Chapter 1: The Scent Of Gunpowder

Lyanna Mirrorguard stood by the fire, the heat drying the blood on her armor. Her gauntlets were stiff, the red turning brown. The stench unbearable.

“Pour the water here,” she said, her voice as steady as she could make it, though inside she was still buzzing from the fight.

A sturdy young woman with a freckled face and a determined set to her jaw nodded without hesitation and tipped a dented bucket of water over Lyanna’s outstretched arms. The blood washed away in dark streaks, pooling in the ash beneath them. Lyanna turned Ember and Scarlet over in her hands, inspecting their gleaming edges. The silver runes caught the firelight, faintly pulsing as the water dripped off their twin blades.

“Thank you,” Lyanna said, quiet enough that only the young woman could hear.

“My lady.” The young woman bowed, her armor rattling as she stepped back, leaving Lyanna to her thoughts.

Lyanna brushed her thumb across the crystals embedded in each hilt. Ember’s was the color of ash, a deep smoky gray reminiscent of burnt fields, while Scarlet’s glowed with the dark red of freshly spilled blood. These crystals were bonded to the wood and metal, serving as both an essence pool for the runes and an external reservoir for Lyanna’s magic.

They were an extravagant gift from her parents, intended for someone older, more experienced—a swordmaster, not a girl barely seventeen. Despite the less than ideal affinities of the crystals.

Most mages began with a sliver of crystal for their staves, barely enough to fuel a single spell. Grandmasters, after decades of effort and learning, might receive three whole crystals for each domain they’d mastered. The cost of Lyanna’s swords? A staggering sum—half a year’s worth of taxes from the villages and towns under her family’s banner.

But Ember and Scarlet were more than just swords to Lyanna. They were her confidants, her partners in battle. She named them after the colors of their crystals, and over time, she’d come to feel like they possessed their own unique personalities. Ember was calm and steady, a soothing presence, while Scarlet was fierce and wild, always pushing Lyanna to take risks and test her limits.

Closing her eyes, Lyanna tried to center herself, just as her tutors taught her. Breathe in. Breathe out. She let her mind sink into the energy that filled the blades, the very essence within the crystals that powered the runes. Ember’s pool was nearly empty, and Scarlet’s wasn’t much better—both drained from the battle when she’d used the ash rune to leap across the charred ground and the blood rune to heal her wounds. At least they were slowly refilling.

A grimace pulled at Lyanna’s lips. Her own essence pool was pathetic—barely half a foot wide, despite four years of cultivation. What did she have? Two spells, one for healing, the other for the manipulation of ash. Four years, and this was all she had to show for it. Her tutors said her age was slowing her progress, that her affinities weren’t ideal. Lyanna knew they were right.

“By the gods’ flames,” she said under her breath. Why couldn’t she have been born with a larger pool? Why couldn’t she have her mother’s affinity for wind or her sister’s for crystal? Instead, she was stuck with ash and blood, thanks to the only two crystals they could find after dozens of expeditions.

Lyanna snapped her eyes open. She’d been standing still too long. Some soldiers were looking at her, heads cocked in curiosity. That wasn’t what she needed right now.

So she set off through the makeshift camp, aiming for the front lines where she knew Karina would be. Lyanna strained her ears, hoping to catch snippets of conversation, eager to hear what they were saying about her.

The soldiers were celebrating their victory, as soldiers always did. They toasted their fallen comrades, raised cups of ale to their lips, cursed the orcs for raiding their lands, for stealing crops and leaving their people destitute. The smell of sweat, ale, and burnt meat turned Lyanna’s stomach. She almost snapped at them to maintain discipline. The orc army wasn’t gone. Not all of it, at least. They were still hiding somewhere in the dunes, in the crevices of the Burnt Sea.

But Lyanna held back. Her mother wouldn’t approve of her berating them in front of the entire camp. A lady maintained her composure, even when the world around her was chaos.

Instead, Lyanna worried. Did she do enough? Would it be enough to earn her a griffin egg at the upcoming Harvest Moon Festival? Or maybe… maybe with the dragon eggs they captured, she might even have a chance at bonding with a dragon, like Karina.

The soldiers Lyanna passed bowed respectfully. “Lady Lyanna Mirrorguard,” they muttered, their voices rough but sincere. Lyanna noted the difference from before the battle. Before, their bows were mocking, laced with disdain for the “fragile noble girl.” Now, there was a hint of admiration.

An older man, his face etched with lines of weariness and grime, jogged up to Lyanna. “My Lady,” he said, his voice raspy. “Thank you. For saving my company. That wyvern…”

Lyanna winced inwardly, remembering the reckless expenditure of half her ash essence to pull off that flashy kill. Anything for the Queen’s Agents, anything to impress them. “It was my duty, Captain,” she replied, forcing a smile. “It’s what the Mirrorguards do.”

Lyanna hurried on, noticing the bows fade as she moved away from the division she fought with. Now, the soldiers were instead whispering amongst themselves.

“The Commander’s sister… killed three dozen orcs on her own… three wyverns, too…” Exaggerated, of course, but when the Queen’s Agent put together their report for the Harvest Moon Festival, where they’d decide Lyanna’s place in society, the figures they presented would definitely be inflated. Anything to get her hands on a dragon egg and become a rider. Lyanna couldn’t be second to Karina her whole life.

Lyanna’s heart skipped a beat when she heard one soldier say, “She’s a better swordswoman than her sister was at that age.” Karina, one of the five Champions of Valior, bettered by Lyanna? She bit back a smile and straightened her posture. Lyanna couldn’t skip around like a girl. She needed to be... dignified. Head held high.

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But Lyanna’s satisfaction was short-lived. A dull thudding noise vibrated through the ground. She looked up to see a distant army approaching, their banner flapping in the wind—a black raven. House Blackthorn. Here to steal the glory, to mop up the remnants of the orc army after they, after Karina and Lyanna and their allies, did all the hard work. Thankfully, the Queen was shrewd. She wouldn’t reward the Blackthorns too handsomely, even if the other noble houses fawned over Duke Gideon, begging for scraps like dogs.

Lyanna picked up her pace, climbing the dunes until she found Karina. Her sister stood on the tallest one, a dark silhouette against the horizon, Pyrope at her side. Blood still dripped from her armor, her face, even Pyrope’s scales, still slick with blood.

Karina was scanning the black dunes, her gaze sweeping across the crevices that crisscrossed the landscape like veins on a leaf. Her lips were slightly pursed, her muscles tense, as if she was about to jump—to the side. A tell Lyanna had learned from countless spars against her.

Karina was worried. About what though? Lyanna climbed the dune, her footsteps steady and silent. “Blackthorn’s here,” she said, reaching the top. “Come to steal our thunder.” Lyanna scratched Pyrope under her chin, where the scales on her snout met the softer ones of her neck.

“Half his force is circling around back,” Karina replied. “A messenger just arrived. They’re hoping to catch the orcs in a pincer.”

“Why does it matter if they steal our glory?” Pyrope rumbled, her voice a deep thrum that vibrated through Lyanna’s bones. “If it saves lives…”

“Because then I won’t get a griffin! Or a dragon!” Lyanna exclaimed, frustration bubbling up. “Even if the Queen’s Agent knows what I did, they won’t offend House Blackthorn by making us look better, especially with Alec being the same age as me.”

“Lyanna!” Karina snapped, her blue eyes flashing. “You’d risk lives for glory?”

“It’s not just about glory!” Lyanna retorted, but Pyrope cut her off.

“It’s about more than you, little hatchling,” she said, her voice gentler now. “The Mirrorguard motto…”

Lyanna gritted her teeth but relented, slumping her shoulders, defeated. “Through the mirror’s pane, we see our true selves,” she said. “And only those who emerge unbroken can shield the innocent from the shadows and cast the undeserving into the darkness.”

“So what are both you worried about?” Lyanna asked, changing the subject.

“Orcs,” Pyrope replied simply.

“But why would they attack now?” Lyanna frowned. “They were routed. It would be suicide. And if you are so worried about an attack why is the army busy celebrating?”

“Celebrating is good for morale,” Karina said, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. “And my aides have ensured the army can be ready to fight in minutes.”

“They may have been defeated,” Pyrope added, “but we haven’t seen their main force, their best dragon-riders. Only their leader. And them paying for Aeristha’s services… it means they’re desperate and willing to do whatever it takes. Plus, the Seers have warned of great bloodshed.”

“Seers?” Lyanna scoffed. “Their visions are notoriously unreliable. Often just dreams.”

“True,” Pyrope conceded, “but several Seers have seen the same vision, independently.”

Karina sighed, glancing at the approaching Blackthorn army. “Meditate, Lyanna. Recover your essence. I need to get this army ready to find the orc bastards.”

Lyanna sat on the edge of the dune, closing her eyes, focusing on her essence core. Time stretched, the sounds of the camp fading into a dull hum. Then, a sudden cry of alarm jolted her awake. Lyanna opened her eyes to see it—a massive platform lumbering into view, giant gears rotating wheels the size of buildings. And atop it, a monstrous cannon, glowing with an eerie light that seemed to suck the color from the world around it.

A Skybreaker cannon.

Lyanna’s teacher’s words echoed in her mind: Skybreaker cannons, built for the war against the Fallen One, three were gifted to each nation by Lord Hammerfall himself. A single shot can wipe out a horde of lesser monsters… or a village.

A shiver ran down Lyanna’s spine, a mixture of fear and… excitement. If she could somehow disable that cannon… Alec Blackthorn would be left with nothing while she… she could get a dragon egg!

Lyanna leaped to her feet, drawing Ember and Scarlet, but Karina’s voice stopped her cold.

“Lyanna! Take as many soldiers as you can gather and hide in a crevice. Now!”

“But I want to help! We can destroy the cannon. We can—”

“Lyanna, I am your commander, and you will obey my orders!” Karina’s voice was sharp, laced with a fury Lyanna had rarely seen.

“But—”

“I will not let you throw your life away for some childish notion of glory!”

“I can do it! I can attack the cannon, disable it, and no one will steal our—”

Karina’s eyes burned with fury. “I have indulged your selfishness for far too long, Lyanna,” she hissed, her voice dangerously low. “I foolishly believed you would grow out of this childish obsession with glory. But I see now that I was wrong.”

“For the last time, I am ordering you to take as many soldiers as you can gather and find a crevice to hide in. And since you seem to be having trouble understanding my orders…” Karina’s hand whipped out, the slap echoing in the sudden silence.

Lyanna’s head snapped to the side, the sting of Karina’s hand burning on her cheek. Her vision blurred, her mind a whirlwind of shock and betrayal. Through the haze, she saw Karina striding away, barking orders to prepare Pyrope for flight.

Before Lyanna could fully regain her senses, Pyrope, with Karina riding on her back, launched into the air, heading straight for the Skybreaker cannon.

Fury, hot and blinding, surged through Lyanna. Karina was afraid. Afraid Lyanna would outshine her, afraid Lyanna would prove herself the better warrior. Karina wanted the glory of destroying the cannon for herself.

But there was still a way to win. If Lyanna could save the army, if she could ensure their survival against that monstrous weapon… The Queen’s Agent would recognize that surely?

Lyanna scrambled down the dune, her heart pounding. The soldiers, moments ago eager to finish off the remnants of the orc army, were now staring at the approaching cannon with a mixture of awe and terror.

“Lady Lyanna?” one of them asked, his voice trembling. “What do we do?”

Lyanna took a deep breath, forcing herself to project an image of calm confidence, even though her insides were churning. “We hide,” she said, her voice ringing with authority. “Find the nearest crevice, the deepest you can find. Take cover and don’t come out until I give the order. And pray to Arthor that it’s enough.”

Panic rippled through the ranks, but they obeyed. They knew the power of a Skybreaker cannon. They knew that out in the open, they were as good as dead.

Lyanna scanned the landscape, searching for a suitable hiding place for herself. Her gaze fell upon a narrow fissure in the black earth, barely wide enough to squeeze through. It would do.

As she scrambled into the darkness, the ground began to tremble. The Skybreaker cannon was charging, sucking the very essence from the air around it. Lyanna closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable.

And then the world exploded.