Six hours of flight had taken its toll, wearing down even Sam's irrepressible spirit. His usual smile had faded to a grim line as they approached Ashemel, though he still managed to crack jokes about the rations Bren had packed.

"I swear," he called over the wind, "if you packed that week-old chicken again…"

"Better than starving," Bren shot back, but her usual fire was dampened by exhaustion. Even she couldn't maintain her typical bravado after hours in the saddle.

Valeria barely registered their voices, her eyes fixed on the dark green walls of the elven stronghold looming ahead. Through dense forest and millennia of overgrowth, towers of black and gold pierced the night sky like living tendrils grasping for the stars.

The beating of Lamara's wings beneath her sent subtle vibrations through Valeria's body as they circled higher. From this vantage, crystal waters cascaded from the mountainside in a massive waterfall, its spray catching moonlight like scattered diamonds. Small villages dotted the valley below, their fires burning around stone buildings that lined the stream fed by the falls. The flames looked like fallen stars against the darkness, deceptively peaceful.

Wind whipped past Valeria's face as Lamara banked, her wings adjusting with subtle movements that spoke of years of training together. The cold air at this altitude burned her lungs, a constant reminder of how exposed they were above enemy territory.

"Reyna, take your squad around the wall," Voss called across the expanse beneath them, his voice barely carrying over the wind. "Watch for any movement at the gates." He gestured left, Pyrris's copper scales gleaming as they caught the moonlight.

Voss turned to his daughter, his stone-grey eyes meeting Kestrel's fierce gaze. "Follow the stream to the mountain, then trace the line to the forest edge. Grogg's forces should be moving along that route." Pride and concern warred in his expression as she flashed him that familiar crooked smile, all confidence and barely contained aggression.

"Val." His voice carried a sharper edge now. "Take your squad to the camps. Stay high enough to avoid their arrows — we don't need any heroes tonight." The command came harsh, but Valeria read the protective intent behind it, remembering how they'd lost three wings of Riders in as many months to whatever new weapons the elves had developed.

Without another word, Voss wheeled Pyrris away, moonlight rippling across copper scales as they disappeared into the darkness.

Valeria turned to her squad, squaring her shoulders. "Tight formation," she called, remembering Captain Corliss's endless drills. "Standard evasion pattern delta." Their mounts responded as one, wings tucking close as they descended toward the treetops. The night air grew thicker here, heavy with the scent of pine and wood smoke from the camps below.

Lamara's wings carved through the air with practiced precision, matching the rhythm of Xasus and Casia on either side. They skimmed the canopy, close enough for Valeria to make out individual branches in the moonlight, yet high enough to maintain the advantage of height. Each wingbeat sent tremors of anticipation through her body — they were committed now, deep in enemy territory with only skill and shadows for protection.

The fires drew closer, and Valeria felt that familiar shift inside her as she bent light around their formation, cloaking them in shadows. Her power hummed beneath her skin, an ever-present warmth that intensified with concentration. She guided Lamara lower, feeling the Pegasus respond to her lightest touch on the reins. The soft crunch of hooves meeting earth broke the night's silence as they landed behind a massive fallen tree, roughly a hundred yards from the nearest camp.

Without hesitation, Valeria swung down from the saddle, her boots meeting soil with practiced silence. The scent of wet earth and decay filled her nostrils as she crouched behind the log, its ancient bark rough against her palms.

Valeria pressed closer to the ground as another patrol passed, their boots stirring dead leaves mere feet from her position. The elven camp sprawled before her in organized chaos — supply tents arranged in rigid rows while soldiers moved with practiced efficiency between them. Unlike human military camps with their sharp angles and iron-bound structures, the elves built with the landscape. Their tents seemed to grow from the earth itself, shimmering fabric the color of forest shadows rippling in the night breeze.

A cooking fire crackled nearby, the aroma of unfamiliar spices making her mouth water despite herself. Three elven warriors huddled around it, speaking in their melodic tongue. Their armor caught the firelight strangely, seeming to absorb the glow rather than reflect it. The subtle patterns etched into their breastplates shifted like living things, making her eyes ache if she looked too long.

She cataloged everything as she moved, just as Voss had trained her. Eight tents in this section, each large enough to house ten soldiers. Two guards at each cross-point, rotating every quarter hour. Supply crates stacked three high near the eastern edge, marked with symbols she didn't recognize. Everything spoke of preparation for something larger than routine patrols.

"What are you doing?" Bren's harsh whisper carried equal parts concern and frustration as she dismounted beside her.

Valeria pressed a finger to her lips. "Voss said check the camps. That's what I'm doing." The familiar argument hung between them — Bren's caution versus her need to push forward.

"You know that's not what he—" Bren's words cut off as two elven soldiers materialized from the darkness, their armor gleaming dully in the distant firelight. Valeria's heart thundered against her ribs, each beat threatening her concentration as she fought to maintain their concealment. Her power flickered dangerously as the soldiers passed within arm's reach, their boots crushing fallen leaves mere inches from where she crouched.

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"Where's Sam?" The question came out sharper than intended as she peered over the log at three warriors gathered around the nearest fire, their voices carrying snippets of conversation she couldn't quite catch.

"Told him to stay airborne." Bren's eyes narrowed. "Someone needs to be ready to haul our suicidal point rider out when this goes wrong."

"That wasn't your call." Valeria moved to circle the log, staying low. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Get back in the sky, Bren. Circle the perimeter." She didn't look back as she crept forward, knowing the stubborn set of her friend's jaw without having to see it.

"Val! Val! Damn it…" Bren's whispered curse barely carried. The soft sounds of her retreat followed — boots against earth, leather creaking, then the powerful sweep of Casia's wings as they took to the air.

The first sign was how the other elves moved aside, their usual grace turning sharp with tension. Even their horses shifted nervously in their makeshift paddock, turning away from whatever approached through the shadows between tents.

When the creature emerged, Valeria's mind struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. Its movements defied nature — each step liquid smooth yet somehow wrong, as if its joints weren't quite where they should be. The midnight fur rippled with each motion, not just catching the light but seeming to devour it. Silver runes pulsed beneath its pelt like a heartbeat, creating patterns that made her dizzy to follow.

The elven rider sat motionless atop the beast, their armor seamlessly blending with the creature's shifting form. Crystal-tipped arrows rattled softly in their quiver, the sound setting Valeria's teeth on edge. The way rider and mount moved together spoke of something deeper than normal cavalry training — as if they shared one mind, one purpose.

She watched in horrified fascination as another of the beasts transformed. Bone and muscle flowed like water, wings erupting from its shoulders in a display that should have been violent but happened in complete silence. The rider never shifted position, as if such impossible changes were as natural as a horse changing gaits.

The lead creature suddenly stiffened, its ears swiveling forward. For one terrifying moment, Valeria was certain it had detected her. She pressed herself lower to the ground, every muscle coiled tight as she prepared to run. The beast took one step in her direction, then another, its shifting eyes fixed on her position. Even with her power concealing her from sight, she felt naked before that predatory gaze. What truly chilled her was how it seemed to be looking at her from multiple angles at once, as if its senses transcended normal perception.

A horn call from the fortress walls drew the creatures' attention. Their heads snapped toward the sound in perfect unison, and without any visible signal from their riders, they melted back into the shadows between the tents.

The crate stood apart from the others, its cedar wood dark with age and travel. Unlike the elven supply boxes with their flowing script and organic curves, this one bore the stark lines and precise angles of human craftsmanship. Even before she saw the mark, something about it pulled at her memory — the spacing of the iron bands, the slight angle of the lid that her father had always insisted on to keep water from pooling.

Her hands shook as she traced the insignia. Every detail was exactly as she remembered: the slight notch in the right wing where his chisel had slipped, the three hash marks in the hammer's handle that he'd said represented their family. She'd watched him carve this mark countless times in the workshop at Ironstead, the sound of iron on wood as familiar as his voice.

The arrows inside lay in perfect rows, each shaft aligned with military precision. Black feathers, cut and trimmed to her father's exacting standards. But where there should have been iron heads, Crystal points gleamed with an inner light that made her stomach turn. She'd seen Crystal weapons before — every Rider had — but these were different. The craftsmanship was unmistakably her father's, from the precise angle of the fletchings to the way the shafts had been scored to prevent slipping. But the Crystal... that was pure elven work, their impossible material somehow married to her father's traditional methods.

Rage burned through her veins as she gripped one of the arrows, her mind racing with questions about what had really happened at Ironstead. The Crystal head bit into her palm as she clutched it too tightly. The arrow slipped from her fingers, shattering against a tree root with a sound that seemed to echo through the entire camp.

She spun toward Lamara, but her movements felt wrong, sluggish. Her concealment flickered — for a heartbeat her arm was visible, then invisible again. Another step and her entire right side appeared, the shadows she'd wrapped around herself unraveling like a fraying cloak. Six elven soldiers turned toward the strange sight of a woman appearing in fragments, and in the shadows between tents, three pairs of glowing eyes shifted from amber to venomous green.

Valeria stumbled, catching herself against a tent pole as her power continued to fail. Above, Bren and Sam suddenly appeared in the open air as the last of her concentration shattered. She could see their mouths moving, shouting warnings she couldn't quite hear over the pounding of her heart.

The beasts emerged from the darkness, their forms transforming as their riders drew arrows to their bows. Fighting against the growing weakness, Valeria pushed herself forward. Twenty feet to Lamara. Fifteen. Her vision swam as another wave of cold spread from the cut on her palm. Ten feet. She was fully visible now, her gift seeming to retreat from her grasp like water through splayed fingers.

She launched herself into the saddle with the last of her strength, driving her heels into Lamara's sides with desperate force. They burst into the air as arrows hissed past, Crystal points leaving trails of cold light in the darkness. Valeria could feel the beasts behind them — not just hear or see them, but feel their presence like a weight pressing against her skull. Their wings made no sound as they flew, but the air itself seemed to shudder with each beat.

Lamara banked hard right, responding to pressure from Valeria's knees as another volley of arrows streaked past. Above them, Bren and Sam wove through the air in practiced defensive patterns, their Pegasi moving with the precision that came from countless drills. But their pursuers matched every maneuver with impossible grace, their forms shifting mid-flight to better match each change in direction.

The cut in her palm pulsed with each heartbeat, sending waves of cold up her arm. She'd felt something similar during training exercises with Crystal weapons, but this was different — deeper, more invasive. Each time she reached for her power, it seemed to slip further away, like trying to grasp smoke with numb fingers.

A whistle cut through the air, followed by Bren's sharp cry. Casia lurched sideways, his wing beats becoming erratic. Even in the dim light, Valeria could see the dark stain spreading across his violet scales where an arrow had grazed him.

"We need to land!" Bren shouted, fighting to keep Casia steady as he lost altitude. Valeria's own strength seemed to be draining away, the cut on her palm burning like ice. Each wingbeat became harder to direct as her connection to Lamara grew sluggish and dim.

They found a small clearing, barely visible in the fading darkness. Casia's landing was rough, his injured wing dragging as he stumbled to a stop. Bren was at his side instantly, examining the wound while keeping one hand on her sword hilt. Above them, their pursuers circled the clearing, their shadowy forms shifting between wolf and winged aspects as they sought the perfect angle of attack.

"Sam, find Voss and the others," Valeria ordered, though staying upright was becoming a struggle. "They need to know what we're up against."

"I'm not leaving you two here," Sam protested, but another set of horns in the distance made the decision for him. They were running out of time.

"Go," Bren commanded, her eyes fixed on Casia's wound while tracking the circling shadows. "We'll manage as long as we can."

Sam held Valeria's gaze for a moment, conflict clear on his face. Then he wheeled Xasus around, the Pegasus's mercury-colored hide disappearing into the lightning sky as they flew to find help.

Valeria slumped against Lamara, her power flickering like a dying flame as she tried to maintain some concealment over their position. Six hours back to Centrex — they just had to survive until help arrived. The beasts landed at the clearing's edge, emerging from the shadows in their wolf forms. As they stalked forward, muscles rippling beneath midnight fur etched with silver runes, Valeria wondered if they'd made it this far just to fail now.