Chapter 280
The war room was packed with bodies, but it had never felt so cold.
Even with the torches burning against the stone walls, even with Kyral’s steady heat at my back, a chill had settled in my bones the moment the map was rolled out across the long oak table.
The Bone King’s final movements were no longer theory. They were real. A cluster of glowing red pins marked the western ridgelines — the border of the old kingdoms. He was marching with an army of revenants, the twisted remains of fallen warriors too far gone to be saved.
They moved without rest. Without fear.
And worst of all — without end.
Zaerion, in human form, stood at the far end of the room. His silver hair braided back, his arms crossed like a coiled blade. “They’re not coming to conquer,” he said. “They’re coming to erase.”
The Alpha leaned over the table, frowning. “He’s taking the old river route — he’ll strike from below, not over the peaks.”
“Coward,” Kyral muttered.
“No,” I said quietly. “Strategist.”
Everyone looked at me.
“He knows what he’s doing,” I said. “He’s not attacking cities for glory. He’s targeting bloodlines. Flameborn. He’s trying to wipe out anyone left who remembers how to seal him.”
Zaerion’s jaw tightened. “That means the final strike is Westeroz.”
I nodded. “Where the throne sits. Where the last of Thalara’s blood rules.”
There was silence.
Then Lilah, ever bold, stepped forward. “What’s the plan, Your Majesty?”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
Your Majesty.
The room quieted, all eyes turning to me — some doubtful, some expectant, some simply waiting to see if I’d rise or fall.
I looked at the map again. At the routes marked in crimson. At the distance between where we stood and where the Bone King was already marching.
And then I looked up.
“We split our forces,” I said, voice steady. “One flank follows the river path — hit him from the side with air strikes from the dragons. The other blocks the pass before they can breach it.”
“What about you?” the Alpha asked, watching me carefully.
“I’ll go to the Source.”
Everyone froze.
“The Source?” Zaerion repeated, his voice low. “That’s suicide.”
“It’s also the only place where the ancient fire still burns,” I said. “The last place untouched by his corruption. It’s the only way I can draw on enough power to finish him — to close the rift once and for all.”
“You could die,” Lilah said quietly.
“I will die,” I corrected. “Unless I do it on my terms.”
Later, alone in the hall of banners, I stood beneath the flag of House Thalara — the golden flame on black silk. My fingers grazed the threads of the embroidery, tracing the sigil that once belonged to a queen who sacrificed everything to seal away the nightmare we now faced again.
“She died alone,” I said aloud.
“She died in command,” Kyral answered behind me.
I turned, finding her curled near the stone hearth, her golden scales glowing in the firelight.
“She was ready,” I whispered. “What if I’m not?”
Kyral lifted her head. “You are. The moment you stood before the dragons and claimed your truth, you became more than blood. You became fire incarnate.”
I walked toward her slowly and rested my hand against her side. “Then let’s burn.”
We left at dawn.
Three hundred warriors. Twelve dragons. Two dozen mages. And the last queen of flame.
The people of Westeroz lined the castle walls, watching in silence as the war march began. They didn’t cheer. There were no songs. Only torches raised high, held by trembling hands.
They had seen war before.
But never like this.
Zaerion led the air strike squad. Lilah rode with the front flank. The Alpha remained behind for now — tasked with protecting the inner gates until my signal came.
And I… I rode with Kyral straight toward the Source.
The journey was brutal. Cold. The land was dying — not from winter, but from sickness. The Bone King’s corruption spread through the ground like poison, turning rivers black and trees to ash.
The further we rode, the quieter the world became.
Until, finally, we reached the mountain.
The Source.
An ancient crater where the first dragons were born — the heart of the world’s oldest fire. It pulsed beneath the stone, a glow like the inside of a star, invisible to most.
But I felt it.
It welcomed me.
Kyral landed at the edge of the crater, wings folding behind her. I stepped down, the heat wrapping around me like a blanket. Sweat slicked my skin instantly. The Elderblade on my back vibrated — as if it too was waking.
I moved toward the center.
The stone beneath my feet began to shift. Symbols lit up beneath every step — ancient dragon script, the same runes etched into the Elderblade’s core.
I dropped to my knees and placed both hands on the stone.
The world roared.
Flame erupted around me, not burning — binding.
It clung to my skin, my blood, my thoughts. The Elderblade lifted from my back and hovered above me, engulfed in a light that was too bright to be of this world.
And then…
A voice.
“Aria.”
Not Kyral. Not Thalara.
My own voice.
But older.
I turned my head in the flame.
And I saw her — a version of myself, wrapped in golden armor, her hair pure white, her eyes glowing with flame.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
She smiled. “Who you will become. If you survive.”
My breath caught.
“Why are you here?”
“To remind you that power is never given. It is taken. And it always costs something.”
I swallowed hard. “What does it cost me?”
Her smile faded.
“Everything you were.”
When the vision faded, I collapsed forward, gasping. Kyral nudged me upright, her eyes wide.
“It’s done,” I said. “I’ve pulled from the Source.”
Kyral’s scales shimmered. “Then so have I.”
She turned toward the sky, and with a cry that split the clouds, she released a blast of fire so pure, the skies turned gold.
The bond had reached its final form.
Queen and dragon.
Fire and soul.
The call came through minutes later — Zaerion’s voice echoed through a crystal I carried on my belt.
“They’ve reached the pass. Lilah’s forces are holding, but barely. He’s sending in the giants now — flameborn turned into beasts. If you’re going to move, move now.”
I stood, fire still coiling through my veins.
And I spoke the words I’d been holding since the first dream.
“Then let the world witness the fury of dragons.”
Kyral lowered herself, and I climbed onto her back.
We took to the skies, followed by the rest of our flight — twelve dragons cutting through clouds, breath like stars.
The final war had begun.
We arrived as the battle tipped into chaos.
The Bone King’s giants towered over the field — twisted creatures, more bone than flesh, their mouths dripping fire laced with rot. Lilah’s forces had formed a shield wall, but cracks had begun to show.
Then our shadow fell over them.
And all hell broke loose.
Kyral dove, unleashing a torrent of flame that incinerated the first row of beasts. Zaerion followed, his fire sapphire-blue, freezing the limbs of the second wave.
I leapt from Kyral’s back in mid-air, landing hard on a stone ridge. The Elderblade blazed in my hands, fire coiling down the steel like a living thing.
The Bone King stood at the far edge of the battlefield, waiting.
Smiling.
“You came,” he said, voice like a storm.
“I’m not here to talk,” I replied.
He raised his hand.
And behind him, the rift opened.
The sky screamed.
But so did I.
And with Kyral’s fire at my back and the Source’s flame in my heart, I ran.
Straight toward him.
Toward destiny.
Toward the final reckoning.
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