The Shattered Crowns

The world came back in pieces.

Daenys blinked slowly, her vision blurring as the dim light of the midday sun filtered through smoke-dappled skies. She lay sprawled against a jagged piece of broken stone or what felt like it her body twisted awkwardly where she'd fallen. But she was in the medical tent...The copper tang of blood clung to her nostrils, thick and nauseating, and her side burned fiercely where the Astadian spear had gouged her. She pressed her hand against the wound, her fingers sticky and warm. Her breaths came shallow, her chest trembling with every inhale.

The sounds of the battle still echoed faintly in the distance—shouts, clanging steel, the sickening crunch of bodies falling. But closer, there were voices. Familiar voices. She forced herself to listen, focusing on their words to keep the throbbing in her head from consuming her.

"Seems the Gahkar are pushing harder and harder against the Pickette every second," came a sharp voice—Tasha's, rough and sardonic as always. There was a rhythmic tapping sound, metal on stone, as if the Reaver was pacing nearby.

"The first assault is always the deadliest," Reman replied, his voice cold and steady. It felt like an anchor, grounding her in the chaos. "But we didn't kill enough Astadians with this attack."

Tasha scoffed. "Do you think it can be done this time? Or is this just another glorious disaster for Estil?"

Reman grunted in response. "I don't ask questions. I stab where my Gahkar tells me."

"Ah, the lovely personality of the Deathless finally shows itself," Tasha said dryly. Daenys could practically hear the smirk in her voice. "Ever so charming, aren't you?"

There was a pause, filled only by the distant roar of battle and the crackle of fire. Daenys tried to move, to sit up and see them, but her body refused to cooperate. Her limbs felt heavy, leaden, and the edges of her vision swam. She groaned softly, the sound barely audible.

Tasha spoke again, her tone more serious now. "The Astadian reserve forces will try to take the ports with the Sunreachers at any moment. That's not even considering the reinforcements coming from the east. This raid is looking worse by the second."

"You're stating the obvious," Reman said flatly. "Everyone in the warbands knows that."

"Do they?" Tasha shot back, her voice sharpening. "The ports of the lower city will fall, and the reserves will push back. The Impalers love their ports—they'll fight tooth and nail to keep them. We're stretched too thin. I don't know why your precious Rev can't see that."

Daenys's head lolled to the side, her cheek pressed against the blood-slick stone. She tried to focus on the conversation, clinging to their words like a lifeline. The pain in her side flared again, sharp and unforgiving, and she let out a shaky breath.

"Best be prepared to die then, Reaver," Reman said, his tone cutting.

"So even you think it's hopeless," Tasha replied. "A member of the Deathless, someone who's supposed to be unafraid of death, feels that fear."

"I don't fear death," Reman said firmly. His voice was colder now, like steel tempered in ice. "I fear failure."

Those words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Daenys closed her eyes, letting them wash over her. She didn't know why, but they struck something deep within her, a chord she didn't fully understand. Her fingers twitched against her wound, the pain keeping her tethered to consciousness.

"All Estil people know that fighting Astad is like poking a sleeping dragon," Reman continued.

"Oh, so you do listen to the talk of the warbands," Tasha said with a mocking laugh. "I thought you were above that sort of thing."

"I'm not deaf, hunter," Reman snapped, his patience clearly fraying.

Daenys winced as she shifted slightly, her voice weak and breathy as she forced out a question. "What… What do you mean by poking a dragon?"

There was a pause, and then Tasha's voice softened, losing some of its usual edge. "If you survive long enough, you'll see what's made Astad so dominant." Both surprised she spoke from her cot.

"Rev said it was numbers and their navy," Daenys murmured, her words slurred from exhaustion. She shouldn't have kept talking, but the thought gnawed at her. "But… there has to be more. You don't hold half of Lorian with ships and soldiers alone. It's… their technology, isn't it?"

Reman's voice came after a brief silence. "Rev plans far into the future," he said, his tone almost thoughtful. "He likely saw something we didn't."

"Ah, the Old Wolf," Tasha said with a dry chuckle. "Always looking ahead, too busy planning for tomorrow to notice what's happening today. It's a terrible crutch to have."

"Planning that will win us the Pickette," Reman shot back, his tone icy.

"Does it look like we're winning?" Tasha countered sharply.

Another silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the battle. Daenys opened her eyes, staring up at the smoke-streaked sky. The sun glared back at her, blinding and indifferent.

"Wyverns?" she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," Reman said simply. "Imagine a lizard with wings, sharp teeth, and enough strength to carry a fully armored rider. A full-grown wyvern could devour a horse in one bite. And Astad has hundreds of them. They use them as cavalry."

Daenys's blood turned cold. She tried to picture it—a flying beast, armored and deadly, swooping down on the battlefield. The thought made her stomach churn. "How… How do you fight something like that?"

"You don't," Tasha said bluntly. "Not unless you've got a death wish. The best you can do is stay out of their way and pray they don't notice you."

"They're not invincible," Reman added, though his tone was grim. "But killing one takes a coordinated effort—and a lot of luck."

Daenys's mind whirled, her thoughts drifting to the stories Mirak used to read to her about dragons. She swallowed hard, her throat dry and scratchy. "Do they… breathe fire?" she asked hesitantly.

Tasha sighed, the sound almost disappointed. "No. Wyverns aren't dragons. The last dragon died long ago, during the Age of Dragons. They're extinct now. A shame, really. Would've been beautiful to hunt one."

"You'd have been roasted alive in seconds," Reman said matter-of-factly.

"Maybe," Tasha admitted with a grin in her voice. "But what a way to go."

Daenys let out a shaky breath, her mind fogging again as the pain in her side throbbed relentlessly. The voices of her companions faded in and out, their words mingling with the distant roar of the battle. She wasn't sure how much time had passed—minutes, hours—but their conversation carried on, the weight of it pressing down on her.

"So, Deathless," Tasha said after a while, her tone light but probing. "Do you think this raid will change anything? Or is it all just blood for the sake of blood?"

Reman didn't answer immediately. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, almost contemplative. "If we win, it'll give us a foothold. A chance to push further into Astad. But if we lose…" He trailed off, the unspoken consequences hanging in the air.

Tasha hummed thoughtfully. "Guess we'd better win, then."

Daenys's eyelids grew heavy, her strength ebbing away. The voices faded further into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and the distant echoes of war. As she drifted into unconsciousness, one thought lingered in her mind:

Wyverns.