thorne’s eyes flares higher— but it’s not defiance. It’s realization.

“Truly, Alaric?” Dagan asks, slower now.

There’s something in his tone. A shift.

I release Thorne. Step back. Look each of my brothers in the eye.

“Yes,” I say, firm. “She is my fated mate. My viyella. And we share the zareth.”

A weighted silence settles in the tent.

Thorne rubs his throat but bows his head.

“Apologies, Alaric. I did not know.”

“None of us did,” Kael mutters, his tone less amused now. “That kind of bond. I haven’t seen a Lord share one with a mate in generations.”

“It changes things,” Dagan adds, arms crossed, golden eyes watchful.

“It changes me,” I admit. “Everything I do now is for her.”

A beat.

“Still,” Thorne says, ever the strategist, voice gravel-low. “Might be wise to watch Dauphiné. That woman’s ambitions have teeth.”

I nod once.

They’re right to be wary.

But I’m no longer a Lord playing pieces on a board.

I’m a male with something to lose.

And that makes me dangerous.

I nod.

“I trust Shade to keep her out of trouble. My concern is here.”

Kael refocuses on the map. “We’ll need to collapse the northern trench and push our Archers to the south. If we can hold that long enough for Thorne’s sorcerers to finish the ward circle, we might buy ourselves a breather.”

“I’ll take a flight patrol to harry their supply chain. Hit them hard and fast while they’re distracted by the line,” I add.

“And if Idris’ shadow beasts reach the second tier?”

I slam my hand on the table. “Then I go Dragon. And I burn every fucking inch of their corruption off this mountain.”

Silence answers me.

Then Dagan smirks.

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Nightfall doesn’t need flair,” I growl, already calling the air to my veins. “It needs fury.”

And they’re going to get it.

Because I am the Lord of Air.

And no one— no one —will harm what’s mine.