Chapter 682 Excellent Plan. One Tiny Problem.

Velkaris tilted his head, watching his bonded human shake with concentration. He let out a grunt, which translated to: Serena does this all the time.

“I know that,” Dexmon snapped at the dragon because he could feel the judgement without needing to open his eyes.

Five minutes went by.

Gold flickered around Velkaris.

“Got it,” Dexmon panted.

Velkaris let out a roar of pure pride. Every member of the Draken Forces saw and started clapping.

“Well done!” Archibald called over the railing.

Dexmon gave a single nod, not bothering to hide that he was proud of himself because that was difficult.

Gavriel opened one eye. Looked at Velkaris. Looked at Dexmon. Closed the eye. His jaw tightened by a full centimeter.

“That’s one,” Hyran said flatly. “Now add it to the other dragons.”

The gold around Velkaris vanished. Velkaris let out a groan of impatience.

Tiberon had seen enough.

“This is not going to work.” He turned to Hyran. “Get me the Draken Prime. She will channel Dexmon and Gavriel’s magic and not use her own. We will minimize the shadow tether—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Gavriel Sterling was glowing green. His Fae magic was apparently over this shit. Then green snapped around every dragon and member of the Draken Forces.

Gavriel didn’t notice.

His eyes were still shut. His fists were still clenched. His brow was still furrowed with the intense concentration of a man trying to find gold magic inside his chest and shove it outward through willpower and stubbornness and a competitive fury that Dexmon’s four-second success had ignited and his own failure had been feeding ever since.

“That’s not through our Hidden Flame marks, but it is adequate,” Tiberon said after a moment.

The mages on the wall started clapping. Gavriel assumed that was for Dexmon.

“For fuck’s sake.” Hyran’s patience, which had been operating on fumes since the first failed attempt, finally expired. “Gavriel. Open your eyes.”

Gavriel opened his eyes.

Every dragon and warrior was glowing green.

He looked at his hands. Green. Looked at Dexmon. Green. Looked at Velkaris, who was glowing emerald and looking at him with an expression that could only be described as finally.

“Huh,” he said. “That was easier than I thought.”

Gavriel’s eyes then glowed brighter than the rest of his body and the voice that came out of him was older than his own.

“Dark Fae will not be able to combust if the arrows used to hit them are surrounded with my magic.”

???

SHADOWCLAW KEEP

Aeron Lancaster had seen a lot of things in his day. He had survived two continental wars, vampires, and Hyran Thornfell’s personality.

None of that prepared him for today.

He had gone to Fin’s study to find Serena. She was supposed to be there. The filing system she had built was still on the desk, three perfect stacks with context summaries and cross-reference flags, and the chair behind the desk was empty.

“The Luna is in the throne room,” a passing guard told him.

Aeron blinked. Adjusted his trajectory. Walked.

The throne room doors were open.

The moment Aeron entered, Serena’s eyes flashed gold and she stood from the throne.

Every head in the room turned, watching her.

Serena could feel dragons in the distance. They were corrupt. She knew that feeling well because she had been in two battles before and sensed them back then too.

“What is it, Luna?” Beta Griffin Sharpe asked, already on his feet.

“A fleet of one hundred dragons corrupted by Dark Fae magic are sixty kilometers east and closing. I have encountered this twice before.” She did not pause for reactions. “Who in this room knows the evacuation tunnels of this keep?”

Silence. The silence was the silence of a room full of wolves processing a sentence that had rearranged their evening.

One elder raised his hand. Slow. His face carried the particular expression of someone who had memorized evacuation routes decades ago and never expected to use them.

Serena gave him a nod. “You are leading the evacuation. Every woman, every child, every omega in this castle goes into those tunnels now. Take ten guards with you. Seal the entrance behind you once everyone is through and do not open it until you receive a direct order from the Beta, the Gamma, or myself.”

She looked at Griffin. “Beta Sharpe, I need a head count of every combat-ready wolf in this castle and their positions within the next three minutes. Anyone who is not combat-ready goes into the tunnels with the civilians.”

“Right away, Luna.”

The throne room moved.

Aeron stood in the doorway, stunned, that nobody was contesting her order. Wolves stood. Chairs scraped. The elder was already heading for the corridor with guards falling into step behind him. Beta Sharpe was issuing commands through the mindlink, his eyes glazing as he pushed the order to every wolf in the castle simultaneously.

Aeron had expected resistance. He had expected the elders to push back, to demand clarification, to invoke protocol, to question the authority of a woman who was technically a guest giving evacuation orders in a castle whose king was unconscious. He had prepared three arguments and a veiled threat to deploy on her behalf.

He needed none of them.

Nobody argued. Nobody questioned. Nobody looked at the council bench for elder approval or at Aeron for mage confirmation or at Griffin for Beta authorization. They looked at the woman on the throne and they moved, because the woman on the throne had given an order.

Serena spotted him across the room and closed the distance.

Aeron had come to guard her personally. To keep her calm, keep her underground, keep her magic dormant. Those were Tiberon’s orders. Those were Hyran’s instructions. That was the plan.

Instead, Aeron Lancaster had decided in this moment, to go with his gut.

“What do you need, Luna?” he asked, with zero preamble.

She gave a single nod.

“Every encounter I’ve had with Dark Fae forces has used Caustic Suppression Miasma, also known as Red Death. It is fatal to wolves and mages. It is delivered by arrow. Fae arrows are constructed from Red Sacred Oak. There is an enchantment that prevents that specific wood from crossing its threshold. The arrows hit an invisible wall and drop mid-flight. When the arrow lands and the miasma releases, it travels a maximum of twenty paces from the point of impact.”

Aeron flashed a rare smile. “I remember. I was at the war summit and cast it for the entire camp.”