Chapter 5 - The Flight to the High Peaks
The cold high-altitude wind screamed past Wyn’s ears, tearing tears from her eyes and whipping her hair into wild tangles across her face.
She clung to the heavy steel lead-ring with both hands, her knuckles raw and bleeding from the friction, her legs clamped desperately against the thick, oily muscle of Kestrel’s shoulders. The world below was a churning ocean of black pine forests and jagged silver rivers, illuminated only by the pale, indifferent glow of a half-moon hanging high above the peaks.
Kestrel flew with an effortless, terrifying grace.
Unlike the awkward, panicked mounts of inexperienced recruits, every wingbeat was a masterclass in aerodynamics. He rode the thermal currents rising off the rocky ravines, his massive black-gold form slipping through the clouds like a ghost.
Clutched securely in the heavy leather pouch slung beneath his chest was the iron strongbox containing Reev’s master ledgers—the undeniable proof of the illegal dragon-stone mining operation and the systematic framing of the border couriers.
“Where are we going?” Wyn shouted into the howling wind, though she knew her voice was entirely swallowed by the rush of air.
Kestrel didn't answer with words, but she felt a deep, resonant rumble vibrate through his neck scales—a steady, comforting pulse that seemed to steady her frantic heartbeat.
After nearly an hour of climbing higher and higher into the frozen labyrinth of the eastern range, the jagged peaks began to part, revealing a hidden, bowl-shaped valley nestled high above the snowline.
It was a place untouched by human hands.
Ancient stone pillars, weathered by millennia of wind and ice, stood like silent sentinels around a glassy, deep-blue alpine lake that reflected the starry sky like a polished mirror.
Kestrel banked steeply, his wings flaring wide to catch the air as he descended in a smooth, effortless arc toward the edge of the water.
With a soft, muffled thud that sent a flurry of fresh powder snow dancing into the air, the dragon touched down on the frozen turf.
Wyn slid down from his shoulder, her boots sinking ankle-deep into the snow. Her legs wobbled beneath her, weak with adrenaline and bone-deep cold. She stumbled, catching herself against Kestrel’s front leg.
The dragon lowered his massive head, nudging her gently in the small of her back until she leaned against his warm, armored chest out of the biting mountain wind.
He reached down with his snout, gently nudging the iron strongbox free from his chest harness and setting it carefully on the flat stones before her.
“You brought us here,” Wyn whispered, her breath pluming white in the freezing air as she stroked the smooth, obsidian scales of his snout. “This is where you were born. Before they captured you.”
Kestrel closed his eyes for a long moment, letting out a soft, whistling exhale that warmed her freezing hands.
He wasn't just a beast. He was the last guardian of a stolen heritage—a protector who had spent three long years imprisoned behind iron bars because he refused to let humanity destroy his home.
And now, together, they had the evidence needed to bring down the entire corrupt machine.
But as Wyn knelt in the snow to pop the latch of the iron strongbox, a sudden, sharp crack echoed across the silent alpine valley.
She froze.
From the narrow mountain pass behind them—the only trail leading up into the high sanctuary—came the distinct, metallic clinking of heavy armor and the crunch of boots on frozen snow.
Torchlight flickered against the ancient stone pillars.
Voices cut through the freezing air, cold and triumphant.
“We found them,” a familiar, metallic voice called out.
Chancellor Reev stepped out from the shadow of the stone archway, flanked by a dozen heavily armored royal guards bearing crossbows and drawn broadswords.
And right behind him, riding a massive, scarred red dragon captured from the lower stables, was Deputy Commandant Kalen—though his hands were bound tightly behind his back with iron manacles, and a ugly bruise purpled the side of his jaw.
May you like
Wyn’s blood ran cold.
They had walked right into a trap.
