Page 42 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
The dragon shifters were perhaps the most impressive sight. Unlike the collared dragons of the Empire, forced to bear riders whether they wished to or not, these were free beings who chose their own forms and fought on their own terms. I watched them practice aerial manoeuvres, shifting between human and dragon forms with fluid grace, coordinating attacks that no Imperial commander would expect.
"They won't know what hit them," said Kessa, one of the clan leaders who'd taken me under her wing during training. "The Empire thinks all dragons are slaves. They have no concept of what free dragons can do."
I nodded, words failing me at the thought. Around me, other fighters were going through their own rituals—sharpening weapons, adjusting armour, saying prayers to gods both old and new.
Septimus stayed close to my side, his familiar presence a comfort in the chaos of preparation. I could see the conflict in his eyes as he watched the Talfen warriors, knowing that tomorrow he would be fighting against people who shared his blood and his former loyalties.
"Any last advice?" I asked him, half joking. "From an experienced gladiator to an amateur?"
"Stay alive," he said seriously. "Don't try to be a hero. Watch your back, trust your instincts, and remember that the goal is to get home afterward, not to die gloriously in battle."
"Romantic," I said dryly, earning a snort of laughter.
"Romance is for afterward," he replied. "When we're both still breathing to enjoy it."
As the sun reached its zenith, the war leaders called for our attention. Chief Thane stood before the assembled host, his weathered face grave but determined.
"We go now to meet the Empire's war machine," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the gathering. "They come to our lands believing we are barbarians to be conquered, animals to be caged or killed. They do not know that we fight not just for territory, but for the right to exist as free beings."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, growing stronger as he continued.
"Some of you were born free and have never known Imperial chains. Others, like our young friend Tarshi here, have felt those chains and broken them through courage and determination. All of you understand what we stand to lose if we fail."
His eyes found mine in the crowd, and I felt the weight of expectation settle on my shoulders. I wasn't just fighting for myself or even for the village that had taken me in. I was fighting for every Talfen child who might otherwise grow up in captivity, for every dragon who might be collared and enslaved, for the very survival of our people.
"We do not fight as the Empire fights," Thane continued. "We do not march in lockstep or follow rigid commands. We fight as we live—as individuals united by common cause, as families defending our own, as free beings who choose to stand together against tyranny."
The response was not a disciplined cheer like an Imperial army might give, but something wilder and more primal—a sound that started in human throats and became something else entirely as emotions ran too high for mere words.
It was a roar of pure, untamed will, a sound born of mountains and forests and skies that had never known a master. It was the sound of a people who would rather die free than live caged, and it resonated in my bones like a forgotten song of home.
Thane raised his hand, and the great host dissolved. There was no order to march, no barked commands. They simply broke apart into smaller bands, clan by clan, family by family, meltinginto the ancient woods like mist. They were a living part of the landscape, moving with a silent purpose that was more terrifying than any legion’s march. Septimus and I moved with a vanguard of hunters and five other shifters. We were the tip of the spear, tasked with the first strike against the enemy’s long, vulnerable supply train. “Ready?” he asked, his hand briefly finding the back of my neck in a gesture of grounding reassurance. “Born for it,” I said, and the words felt truer than anything I had ever spoken. I let the change take me, not with pain or disorientation, but with a feeling of rightness, of coming home to my own skin. Power surged through me, a bonfire of righteous fury that burned away the last traces of my injuries. I was whole. I was a weapon. The other shifters joined me, and we launched ourselves into the sky, a silent wing of vengeance. Below us, Septimus and the hunters moved like shadows through the trees. The Empire thought they were hunting animals. They were about to learn they were walking into the dragon’s den.
16
The Imperial war camp stretched before us like a city of steel and leather, and I felt my old soldier's instincts stir at the sight of it. Three days of hard marching had brought us here, to this sprawling testament to the Empire's military might, and even knowing what I knew about the lies that fuelled this campaign, I couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer scale of organization.
Fifty-three dragons. I'd counted them as we arrived, their massive forms arranged in precise rows like living weapons awaiting deployment. Thousands of soldiers moved through the camp with the fluid efficiency of a machine built for conquest, their armour gleaming, their weapons sharp, their discipline absolute. This was the Empire at war, and it was a beautiful, terrible thing to behold.
I adjusted the pack on my shoulders and fell into step behind Sirrax as Livia guided him toward the section designated for Jalend's wing. Around us, other dragons and their riders were settling into their assigned positions, but I found my attentiondrawn less to the pageantry and more to the small details that spoke of deeper truths.
The way the dragons moved, for instance. There was something wrong in their gait, a stiffness that went beyond simple fatigue from the journey. Their eyes held a dullness that I'd never noticed before—or perhaps had never allowed myself to notice. Now, knowing what I knew about their true nature, those vacant stares seemed less like animal contentment and more like... emptiness. Like something essential had been carved out of them.
"Marcus," Livia's voice cut through my dark thoughts, and I looked up to find her dismounting from Sirrax with uncharacteristic clumsiness. Her usual grace was gone, replaced by jerky, uncertain movements that spoke of deep distress.
"I've got him," I said quickly, moving to take Sirrax's reins from her trembling hands. The great dragon's golden eyes met mine for a moment, and I could have sworn I saw something flicker there—a spark of recognition, perhaps, or gratitude. But then it was gone, replaced by that same empty docility.
Livia nodded gratefully and stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself despite the warm afternoon air. "I need... I need a moment," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I watched her walk a few paces away, her shoulders rigid with the effort of holding herself together. My heart ached for her. This place, this massive display of Imperial power—it had to be overwhelming for someone carrying the secrets she carried. Someone who knew that every dragon here was a person stripped of their humanity, someone who understood that this entire campaign was built on lies and genocidal intent.
"She's not doing well," Antonius murmured, appearing at my elbow with his own pack slung over his massive shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on Livia's distant figure with the kind of protective concern that had become second nature to all of us.
"Can you blame her?" I replied quietly. "Look at this place, Antonius. Really look at it."
He did, his gaze sweeping over the ordered chaos of the war camp. I saw the moment understanding hit him—the way his expression shifted from simple concern to something darker, more troubled.
"How many dragons does the Empire have?" he asked.
