Kyra and Dierdre ran for their lives across the snowy plains, gasping for breath, as they slipped and slid on the ice. They sprinted through the icy morning, steam rising from their mouths, the cold burning Kyra’s lungs, her hands numb as she gripped her staff. The rumble of a thousand horses filled the air, and she looked back and wished she hadn’t: on the horizon charged the Lord’s Men, thousands of them bearing down. She knew there was no point in running. With no shelter on the horizon, nothing but open plains before them, they were finished.
Yet still they ran, driven on by some instinct to survive.
Kyra slipped, falling face first in the snow, winded, and she immediately felt a hand under her arm, pulling her up; she looked over to see Dierdre yanking her back to her feet.
“You can’t stop now!” Dierdre said. “You didn’t leave me—and I won’t leave you. Let’s go!”
Kyra was surprised by the authority and confidence in Dierdre’s voice, as if she had been reborn since she had left prison, her voice filled with hope, despite their circumstances.
Kyra broke back into a run, both of them heaving, as they finally began to crest a hill. She tried not to think of what would happen when this army caught up with them, when they reached Volis and slaughtered her people. And yet, Kyra had been trained not to give up—however bleak.
They crested the hill and as they did, Kyra stopped in her tracks, stunned at the sight before her. From up here she had a view of the countryside, a huge plateau stretching before her, and her heart leapt with ecstasy as she saw, riding toward them, her father, leading a hundred men. She could not believe it: he had come for her. All of these men had come all this way, had risked their lives in a suicide mission, just for her.
Kyra burst into tears, overwhelmed with love and gratitude for her people. They had not forgotten her.
Kyra ran for them, and as she neared, she saw Maltren’s severed head tied to his horse, and realized at once what had happened: they had discovered his treachery and had come for her. Her father seemed equally surprised to see her, running out here in the open; he had probably expected to free her from the fort, she realized.
They all stopped as they met in the middle, her father dismounting, rushing to her and meeting her in a strong embrace. As she felt his strong arms around her she was overwhelmed with relief, felt that everything would be well in the world, despite their overwhelming odds. She had never felt so proud of her father as she did in that moment.
Her father’s expression suddenly changed, his face growing serious as he looked over her shoulder, and she knew he had seen it: the vast army of the Lord’s Men, cresting the hill.
He gestured to a waiting horse, and another vacant one for Dierdre.
“Your horse is waiting for you,” he said, pointing to a beautiful white stallion. “You will fight with us now.”
With no time left for words, Kyra immediately mounted her horse as her father did his, and she fell in line with all his men, all of them facing the horizon. Before her, on the horizon, she saw the Lord’s Men, spread out before them, thousands of men against their mere hundred. Yet her father’s men sat proudly, and not one backed away.
“MEN!” her father yelled, his voice strong, booming. “WE FIGHT FOR ETERNITY!”
They let out a huge battle cry, sounded their horns, and as one, they all charged forward, rushing to meet the enemy.
Kyra knew this was suicide. Behind the thousand Lord’s Men lay another thousand, and another thousand behind them. Her father knew that; all his men knew that. But no one hesitated. For they were not fighting for their land, but for something even more precious: their very existence. Their right to live as free men. Freedom meant more to these men than life, and while they could all be killed, they would all, at least, die by choice, die as free men.
As Kyra rode beside her father, beside Anvin, Vidar and Arthfael, she was exhilarated, overcome with a rush of adrenaline. In her haze, she felt her life pass before her eyes. She saw all the people she had known and loved, the places she had been, the life she had led, knowing it was all about to end. As the two armies neared, she saw the Lord Governor’s ugly face, leading the way, and she felt a fresh sense of anger at Pandesia. Her veins burned for vengeance.
Kyra closed her eyes and made one last wish.
If I am truly prophesied to become a great warrior, let the time be now. If I truly have a special power, show me. Let it come out now. Allow me to crush my enemies. Just this one time, on this one day. Allow justice to be done.
Kyra opened her eyes, and she suddenly heard a horrific screech cut through the air. It raised the hair on the back of her neck, and she searched the skies and saw something that took her breath away.
Theos.
The immense dragon flew, swooping down right for her, staring at her with his large, glowing yellow eyes, the eyes she had seen in her dreams, and in her waking moments. They were the eyes she could not shake from her mind, the eyes that she had always known she would one day see again.
His wing healed, Theos lowered his claws and dove down, right for her head, as if to kill her.
Kyra watched as all of her father’s men looked up, mouths agape with fear, crouching, preparing to die. But she herself felt unafraid. She felt the strength within the dragon, and she knew this time that she and the dragon were one.
Kyra watched in awe as Theos came right for her, his wings so wide they blocked the sun, and screeched a mighty screech, enough to terrify the men. He came so close, then rose back up at the last second, his claws nearly grazing their heads.
Kyra turned and watched Theos fly straight up, then turn around and circle back. This time he flew behind her men, rushing forward as if to fight with them, right for the Lord’s Men.
It opened its great jaws and flew over them until finally it led the way, out in front of her father’s men, racing single-handedly to meet the Lord’s Men in battle first.
Kyra watched, awestruck, as the dragon approach and the Lord Governor’s face morphed from arrogance to fear; indeed, she saw the terror in all their faces, all of them, finally, afraid, all realizing what was to come. Vengeance.
Theos opened its mouth overhead and with a great hissing and crackling noise breathed fire, a stream of flame lighting up the snowy morning. The shrieks of men filled the air, as a great conflagration spread through the army’s ranks, killing row after row of men.
The dragon continued, flying again, circling, breathing fire, killing every enemy in sight until finally, there was no one left. Nothing but endless piles of ash where men and horses once stood.
Kyra watched it unfold with a surreal feeling. It was like watching her destiny unfold before her. At that moment she knew that she was different, she was special. The dragon had come just for her.
There was no turning back now: the Lord’s Men were dead. Pandesia had been attacked, and Escalon had struck the first blow.
The dragon landed before them, in the fields of ash, as she and all of the men stopped, staring back, in awe. But Theos looked only at Kyra, with his glowing yellow eyes, transfixed on hers. He raised his wings, stretching forever, and shrieked, and awful shriek of rage that seemed to fill the entire universe.
The dragon knew.
It was time for the Great War to begin.