Severed Bonds

The Ravenglass Throne, Volume 3

Jon Cronshaw

Published by Wyvern Books, Ltd, 2025.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

SEVERED BONDS

First edition. May 19, 2025.

Copyright © 2025 Jon Cronshaw.

ISBN: 979-8227483973

Written by Jon Cronshaw.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Claim your free Ravenglass Universe starter library.

1. Adelinde

2. Elana

3. Irmin

4. Adelinde

5. Elana

6. Irmin

7. Adelinde

8. Elana

9. Irmin

10. Adelinde

11. Elana

12. Irmin

13. Adelinde

14. Elana

Author’s note

Have you read Ravenglass Legends?

Claim your free Ravenglass Universe starter library.

Acknowledgements

About the Author

For Thomas E Moretto.

Claim your free Ravenglass Universe starter library.

Get your Ravenglass Universe starter library for free when you join Jon’s newsletter.

You will receive:

-  The exclusive Dawn of Assassins prequel novel Birth of Assassins,

-  The Fool, prequel to The Ravenglass Chronicles,

-  the Ravenglass Legends prequel Blades of Wolfsbane,

-  plus, more stories set in the Ravenglass Universe.

Visit: joncronshaw.com/starterlibrary and download your library.

"When the three stars align, the paths between worlds grow thin. What was sundered may be joined; what was broken may be whole. But beware—for in the longest night, all barriers fade."

- From ‘Celestial Harmonies and Their Applications,’ author unknown, pre-Kingdom era

1. Adelinde

Adelinde’s fingers trembled as she arranged her tools. Pure ravenglass specimens lined her workbench in careful gradients, their void-black surfaces drinking in the alchemical light.

Each shard had been tested, measured, and positioned to exact specifications—a framework of resonance that would either save or destroy the bond she meant to heal.

Behind her, chains clinked against stone. The young wyvern, Jade, thrashed in her restraints. Once-brilliant green scales had dulled to sickly olive, shot through with veins of purple that pulsed in time with her laboured breathing.

“Please.” Zariah, the wyvern’s bonded rider, pressed against the barrier that separated them. “She’s in pain. Are you sure this is safe?”

Adelinde’s hands stilled. Was anything truly safe anymore? “The procedure carries some risk. But doing nothing guarantees the corruption will spread until your bond shatters completely.”

“But she’s hurting—”

“The corruption hurts more.” Klara moved to comfort the rider, her voice gentle but firm. “Lady Adelinde knows what she’s doing. Trust her.”

Adelinde wished she shared her apprentice’s confidence. She’d successfully purified individual ravenglass specimens, but a living bond was exponentially more complex. One mistake could irreparably damage both rider and wyvern.

“The theoretical framework is sound,” Sigmund said. “You’ve done the research, tested the resonance frequencies. Trust your preparation.”

She nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at her chest. The notebooks spread across her desk represented her careful study—formulas, diagrams, observations of how corruption spread through the ravenglass network. But theory felt fragile in the face of Jade’s suffering.

Through their bond, she felt Gisela’s steady presence. The golden wyvern had positioned herself near the laboratory’s high windows, ready to intervene if anything went wrong.

“Remember,” Sigmund said, “corruption spreads through existing resonance patterns. You’re not creating new paths, you’re clearing the old ones.”

“I know. I can do this.” Adelinde gathered her courage, selecting the largest pure specimen from her workbench. “The bond wants to flow naturally. We just have to remove the blockage.”

Zariah pressed closer to the barrier. “What are you going to do to her?”

“The pure ravenglass will act as a catalyst.” Adelinde held up the shard. “It remembers the correct resonance frequencies. By using it as a guide, I can help your bond remember its proper form.”

The explanation felt inadequate, but how could she describe the intricate dance of energies that made wyvern bonds possible? How could she explain that corruption wasn’t just damage, but a deliberate twisting of those ancient patterns?

She placed the ravenglass specimen in its mounting, positioning it precisely between rider and wyvern. The other shard would help stabilise the energy flow, but this one would bear the brunt of the purification.

“Klara.” She didn’t look up from her final adjustments. “Stay close to Zariah. Keep her calm.”

Adelinde’s fingers brushed Jade’s scales, feeling the wrongness that pulsed beneath. “The corruption’s reaching critical mass. If we don’t act now, the bond will sever within days.”

The wyvern’s eyes fixed on her—once bright emerald, now clouded with pain.

Zariah made a small sound of distress.

“I’m ready.” Adelinde took her position before the pure ravenglass. “Everyone, maintain your distances. If anything goes wrong...” She swallowed hard. “If anything goes wrong, get Zariah out first. Priority is protecting the human partner.”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Sigmund said. “You’ve prepared for this.”

Adelinde closed her eyes, reaching out with other senses. The pure specimen hummed against her consciousness, its resonance clear and strong.

But Jade’s corrupted bond fought her touch, its twisted energies recoiling like something alive.

Purple light flared, and Zariah cried out.

“Steady,” Sigmund said. “The amplification will be much stronger than before.”

Adelinde drew a deep breath, letting her mind settle into calm focus.

She pressed her will through the pure specimen, the bond writhing as she began to isolate individual threads of connection.

Jade thrashed in her restraints, letting out a keening cry.

Zariah doubled over, clutching her head. “Stop! You’re hurting her!”

“She’s helping her,” Klara said. “The corruption has to be drawn out. It will hurt, but—”

“No! I won’t let you—”

“The pain is temporary,” Sigmund cut in. “The corruption is forever. Trust in the process.”

Adelinde pushed deeper into the bond, following paths of connection. The corruption fought her at every step, trying to maintain its twisted hold.

But she persisted, using the pure ravenglass’s steady resonance as a guide.

This was delicate, dangerous work—one mistake could sever the bond completely.

Minutes stretched as Adelinde worked, each moment a delicate balance between progress and catastrophe.

Jade’s cries gradually softened, becoming whimpers, then silence. The purple veins threading through her scales began to fade, colour returning to the dulled green hide.

Zariah gasped. “Something’s changing. I can feel her again—properly feel her!”

Adelinde didn’t dare break concentration to respond. She was close now, so close to complete purification. But the corruption fought back, clinging to the bond with desperate tenacity.

One final surge—one last push against the darkness.

The pure ravenglass flared brilliantly then settled into its natural void-black state. Jade’s scales gleamed vibrant emerald once more, her breathing steady and calm.

Adelinde’s legs gave out. She caught herself against the workbench, trembling with exhaustion.

“The barrier,” she managed. “Drop it.”

Zariah ran to her wyvern, tears streaming as she pressed her face against the restored scales. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you...”

Jade crooned softly, nuzzling her rider. Their bond hummed with renewed strength, all traces of corruption gone.

“Remarkable.” Sigmund studied Adelinde. “Though the energy expenditure is concerning.”

Adelinde barely heard him. Her vision swam. She felt hollow, drained in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion.

“Here.” Klara pressed a cup of water into her hands. “Small sips. You pushed yourself too hard.”

“Worth it.” Adelinde watched Zariah and Jade’s reunion. “It worked. We can save them.”

“At what cost?” Gisela asked. The golden wyvern dropped from her window perch, wings stirring papers across the laboratory. “Look at yourself, Adelinde. One bond nearly broke you. How many more can you purify before the strain becomes too much?”

“I’ll refine the process. Find ways to reduce the requirements—”

“While more bonds corrupt? While the network itself edges closer to collapse?” Gisela’s tail lashed. “This knowledge could save lives. But only if it is shared.”

Adelinde’s hands tightened around her cup. “It’s not ready. The energy demands alone make it dangerous. If someone attempted this without proper preparation...”

“Then prepare them.” Gisela fixed her with golden eyes. “Show your sisters what you’ve accomplished. Let them help shoulder this burden before it crushes you.”

“She’s right.” Sigmund moved to examine the pure ravenglass specimen. “Scaling this up without support would be...”

“Suicidal,” Klara said. “My lady, please. You’ve proven it can work. But you can’t do this alone.”

Adelinde forced herself to stand, though her legs trembled. She gathered her notebooks, reviewing measurements and observations. Anything to avoid meeting Gisela’s concerned gaze.

“Scaling up would require...impossible amounts of pure ravenglass. And the risk of feedback...”

“Could it make things worse?” Klara voiced the fear they all shared. “If something went wrong during purification, could it accelerate the corruption instead of removing it?”

“Theoretically? Yes.” Adelinde’s throat tightened. “If I lost control...”

The implications hung heavy in the air.

“You cannot carry this burden alone,” Gisela said. “It is too great, even for you.”

“I know.” Adelinde sank into her chair. “But how can I share it? Irmin will want immediate action, damn the consequences. Elana will see the political implications before the practical ones. And if word of this reaches the wrong ears...”

“Then be selective in what you share.” Sigmund gathered his measurement tools. “Tell them what they need to know—that purification is possible but requires refinement. That you’ve made progress, but need support.”

“And what if that’s not enough? What if they push for immediate implementation before we’ve solved the scaling problems?”

“Then you stand firm.” Gisela’s wings mantled. “You are not that scared child anymore, Adelinde. You are a scholar of the Kingdom, and you have proven your worth today.”

Across the laboratory, Zariah helped Jade to her feet. The wyvern’s movements were steady, her eyes clear and bright...

One success. One small victory against the corruption threatening to consume them all.

But Adelinde’s satisfaction felt hollow as she contemplated the challenges ahead.

“Rest first,” Klara said. “We’ll solve the scaling problems tomorrow.”

But tomorrow felt very far away as Adelinde stared at her notes, mind racing with calculations and consequences.

One restored bond was a triumph—but it had nearly broken her.

How many more would it take to save the Kingdom?

2. Elana

Elana’s fingers traced the letters as she worked, the alchemical lamp casting enough light to make reading possible without straining her tired eyes.

Papers covered her desk in a careful arrangement—financial records to her left, correspondence to her right, all connected by threads of conspiracy that grew clearer with each decoded page.

She adjusted her magnifying lens, focusing on another section of Gerlach’s ledger that Irmin had secured.

The baron’s code wasn’t particularly sophisticated, but it was thorough. Every transaction, every meeting, every secret agreement had been recorded with meticulous precision.

“His own records will destroy him,” she said, transcribing another decoded entry. “If he weren’t trying to destroy the Kingdom, I’d admire his organisation.”

Velten’s silver scales caught the lamplight as he shifted position near the window. “Pride often breeds carelessness. He thought these records secure.”

“Did he?” Elana paused, studying a particular entry. “Or did he want them found eventually? Look at this. Meetings with Molotok envoys, carefully documented. Payments to rogue Guardians tracked down to the last coin.”

She leaned back in her chair, her mind racing as she considered the implications. If Gerlach had intended these records to be found, that added a whole new layer to his schemes.

Velten padded over to the desk, peering down at the papers with keen eyes. “What purpose would it serve him to have this information discovered?”

“Insurance, perhaps.” Elana tapped her chin, considering the question from all angles. “With all these powerful names and incriminating details laid out so neatly, he’s made himself a shield. Move against him directly and he drags half the noble houses down with him.”

She picked up another stack of papers, leafing through them with a deepening frown.

“He’s woven quite the tangled web,” she said after a while. “If even a fraction of these allegations are true, it implicates council members, military leaders, merchant guilds.” She let out a long sigh. “There would be chaos. Utter chaos.”

A growl rumbled deep in Velten’s chest. “All the easier for Molotok to take advantage of the confusion. A Kingdom divided...”

“...is a Kingdom ready to fall.” Elana finished the adage with a terse nod.

She pulled another document closer, squinting at the careful script.

Her magnifier caught another detail—a recurring phrase in the coded sections. “‘When winter calls.’ It appears in multiple entries,” she said. “Always connected to ravenglass shipments.”

“The solstice deadline,” Velten said. “The same one Irmin discovered.”

Elana nodded, adding another note to her growing collection. Dawn’s first light crept through the tall windows, marking how long she’d worked. The council would convene soon, and she needed absolute certainty before making her move.

She stretched, muscles protesting hours of stillness.

“You’re exhausted,” Velten said. “How long has it been since you slept?”

“Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford right now. The evidence is compelling. But Gerlach will have preparations of his own. He’s not a fool.”

“No,” Velten said. “He’s far too cunning for that. And cunning men always have contingencies.”

Elana traced another line of code, adding its meaning to her notes. “Brilliantly so, in this case. See how he’s structured these agreements? Each one carefully balanced against the others. If we move against him directly, he can expose enough of his allies to throw the entire court into chaos.”

“Yet you mean to confront him anyway.” It wasn’t a question.

Elana nodded. “We can’t wait. The solstice deadline approaches, and whatever he’s planning...” She trailed off, a shiver tracing down her neck, despite the warm room. “My father’s death, the ravenglass corruption, the noble house divisions—it’s all connected. All building to something.”

Elana felt Velten’s unease through their bond. The wyvern had always been her steadiest ally, but even he seemed disturbed by the scope of what they’d uncovered.

“If there is doubt, the council will resist,” he said. “Many have ties to Gerlach, whether they admit it or not.”

“I know.” Elana set her jaw. “They’ll resist harder once they realise how many of them he can implicate. Every loan, every favour, every secret meeting—it’s all here in black and white.” She tapped the incriminating ledgers with her quill. “He’s made himself untouchable by making everyone around him vulnerable. There has to be a way around that.”

Elana reached for a fresh sheet of paper and began organising her evidence for presentation. The council would demand absolute proof, delivered in a way that wouldn’t spark immediate panic or a disastrous splintering of already fracturing alliances.

“Balance,” she muttered under her breath as she worked. “Everything in balance. Show enough to prove his guilt, but not so much that the noble houses turn defensive.”

She moved her pen with careful precision, noting key points and connections. She’d need to control the revelation with utmost care.

Too much exposed at once would ignite uproar. Too little would give Gerlach wiggle room to squirm free and retaliate.

“You’re thinking like him now,” Velten said. “Seeing the web of consequences spread out like a spider’s trap.”

Elana paused, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “I suppose I am, aren’t I? Much as it twists my gut to admit.”

She shook her head, unbound hair tumbling around her shoulders. “But I have to.”

Dawn strengthened outside the study’s windows, painting the neatly ordered stacks of paper in shades of pale gold. Soon, the palace would fully rouse itself for the new day, and she would have to present her case before the assembled nobility.

Velten rose, padding over silently to press his head against Elana’s side. She leaned into his solid warmth, allowing herself one tiny moment of respite.

“It’s a lot,” Velten said. “To piece together. To face alone.”

“But I’m not alone, am I? I have you.”

She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and gathered up her organised sheaves of proof. As she reviewed her presentation notes one final time, a new pattern caught her eye. Something in the delicate choreography of timed meetings, the precisely tracked flow of resources and information...

“Wait.” Elana frowned, flipping rapidly between pages. “This isn’t right. He’s not working alone. Not really. Someone else is coordinating this. Someone with even broader vision.”

Velten went still. “Molotok? Are they the ones pulling Gerlach’s strings?”

“No.” Elana shook her head slowly, shuffling through decoded pages. “No. Look here, and here.” She pointed out specific entries with a tapping finger. “See the pattern of payments? The way critical information flows? Gerlach is receiving instructions far more often than he’s giving them. Instructions from sources not explicitly named.”

The wyvern’s eyes sharpened. “So he’s just another puppet?”

“Yes. One moving with others to some greater design.”

Velten shifted his wings. “Then who is the hand behind this particular puzzle? The mind plotting out all the moves?”

“I don’t know.” She squared her shoulders. “But I intend to find out. Because whoever they are, they’ve been playing this game a lot longer than any of us realised.”

3. Irmin

Irmin’s quill scratched against the parchment as she compiled her report, each line carefully chosen to convey the gravity of her discovery without revealing too much about her methods. The garrison’s command office felt too small for the weight of what she’d uncovered, its walls lined with maps and tactical assessments that now seemed woefully inadequate.

Through their bond, Berthold’s restlessness pressed against her mind. The wyvern paced the courtyard below, his massive form casting long shadows in the afternoon light. He didn’t like being separated, even by stone and distance, not with corrupted ravenglass potentially nearby.

She paused in her writing, reviewing what she’d documented so far. The evidence was circumstantial but compelling: supply manifests showing unusual patterns, guard rotations that didn’t match reported strength, and most damning, financial records that traced back to Gerlach’s holdings through a web of intermediaries.

But something still felt wrong, suggesting a larger pattern she couldn’t quite grasp.

A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. “Enter.”

Riven slipped inside, moving with his usual casual grace. But something in his expression made her pause—a tension around his eyes that didn’t match his customary smirk.

“You summoned me, Commander? I’m touched. Usually you just have the guards drag me wherever you want me.”

“Sit down.” She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “I need your expertise on something.”

His eyebrows rose as he settled into the offered seat. “My expertise? My, my, how times have changed. What happened to not trusting the sneaky rogue?”

“I still don’t trust you.” She shuffled through her papers, selecting a particular map. “But you know things. Things about Gerlach’s operation that could prove useful.”

“Allegedly know things.” But his usual mockery felt hollow, distracted. His eyes kept drifting to the window as if searching for something in the distance.

Irmin spread the map across her desk and weighted its corners with ink pots. “The stronghold at Mount Verigar. What do you know about it?”

The change in his posture was subtle but immediate—a slight stiffening of his shoulders, a tightening around his mouth. “What makes you think I know anything about that particular fortress?”

“Because you’re not as good at hiding your reactions as you think you are.” She tapped the map. “And because three separate supply manifests mention it as a delivery point, all using coding patterns you’ve helped us break before.”

He leaned forward, studying the map. “Mount Verigar. Dormant volcano, heavily fortified, commands the only viable pass through that section of the border range.” His finger traced the route. “Natural chokepoint for trade and troop movements. Excellent defensive position.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what aren’t you telling me?” She fixed him with a hard stare. “You know something specific about that stronghold. Something that makes you uncomfortable.”

He sat back. “Let’s just say I’ve had...experiences there. Not all of them pleasant.”

“I haven’t been there myself. The garrison reports directly to the border command, operates semi-independently due to its strategic position.” She paused, studying his reaction. “But you have been there. Recently.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re avoiding eye contact, which you only do when something actually matters to you.” She gathered her papers. “The stronghold’s being used as a distribution hub for corrupted ravenglass, isn’t it?”

“Very good, Commander. Though I suspect you already knew that before calling me here.”

“I had suspicions. But I needed confirmation from someone who’s seen it firsthand.” She pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. “Tell me everything. Layout, defences, guard patterns. Especially anything that’s changed recently.”

Riven’s fingers drummed against her desk. “The outer walls are standard military design, but the interior...” He paused. “They’ve modified the old lava tubes, turned them into a maze of storage chambers and hidden passages. The heat keeps most people from exploring too deeply, which makes it perfect for their purposes.”

“How many guards?”

“Official complement is two hundred, plus support staff. Actual numbers are closer to three hundred, with at least fifty being Gerlach’s personal troops disguised as regular military.”

Irmin moved her quill rapidly, noting details. “And the ravenglass storage?”

“Deep in the volcanic chambers. They use the natural heat to accelerate the corruption process somehow.” His voice caught slightly. “The effects on nearby wyverns can be intense. Even brief exposure can destabilise bonds.”

She glanced up at him. “You’ve seen it happen.”

“Seen it? I’ve felt it.” His hand pressed against his chest, where she knew his own bond with Kornel still pulsed, despite their separation. “The corruption...it changes things. Twists them. Makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself, about your bond.”

“That’s why you left.”

“Part of the reason.” He stood abruptly, moving to the window. “Kornel...he was exposed during a delivery. Started showing signs of corruption. I couldn’t...I wouldn’t let them...” He trailed off, staring into the distance.

Berthold’s attention sharpened. The wyvern’s natural suspicion of Riven warred with grudging sympathy.

“You pulled him out before the corruption could take hold,” Irmin said.

“Tried to.” Riven’s shoulders tensed. “But the damage was already done. The bond...it’s not the same. May never be the same.” He turned back to her, and for once his expression held no trace of mockery. “He’s still out there, you know. Still injured from our last encounter. I can feel him through what’s left of our bond. He’s in pain. He’s confused.”

Irmin set down her quill, something tight forming in her chest. “You want him back.”

“More than anything.” The admission seemed to cost him, each word dragged out unwillingly. “But he needs time to heal. And I...I need to make this right. Need to stop them before they can do to others what they did to us.”

She stood, moving to join him at the window. “Having a rogue rider working with us officially, it wouldn’t go over well with the squadron. There are protocols, regulations...”

“Always the good soldier.” But there was no bite in his words. “Following rules, maintaining order, protecting the precious chain of command.”

“The rules exist for a reason.”

“Do they?” He turned to face her. “Or do they exist because people like Gerlach need systems they can corrupt? Structures they can twist to their own purposes?”

Berthold’s thoughts again pressed against Irmin’s mind. “He speaks some truth, though it pains me to admit it.”

Irmin sighed, returning to her desk. “We need to deal with what’s in front of us. Mount Verigar has to be neutralised before they can distribute more corrupted ravenglass.”

“It won’t be easy.” Riven’s voice steadied as he shifted to tactical considerations. “The fortress was designed to repel armies. Even with surprise on our side, a direct assault would be costly.”

“Then we don’t assault it directly.” She pulled the map closer. “We use what you know about the internal layout. Find a way to hit them where they’re vulnerable.”

“The volcanic chambers.” He moved to study the map. “The lava tubes create natural weak points in the defences. If we can get a small team inside...”

“We can disrupt their operation without a full-scale battle.” She began making notes. “But we’ll need complete details on the tunnel system. Every entrance, every chamber, every guard post.”

“I can provide that.” His finger traced a particular route. “This passage...it’s rarely used because of the heat, but it leads directly to their main storage area. A small team could—”

“Could get themselves killed if anything goes wrong.” She looked up at him. “Are you sure about this?”

“Commander, that place took something from me. Something precious. Helping destroy it isn’t just duty—it’s justice.”

She studied him for a long moment, weighing options and risks. Finally, she nodded. “I’ll need to brief my sisters. The general too, though carefully. We can’t risk word getting back to Gerlach before we’re ready.”

“Your sisters?” His eyebrows rose. “I thought you three weren’t exactly on speaking terms these days.”

“This is too big for old grievances.” She gathered her notes. “Adelinde needs to know about the accelerated corruption process—it might help her research. And Elana...she needs to be prepared for the political fallout when we move against a major military installation.”

“Look at you, all grown up and learning to play nice with others.” Some of his usual mockery crept back into his tone, but it felt forced. “Though I notice you’re not planning to mention my involvement in your official report.”

“Would you prefer I did?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure the general would love to hear how I’m collaborating with a known rogue rider.”

“Fair point.” He moved towards the door, then paused. “Commander...thank you. For understanding about Kornel.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

He gave a mock salute and slipped out, leaving her alone with her thoughts and half-finished reports.

Berthold’s presence steadied her. “The rogue speaks truth about the risks. That fortress will not fall easily,” he said.

“No.” She pulled a fresh sheet of parchment closer. “But it will fall. It has to.”

She began writing her official report, carefully omitting certain details while emphasising others. Her sisters would get a more complete version, though even they wouldn’t know everything.

Irmin stared at the stack of finished reports, but her mind kept returning to Riven’s pain when he spoke of Kornel. She understood that bond—the deep connection that defied regulations and reason. Berthold’s own memories of times they’d been separated—the hollow ache of distance—came across through their link.

She pulled out one final piece of parchment, this one bearing her personal seal rather than military markings. Her quill hovered over the blank page as she considered the consequences of what she was about to do.

Berthold’s thoughts pressed against hers. “Sometimes the right path lies outside the rules.”

She began to write, choosing each word with care. The order would need to be specific enough to ensure Kornel’s safety while vague enough to protect those carrying it out. She included medical provisions, notes about potential corruption exposure, warnings about the partially severed bond.

If anyone discovered she was actively helping a rogue rider reunite with his wyvern...

But she thought of Riven’s face when he spoke of Kornel’s pain, and her resolve hardened.

When she finished, she read it through once more, then sealed it with dark wax.

Her ring pressed into the cooling surface, marking it with her authority.

“We need them both,” she said, setting the sealed letter aside for morning delivery. “We need every ally we can trust.”

“Even rogues?”

“Especially rogues.”

4. Adelinde

Adelinde’s eyes burned as she pored over the ancient text, its faded script swimming before her tired vision.

The laboratory’s alchemical lamps cast steady light across weathered pages, but the words themselves seemed to shift and dance, taunting her with their obscurity.

“‘The resonance flows like water, seeking harmony with the celestial sphere,’” she read aloud. “‘Three points make the sacred triangle, three facets catch the light of stars.’”

With a sigh, Adelinde sat back in her chair and rubbed her aching temples. “Why can’t these texts ever speak plainly? Just once, I’d like to find a passage that says, ‘Adelinde, the secret to ravenglass is...’”

Across the cluttered workspace, Sigmund looked up from his translation work, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes behind his spectacles. “Ah, but where would be the fun in that? The ancients delighted in couching their wisdom in riddles and metaphor.”

“Well, I’m not feeling particularly delighted at the moment.” Adelinde scowled at the offending pages. “All this talk of sacred geometry and celestial harmony... It’s enough to make my head spin.”

Sigmund set his quill down. “Think of it as a test. The ancients believed that certain knowledge should be hidden from casual readers, reserved only for those who possessed the dedication and acuity to unravel their cryptic meanings.”

Adelinde deepened her scowl. “So you’re saying this headache is a sign of my worthiness?”

The corner of Sigmund’s lips quirked. “Something like that.”

“Lucky me,” she grumbled, but bent back to the text, her finger tracing lines of script so ancient they seemed to carry the weight of aeons in their faded forms.

“‘The pure crystal dreams of heaven’s light,’” she recited, brow furrowing, “‘its faces turned to catch the threefold blessing.’ Threefold blessing...That’s the second time it’s mentioned something coming in threes.”

“Indeed.” Sigmund leaned forward to peer at the passage. “The concept of threes is woven throughout the text like a unifying thread—three points, three facets, three blessings...”

“But why?” Adelinde tapped her finger against the page. “What’s so significant about the number three?”

Sigmund shrugged. “It’s a recurring theme in many belief systems. The Holy Triumvirate in the Molotokian faith, the Three Pillars of Wisdom in Sieshin philosophy. Perhaps the ravenglass scholars borrowed from such traditions.”

Adelinde shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think it’s mere symbolism or coincidence. Look here.” She reached for a fresh sheet of paper, adding to her growing collection of scribbled notes and diagrams. “The text keeps connecting these tripartite concepts to practical qualities of ravenglass—its resonance, its structure, the way it drinks in light.”

Sigmund’s eyebrows lifted. “You think the repeated mentions of threes might be a clue to some fundamental principle governing its behaviour?”

“Maybe...” Adelinde gnawed on the end of her quill, a habit her etiquette tutors had never quite managed to break. “The ancient scholars clearly understood something about ravenglass that modern research has overlooked, some crucial insight we’ve lost along the way.” She jabbed the quill at the passage. “Ha! Here it is again—‘When elements align in sacred geometry, power flows between like rivers joining the sea.’ And this part: ‘The greater mass draws the lesser as moons dance attendance on their mother planet.’”

Sigmund rubbed his chin. “You’re right. There’s something more than poetic licence at work here.”

Adelinde pushed back from the desk. “I need to test this. If I’m interpreting these passages correctly, the arrangement of ravenglass shards should have a measurable effect on their resonant properties.”

She moved to her workbench, where a collection of ravenglass specimens lay. Each shard was perfectly formed, their void-black facets seeming to drink in the lamp’s steady glow.

Arranging them carefully, Adelinde positioned three shards in a triangular formation, consulting the text as she did so. “‘The triangle opens heaven’s door...’”

Meticulously, she placed a fourth shard, forming a square with the first three. “‘While the square binds earth’s strength.’”

Behind her, Sigmund hummed. “The ancients ascribed great meaning to shapes, especially those with strong symmetry. The equilateral triangle was thought to represent divine harmony, while the square embodied the solidity and order of the material plane.”

“How fortunate that the forces governing our universe have such an aesthetic sense,” she said. “But look, there’s a logic to it. What if these specific arrangements affect the way ravenglass resonates on an energetic level?”

She focused on the shards, reaching out with her mind. She sensed the flow, perceived the patterns.

The resonance rang bright in her thoughts.

“Sigmund, look at this! The resonance patterns are shifting based on how the shards are positioned relative to each other. In the triangular arrangement, the energy flow between them increases by nearly half compared to a random scattering. But when I add the fourth shard to create a square, the resonance stabilises, becomes more focused and coherent. But it’s not as strong...it’s as if something’s lost.”

“Remarkable!” he said. “And see here, the effect scales with mass as well. The larger shards seem to exert a kind of influence over the smaller ones, entraining their resonance into harmonious patterns.”

Adelinde’s hands shook slightly as she made minute adjustments to the arrangements. “‘Three above and three below,’” she murmured, more to herself than Sigmund. “‘As stars wheel in their courses, so below must mirror above.’”

She grabbed her quill and began sketching, the quill’s nib flying across the paper as she worked through the geometries. “What if we expanded on this concept? If these harmonic resonances can be amplified by precise arrangement, it stands to reason we could create focusing arrays—multiple shards working in concert to augment each other’s effects.”

Sigmund peered over her shoulder. “A symphony of ravenglass, each shard acting as a single voice in a greater chorus. The implications are staggering.”

“Staggering...and terrifying,” Adelinde said slowly. A chill prickled down her spine as the ramifications sank in. “If these principles hold true for pure ravenglass, they would work for corrupted specimens as well. Can you imagine? Anyone possessing this knowledge could create amplification lattices, structures to bolster the blight’s spread...”

She turned back to the workbench, staring at the gleaming shards as if seeing them for the first time.

Sigmund’s face was grave as he skimmed through another of the ancient texts. “‘When the great mass turns from light to shadow, its children follow, and darkness flows like water through the sacred channels.’” He set the page down. “I think we must consider the possibility that we’re not the first to discover these hidden truths.”

Adelinde barely heard him. Blood roared in her ears. “Sigmund. If these harmonic principles hold true at all scales...”

“Then the Kingdom’s ravenglass core would be the greatest resonance amplifier of all,” he finished. “And if it were to become corrupted, if its influence spread along the web connecting all the far-flung nodes—”

“It would be catastrophic,” Adelinde said, her mouth dry. “A blight upon the very soul of our world.” She looked again at the shards on her workbench.

How could something so beautiful conceal such potential for ruin?

Sigmund laid a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps it’s a mercy these secrets have lain hidden so long, their truth obscured in veiled wordings and cryptic verses. Dangerous knowledge in the wrong hands...”

Adelinde heard the unspoken dread in his voice.

“I have to tell my sisters. The council.” She swallowed hard. “They have to know what we’re facing.”

“Tread carefully,” Sigmund said. “Revelation without wisdom is a dangerous thing. We must be sure of our conclusions before we let this knowledge spread.”

Adelinde nodded. He was right, of course. To voice their suspicions without absolute certainty would be to invite panic.

But even as she turned back to her experiments, hands moving to rearrange the shards into ever more complex patterns, Adelinde couldn’t shake the chill certainty.

The secret geometries of ravenglass, the elegant dance of harmony and resonance...

What should have been a symphony was beginning to feel more like a dirge.

And she couldn’t help but wonder how many others had already learned to hear its tune.

5. Elana

Elana moved through the council chamber, her guide-cane sweeping a path before her.

She could feel the weight of the nobles’ gazes on her, their whispered speculations fluttering in her wake.

Elana kept her chin high, her pace measured. She would give them no cause to doubt her fitness, no excuse to question her resolve.

Velten’s presence steadied her, a warm glow at the edges of her consciousness. Though the wyvern remained outside the chamber, she carried his strength with her.

Reaching her seat, Elana turned and adjusted her position with minute precision until the light fell across the council floor just so, illuminating the faces of the assembled nobility without casting her own features into shadow. It was a small trick, but one that allowed her to track expressions and movements without unduly straining her vision.

Across the curved expanse of the council floor, Baron Gerlach lounged in his high-backed chair, confidence evident in the languid drape of his formal robes and the smile that played about his lips.

“My lords and ladies.” Elana pitched her voice to carry, letting the natural acoustics of the chamber lend resonance to her words. “I have called this meeting to address grave concerns. Concerns that touch on the very future of our Kingdom.”

She let the statement hang for a moment, gauging the ripples of unease that spread through the assembled nobility.

“Recent events have brought disturbing patterns to light,” Elana said. “Patterns that, if left unchecked, threaten the foundations of our society.”

With a fluid motion, she reached into her satchel and withdrew her notes. “Documents were recovered during a military investigation into the smuggling of corrupted ravenglass—a ledger. Its contents reveal a conspiracy that reaches into the highest echelons of our great Kingdom.”

The whispers intensified.

Elana let the susurrus build for a long moment before raising her free hand for silence.

“I know there have been many rumours. Many stories and conjectures traded in the halls of this very palace. Allow me to lay some of those rumours to rest.”

With deliberate motions, she spread out her notes.

“The evidence shows systematic coordination between elements of the Guardian order and certain members of this very council. Coordination aimed at weakening our defences, undermining the sacred bonds between wyvern and rider, and destabilising the hard-won peace that has allowed our Kingdom to prosper.”

Gerlach shifted in his seat, the movement drawing Elana’s eye. Though his expression remained neutral, she noted the new tension in the set of his shoulders, the tightening at the corners of his mouth.

Good. She had his attention.

“This is preposterous.” Lord Darius surged to his feet, his chair scraping harsh against the marble. “The Guardians are the shield of the realm, bound by sacred oath to uphold our laws and traditions. To suggest they would betray that trust is an insult of the highest order.”

Elana inclined her head. “I understand your disbelief, Lord Darius. Truly, I do. It is an unthinkable betrayal.” She tapped the open pages. “And yet, the evidence is here, in ink and parchment. Specific dates, locations, and names that align with known incidents of ravenglass corruption, with reports of weakened defences along our borders.”

She began listing examples, each chosen with care to resonate with a different faction of the assembled nobility. Trade disruptions that had cost the merchant houses dearly. Lapses in border security that had allowed Molotok raids on the holdings of the frontier lords. Discrepancies in the royal treasury ledgers that hinted at embezzlement and misappropriation of funds.

With each revelation, the chamber grew quieter, the whispers fading into uneasy silence.

Elana kept her tone cool, dispassionate, allowing the facts to speak for themselves.

“Perhaps most concerning,” she said, turning another page, “are these records detailing clandestine meetings between certain members of this council and envoys from Molotok. Meetings that took place mere weeks before their formally announced diplomatic mission.” She looked up. “The same mission that arrived with such unseemly haste to offer condolences for my father’s death...and to extend an offer of ‘aid’ in securing our northern border.”

The silence became absolute.

“There are only two possibilities. Either our esteemed neighbours in Molotok have developed the ability to see the future...or they had foreknowledge of the King’s death. Foreknowledge shared by their allies within our own court.”

“Baseless slander!” Baron Gerlach launched himself upright, his robes swirling. “You go too far, Lady Elana. To hurl such vile accusations without a shred of proof—”

“Proof?” Elana’s voice cracked through the chamber. “I have provided proof in abundance, Baron. Proof that you yourself have graciously provided.” She tapped the incriminating pages. “Did you think your code was unbreakable? Your secrets safe behind a veil of numbers and false names?”

Her lips curved in a smile. “Allow me to dispel that misconception. Every entry in this ledger has been verified. Every connection traced to its source. The web of your duplicity is laid bare for all to see.”

“This is madness.” Gerlach shook his head. “These wild tales are nothing more than a desperate attempt to distract from House Darius’s own crimes!”

Elana tensed. She had expected this gambit, but it still required delicate handling.

“Crimes?” She kept her voice mild. “Of what crimes do you speak, my lord?”

“Do not play coy.” Gerlach’s eyes narrowed. “The dagger found at the scene of the King’s murder bore the sigil of House Darius. Or have you forgotten that inconvenient detail in your haste to shift blame?”

Mutters raced through the chamber, nobles shifting uneasily in their seats.

Elana held up a hand for silence, though it took a long moment for the whispers to subside. “The dagger was a ruse. A ploy to cast suspicion on an innocent house and conceal the real culprits behind my father’s death.”

“So you say.” Gerlach glowered at her. “But what proof do you offer? What evidence beyond your own assertions?”

“The evidence is clear. Payments made to known assassins,” she said. “Meetings with Molotok agents held in secret. A pattern of destabilisation that could only benefit our enemies. What more do you require?”

Gerlach scoffed. “Ink on a page proves nothing. Documents can be forged. Ledgers falsified. Especially when they so conveniently appear at the very moment House Darius’s crimes are coming to light.”

Elana sensed Velten’s surge of anger. “He seeks to unbalance you,” the wyvern said through their bond. “To turn the council against truths they have no wish to face.”

Elana knew he was right. Gerlach’s tactic was as cunning as it was desperate—but it was a tactic she’d anticipated.

“My lords and ladies,” she said, raising her voice above the growing murmurs. “I understand your doubts. In a time of such upheaval, such uncertainty, it is natural to grasp for any explanation, no matter how comforting the lie.”

She pushed to her feet, her grip tight on the polished haft of her guide-cane.

“The baron speaks of proof, of evidence. Very well. Let us examine the evidence together.”

Elana circled the council floor, her steps sure and unhurried.

“Correspondence between Gerlach and known Molotok sympathisers, promising support for their ‘rightful claims’ on our northern territories.” She held up a sheaf of papers, the scratches of hurried quillwork dark against the parchment. “Witnessed and verified by multiple sources.”

Gerlach opened his mouth to object, but Elana silenced him with a wave.

“Manifests detailing the movements of tainted ravenglass, shipped through border outposts under Gerlach’s direct control.” Another set of documents slapped down on the council table. “Each shipment corresponding with a fresh outbreak of corrupted beasts and broken rider bonds.”

She turned to face Gerlach directly. “But most damning of all, a letter written in your own hand, Baron. Sealed with your own signet and promising your ‘esteemed friends’ that Ostreich would be ‘ripe for the plucking’ before the solstice moon reached its zenith.”

Gerlach took a sharp intake of breath. “Lies! Forgeries and slander, all of it!”

“Are you accusing me of forging your own seal? Of falsifying your hand, your private code?” She let the question hang for a long moment before continuing. “I think not, my lord. I think, perhaps, you have simply been outplayed.”

Elana turned slowly, making eye contact with each noble in turn. “The proof is before you. Verified. Documented. Irrefutable. Baron Gerlach conspired to plunge Ostreich into chaos. Conspired to murder my father, your King, as a first step towards our Kingdom’s ruin.” She drew herself up, shoulders squared. “But perhaps most disturbing are the preparations for something larger. Something timed to coincide with the winter solstice.” She paused, letting the tension build. “A coordinated effort to—”

“Enough.” Gerlach’s voice cut through the chamber. “These accusations are as baseless as they are convenient. Though I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised, given their source.”

Velten hummed a warning. “He’s ready. Be careful.”

“Baseless?” Elana kept her tone cool. “The ledger’s authenticity is beyond question. Every entry verified, every connection confirmed.”

“Oh, I’m sure the ledger exists.” Gerlach stood, commanding attention. “Just as I’m sure it was carefully planned to appear at exactly this moment. After all, what better way to deflect attention from House Darius’s involvement in the King’s death?”

Murmurs rippled through the chamber.

“How convenient that evidence appears, implicating those who dare question your family’s fitness to rule. How perfectly timed to distract from your sister’s...aggressive methods of investigation.”

“The evidence speaks for itself,” Elana said. “Unless you deny these meetings took place? These payments were made?”

“I deny nothing.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I serve the Kingdom as I always have, working to maintain stability while others play at politics. But tell us, Lady Elana, what of the dagger found bearing Lord Darius’s sigil? What of the witnesses who place his agents near the scene of your father’s death?”

The chamber erupted in whispers. Elana felt the mood shifting, noblemen and women choosing sides based on old alliances and fresh fears.

“The dagger was stolen. Planted to—”

“Stolen? How convenient.” Gerlach’s voice hardened. “Just as this supposed ledger appears when scrutiny falls too close to your allies. One must admire your loyalty to House Darius, even if it blinds you to their obvious guilt.”

“You question my loyalty?” Steel crept into her tone. “While consorting with enemy agents? While funding the corruption of our wyvern bonds?”

“I question your judgement.” He gestured to her guide-cane. “Though perhaps that’s unfair. You’ve done remarkably well, given your...limitations. But in times of crisis, the Kingdom needs clarity. Strength. Not politically motivated accusations based on convenient evidence.”

“Let them see,” Velten urged through their bond. “Show them your strength.”

Elana stood. Due to the chamber’s arranged heights, Gerlach was forced to look up. “My judgement is clear enough to see your machinations, Baron,” she said. “Clear enough to recognise a conspiracy that threatens everything we’ve built.” She turned to address the full council. “The evidence is before you. Verified. Documented. Undeniable. You must decide. Will you act on truth or hide behind convenient doubts?”

“Must we?” Gerlach’s smile widened. “Or should we perhaps examine who benefits most from these accusations? Who seeks to eliminate political rivals while consolidating power?”

The chamber buzzed with speculation. Elana felt support wavering, nobles retreating into calculated neutrality rather than risk choosing the wrong side.

“This meeting is adjourned,” she said before Gerlach could press his advantage. “Review the evidence. Consider its implications. But remember, the solstice approaches, and with it, deadlines that threaten us all.”

She gathered her papers with precise movements, her guide-cane tapping a measured rhythm as she left the chamber. Only when the doors closed behind her did she allow her shoulders to tense.

Velten waited in the corridor, his silver scales catching the morning light from the high windows. “You’ve shaken him.”

Her grip tightened on her cane. “But it wasn’t enough.”

6. Irmin

Sulphur stung Irmin’s nostrils as Berthold banked through volcanic updrafts. The dormant volcano loomed before them, its scarred flanks painted orange by the molten streams that still flowed beneath hardened rock.

Below, the stronghold’s walls bristled with activity—soldiers rushing to defensive positions, crossbows glinting in morning light.

Berthold’s certainty steadied her. The wyvern’s wings beat a controlled rhythm against hot air, maintaining perfect position as the rest of the squadron formed behind them.

“Third and Fourth Wings, maintain high cover,” she commanded through the bond network. “First Wing with me. Second Wing, secure the perimeter. Watch for runners.”

Acknowledgements came back crisp and professional, though she caught the undertone of nervous energy. They’d trained for fortress assaults, but this was different. This was attacking their own stronghold, their own people.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Riven’s voice carried easily despite the wind. “They stopped being ‘our people’ when they chose Gerlach over the Kingdom.”

Irmin ignored him, focused on the stronghold’s layout. The corrupted ravenglass would be in the reinforced storage vaults—standard procedure for sensitive materials. But getting there meant fighting through multiple layers of defence, each held by soldiers who’d once served beside them.

“Movement on the walls,” Berthold reported. “Crossbow teams taking position. They’re well-organised.”

“Of course they are.” Irmin’s hand tightened on the reins. “They’re Imperial garrison troops. Or they were.”

She could see them clearly now—familiar uniforms, familiar formations. These weren’t mercenaries or hired thugs. These were trained soldiers who’d chosen Gerlach’s conspiracy over their oaths.

That made them more dangerous. And more deserving of what was coming.

“Squadron, prepare to engage.” Her voice carried command strength through the bond network. “Primary objective is the ravenglass vault. Captain Ludolf, I need your wing on prisoner capture. These men chose their side—but we need answers more than corpses.”

“They’ll have trapped the obvious approaches,” Riven said. “Probably redirected the volcanic vents for area denial.”

Irmin finally looked at him. “And you know this, how?”

“Same way I know about the secondary entrance through the lava tubes.” His grin widened. “I may have helped design some of their security measures. In a previous life.”

Berthold’s suspicion rumbled against Irmin’s mind. “He gives away secrets too easily.”

“Time to earn that trust you keep asking for,” Irmin said. “Show us this entrance.”

Riven gestured ahead, leading them towards a series of dark openings in the volcano’s flank. “They’ll be guarded, of course. But not as heavily as the main vault. Most people don’t fancy fighting in active lava tubes.”

“Most people aren’t fighting to save the Kingdom.” Irmin raised her arm, signalling the squadron to split according to plan. “First Wing, form up. We go in hard and fast. No hesitation.”

The words felt bitter, but they had to be said. These weren’t practice drills or border skirmishes. This was war—civil war, if they failed to contain the conspiracy.

Berthold’s wings caught a thermal, carrying them higher for a better view. The stronghold’s defences were impressive—multiple layers of walls, strategically positioned ballista emplacements, troops moving with disciplined precision.

But she saw weaknesses too. Gaps in the patrol patterns, blind spots in the artillery coverage. The defenders were good, but they were also arrogant. They didn’t expect a direct assault on their position.

Time to prove them wrong.

“Sergeant Wulfram, take Second Wing and hit their eastern wall. Make it loud, make it obvious. Draw their attention.”

“Understood, Commander.” Wulfram’s wyvern peeled away, leading his section towards the stronghold’s most visible approach.

“Third and Fourth Wings, maintain high cover. When their forces commit to the eastern defence, take out their cannon positions.”

More acknowledgements, more wings breaking formation to take position. Soon only First Wing remained—her elite strike force, trained for precisely this kind of precision assault.

“Ready?” Riven’s casual tone didn’t quite mask his tension.

Irmin drew her sword, its blade midnight-black in the volcanic glow. “Lead on, rogue. But remember—one wrong move, one hint of betrayal...”

“Yes, yes, horrible death, eternal shame. I get it...” He urged them towards the largest lava tube. “Shall we?”

The tube’s entrance gaped like an open wound in the volcano’s flesh. Heat shimmered the air, making distance difficult to judge. But Riven led them sure and steady.

“The tunnel branches ahead. Main fork leads to the vault’s rear entrance. Secondary paths good for exit strategy if things go wrong.”

“They won’t.” Irmin’s voice carried absolute certainty, though her grip tightened on her sword.

Berthold’s hunting focus sharpened. The wyvern’s wings tucked close as they flew deeper into the tube, his movements precise in the confined space.

Heat pressed against them, stealing breath and focus. But they pushed deeper, following Riven’s lead through darkness lit only by the occasional glimpse of molten rock.

Shouts echoed from the stronghold above—Wulfram’s distraction taking effect. Good. Let them commit forces to the obvious threat while First Wing struck from below.

“Guards ahead,” Berthold warned through their bond. “Two positions, well-concealed.”

Irmin nodded, already plotting the assault. “Take them fast. No time for subtlety now.”

Berthold’s roar shook the lava tube as they burst from shadow. The guards barely had time to shout before massive claws swept them aside, their crossbows clattering uselessly against stone.

First Wing followed close behind, their own wyverns moving with coordination in the tight space. They secured the guards quickly—unconscious but alive for questioning later.

“Vault entrance is just ahead,” Riven said. “But they’ll have heard that roar. Element of surprise is gone.”

“Good.” Irmin’s sword caught red light from nearby magma flows. “Let them know we’re coming. Let them prepare. It won’t help.”

The battle descended into controlled chaos as Irmin’s forces pushed deeper into the stronghold. Crossbow bolts hissed through the volcanic air while wyvern screams echoed off stone walls. Through their bond network, Irmin felt the strain on her squadron, exhaustion and injury taking their toll.

“Third Wing, shore up that western approach!” She parried a guard’s thrust, driving him back. “Fourth Wing, maintain elevation! Don’t let them pin us down!”

But coordination grew harder as the corrupted ravenglass’s influence spread. As they drew closer to the vault, its resonance affected their wyverns, making the great beasts increasingly agitated and difficult to control.

Berthold’s disgust at the corruption mixed with determination. The wyvern’s claws tore through stone as they fought their way forward, his movements precise despite the growing chaos.

“The main vault’s just ahead,” Riven said. “Though I should mention, they’ve probably activated the secondary defences by now.”

“Meaning?”

A series of explosions answered Irmin’s question, sending debris raining down from carefully prepared charges. The tunnel ahead collapsed partially, leaving only a narrow gap.

“Meaning that”—Riven ducked—“they’re funnelling us into a killing ground.”

Irmin surveyed the situation. The collapsed tunnel would force them through single file—perfect for the defenders’ crossbows. But they couldn’t turn back, not when they were so close to the stockpile.

“First Wing, re-form on me,” she said. “We go through together. Hard and fast.”

“Commander.” Sergeant Wulfram’s voice carried strain through the bond network. “Eastern squad reports heavy resistance. They can’t hold much longer.”

“They don’t have to.” She tightened her grip on Berthold’s reins. “We end this now.”

They charged through the gap as one, Berthold’s massive form barely squeezing through the narrow space.

Crossbow bolts filled the air, but they’d trained for this.

The defenders had established multiple firing positions, their weapons augmented with corrupted ravenglass that made each bolt pulse with sickly purple energy. One struck a rider’s mount, and the wyvern went berserk, throwing its partner before crashing into a wall.

“Keep moving!” Irmin drove them forward, even as more riders fell to injury or exhaustion. “The vault is our only objective! Everything else is secondary!”

“They’re getting desperate,” Riven called over the noise. “Watch for—”

Movement flashed in Irmin’s peripheral vision. A group of defenders emerged from a hidden alcove, wielding corrupted ravenglass shards like daggers. Their blades struck at her exposed flank while she was focused on the crossbow positions.

Time slowed. She saw the purple-tinged ravenglass approaching and knew she couldn’t dodge in time.

Then Berthold’s roar shook the tunnel. The wyvern’s tail swept around impossibly fast, scattering her attackers. “I can’t stay here. The corruption.”

“Let us off. We’ll regroup outside.”

Berthold landed, allowing Irmin and Riven to climb down.

Through their bond, she felt his unwavering loyalty—stronger than corruption, stronger than fear.

“Go!”

Berthold and the other wyverns retreated through the tunnel.

The vault’s massive doors loomed ahead, their surface etched with warning runes.

“Secure the perimeter,” Irmin said. “No one enters or leaves without my direct order.”

Her remaining forces established defensive positions while Riven worked on the lock.

The door opened and Irmin crossed the threshold.

Inside, crates upon crates of corrupted ravenglass stood, enough to poison wyvern bonds across multiple regions.

“This is more than we expected.” Riven moved beside her. “Someone’s really got it in for your wyverns.”

She nodded grimly.

“Now what? It’s not like we can get the wyverns to carry all this stuff.”

“You’re right. This is...” She grinned and turned to him. “The lava pools!”

7. Adelinde

Adelinde’s hands trembled as she arranged the final ravenglass specimen, each movement precise. Pure shards formed an intricate geometric pattern across her workbench, their void-black surfaces drinking in the laboratory’s alchemical light.

At the pattern’s centre, corrupted fragments thrummed with malevolent energy—a larger concentration than she’d ever attempted to purify at once.

“The resonance framework is stable.” Adelinde checked her calculations again, though she’d already verified them dozens of times. “If the pure specimens act as conduits, sharing the energetic load between them...”

Sigmund, bent over his own notes nearby, glanced up at her words. “The theory is sound,” he said. “However, the strain on both the ravenglass and yourself will be immense. Are you certain—”

“I’m certain it’s necessary,” Adelinde cut in, more sharply than she’d intended. She took a steadying breath, trying to centre herself. “We don’t have the luxury of incremental progress anymore. Not with what Irmin discovered in that border stronghold.”

Adelinde felt a ripple of concern from Gisela.

“You push yourself too hard, Adelinde,” Gisela said, her mental voice resonating. “To attempt to purify this many corrupted specimens at once...the risk—”

“The risk is one we must take. If this works, if the amplification cascade holds, we’ll finally have a way to cleanse larger batches of tainted ravenglass. Don’t you see? It’s the only way to get ahead of the spread.”

Klara looked up from her workstation. “But my lady, the danger of overloading the purification array is too high. Perhaps if we took more time to test the scaling process gradually—”

“Time is the one thing we don’t have,” Adelinde snapped. At Klara’s wince, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Klara. I shouldn’t take my fears out on you. But surely you feel it too—the wrongness in the air, the sense that some critical tipping point rushes to meet us.”

She turned back to the workbench, fingers tracing the edge of a pure shard. Even that brief contact with the uncorrupted ravenglass soothed her, its perfect resonance a song just beyond hearing.

“The blight spreads with each passing day,” Adelinde said. “It races through the leylines that bind our Kingdom together, fraying the very fabric of the wyvern–rider bonds. If we can’t find a way to purify the corrupted specimens faster, in greater quantities...”

She let the words trail off. They all knew what was at stake.

The ravenglass network wasn’t just a curiosity or a convenient conduit, it was the foundation upon which their Kingdom’s defences rested. The living weave that allowed riders and their wyvern partners to unite in body, mind, and soul.

If that weave unravelled, if the bonds broke and the beasts turned feral...

Adelinde suppressed a shudder, shoving the thought aside with an act of will. Individual shards and minor caches of corrupted ravenglass could be cleansed—that much she’d proven. But to truly safeguard the Kingdom, they needed to work on an entirely different scale.

A far, far larger one.

Adelinde reviewed her notes one final time. On paper, the schematics were flawless—a web of pure ravenglass specimens arranged to form an amplification circuit, their harmonious resonance channelled to purge the discord from the tainted specimens.

Each corrupted shard would be cleansed in sequence, the purified energy cascading from one to the next in an ever-building wave of restoration.

In theory, at least.

She took up position before the bench, steeling herself for the work ahead. “I’m ready to begin.”

“Remember,” Sigmund said, “you must control the flow at all times. Guide the cleansing resonance, but do not let it master you. If the energies build beyond your ability to direct them...”

He did not finish the warning. He didn’t need to.

Adelinde closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind.

The pure ravenglass sang to her, their crystalline patterns as familiar to her now as her own heartbeat.

But the corrupted shards were something else.

Even the lightest brush of her psyche against their twisted structures felt like plague and discord. They didn’t sing—they screamed: an existential howl that threatened to deafen her mind’s ear.

Slowly, carefully, Adelinde began to weave the disparate resonance patterns together, drawing on the pure shards’ untainted strength.

Gossamer threads of power hummed along the circuit, building, echoing, racing from each perfect specimen to the next.

The tainted ravenglass bucked and seethed at the touch of that purifying energy, the wrongness in them rising to snarl at this sudden challenge. But Adelinde held firm, using the combined might of the pure shards to isolate the corruption’s discordant influence.

Flickers of void-black began to dance in the first blighted crystal as the cleansing resonance scoured it clean. The diseased purple light guttered, wavered, and finally winked out, leaving untarnished black in its wake.

It was working. By the Four, the sequence was actually working.

She sank deeper into the expanded consciousness the bonded ravenglass circuit enabled, extending her will to the other corrupted specimens.

One by one, they too began to shed their purple taint, the pure power of their neighbours burning away the impurities.

“Remarkable.” Sigmund’s voice seemed distant as she focused on the delicate manipulation. “The resonance alignment is holding steady.”

The power flowing through the pure specimens was building faster than expected, growing harder to control. She tried to regulate the flow, but the corruption fought back with surprising strength.

The corruption surged through the network, using the very connections she’d created to spread its influence.

Pure specimens dimmed as the twisted power infected them, their perfect resonance shattering under the assault.

“No!” Adelinde stumbled back as purple light flooded the laboratory.

She’d failed—worse than failed.

She’d corrupted the very specimens she’d meant to use as anchors.

The workbench vibrated as dark energy pulsed through the ravenglass array. What had been a precise geometric pattern now writhed with purple streaks.

“The corruption’s too strong!” Adelinde’s mind raced. She had to stop this—had to contain the damage before it spread beyond the laboratory.

But how? The pure specimens were gone, consumed by the very corruption she’d tried to cleanse.

Gisela’s alarm pierced her panic and made its way into her mind. “Focus! You know how to end this!” she said.

“I don’t. I can’t!”

“Think! You know the pattern. You’ve seen it before, in the ancient texts.”

Adelinde forced her breathing to steady, her mind racing through fragments of translated scripture. The corruption’s spread, the network’s instability...

“The core. It’s the only thing powerful enough to stabilise a purification cascade this large.”

“Yes.” Gisela’s tail lashed as another pulse of corrupt energy shook the laboratory. “The ancients built it as more than just an anchor point. It’s meant to cleanse, to restore balance—”

“But if something goes wrong...” Adelinde’s voice cracked. “If the corruption reaches the core instead...”

“Then the Kingdom falls. Every wyvern bond would shatter. Our entire defensive network would collapse.” Gisela’s certainty pressed against Adelinde’s doubts. “But sometimes the only path forward is the one we fear most.”

The corruption was growing stronger.

“You must decide.” Gisela’s golden eyes fixed on her. “But not alone. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your sisters must know. The core’s existence, its true purpose—this is too important to keep secret any longer.”

“No!” Adelinde backed away from the corrupted specimens. “If word of the core spreads, if our enemies learn of its location...”

“They already seek it.” Gisela moved closer, her wings mantling. “Why else corrupt the ravenglass network piece by piece? They know something anchors the bonds. They just haven’t found it yet.”

“All the more reason to keep it hidden! If I tell my sisters, if they decide to act without understanding the risks...”

“This is no longer just your burden.” Gisela’s voice softened through their bond. “You cannot face this alone—”

The words cut off as Gisela stumbled, her massive form shuddering. A purple bruise appeared on her golden scales, spreading like ink through water.

“No.” Adelinde’s heart stuttered. “No, no, no...”

She rushed to her wyvern’s side, her hands hovering over the darkening scales. The corruption had jumped from the specimens to Gisela, using their bond as a conduit.

“You must act quickly.” Gisela’s voice rasped, her breathing laboured. “Before this consumes us all.”

“I don’t know how!” Panic clawed at Adelinde’s throat. “The core might work, but if I make one mistake...”

“Then don’t.” Gisela’s wings trembled. “Make no mistakes. Be the Queen you were meant to be.”

Purple light flooded the laboratory.

Adelinde felt Gisela’s pain as the corruption spread.

She had to choose. Had to decide.

Adelinde stared at Gisela’s darkened scales, the weight of her failure crashing down.

The core could save them. But if she made one mistake, it could doom them all.

8. Elana

Elana slammed her chamber door. Her usual composure shattered as she yanked off her formal gloves, throwing them onto her bed with a bitter laugh.

The council meeting still rang in her ears—nobles talking over each other, alliances shifting like sand, Lord Gerlach’s carefully crafted evasions.

She’d presented evidence, laid out connections, shown them the truth. Hours of preparation, every word chosen with precision, every argument crafted to perfection.

And they’d done nothing.

She collapsed into a chair by the fire, her guide-cane clattering against its wooden legs. The room felt stifling despite its size, heavy drapes drawn against the evening air.

Velten’s steady presence offered comfort, though the wyvern remained outside. Some burdens couldn’t be shared, even with her closest companion.

Or perhaps especially with him. He’d witnessed her failure in the council chamber and had felt her growing frustration as the nobles deflected and demurred.

Her fingers found a loose thread on her chair’s armrest, picking at it absently. The small imperfection seemed fitting somehow. Everything she’d built, all her careful political manoeuvring, her patient cultivation of allies—it was all unravelling just as surely as this thread.

Soft wings rustled as Witz landed on her balcony, his small black form gliding through the partially open doors.

He settled on a chair’s back, emerald-tinged scales catching firelight. “You’ve had a day.”

Elana’s laugh held no humour. “A day? Is that what we’re calling this disaster?” She shook her head. “I showed them proof—actual proof of Gerlach’s conspiracy. Documents in his own hand, records of meetings, evidence of corruption that any child could understand. And what did they do? Nothing. Worse than nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Lord Darius spent the entire session watching reactions, gauging which way the wind blew instead of taking a stand. After everything I showed him about Gerlach’s manipulation, after clearing his name in the assassination investigation, he still wouldn’t commit.”

She stood, pacing. “Lady Sybilla kept redirecting discussion to trade implications as if commerce matters when the Kingdom itself is at risk. Always the merchant’s daughter, counting coins while the vault burns.”

She turned, her fingers clenching and unclenching. “And Baron Kessler? Kessler actually suggested we table the discussion until after the solstice. The solstice! As if we have that kind of time, as if Gerlach’s deadline means nothing.”

“And what of Gerlach himself?” Witz’s question cut through her rising voice.

“Oh, he was brilliant.” She reached her window, hands finding the sill as she stared into darkness.

The Kingdom spread before her, though her vision could only make out the nearest lights. “I did everything right. Presented the evidence carefully, built my case step by step. Anticipated objections, prepared counters for every argument. I was diplomatic, measured, precise. And they still wouldn’t listen.”

“Some believe you,” Witz said. “Others don’t. And some know the truth but fear what it means for them. These are not failures—they are obstacles to navigate.”

“Obstacles?” She turned to face him, though his form blurred at this distance. “The Kingdom is fracturing. Our enemies gather strength while we argue procedure and protocol. Gerlach’s corruption spreads through the Kingdom while nobles debate trade routes. How do I navigate that?”

“The same way you navigate anything—one step at a time.” His dark eyes fixed on her. “You try to solve everything at once, to make them all see truth in a single moment. But some truths take time to accept, especially when acceptance means action.”

Elana sank back into her chair. The fire’s warmth seemed to draw the strength from her limbs. “We don’t have time. Whatever Gerlach’s planning, whatever force drives this conspiracy, it’s all building towards something. The solstice deadline can’t be coincidence.”

“No.” Witz’s tail curled around the chair’s back. “But neither is your sisters’ involvement. Irmin uncovers military connections while Adelinde studies the corruption of wyvern bonds. You three approach the same crisis from different angles, yet you refuse to truly work together.”

“They won’t listen either.” But the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. “Irmin rushes into action without considering consequences. Every problem becomes a military target, every solution involves swords. And Adelinde...” She shook her head. “Adelinde hides in her research, keeping secrets she won’t share. How can we work together when we can’t even trust each other?”

“Perhaps that’s where you should start.” Witz’s voice carried gentle reproach. “Not with the council, not with the conspiracy, but with your own family. Unity begins at home, does it not?”

Through their bond, she felt Velten’s agreement. Her wyvern had always counselled patience, understanding. But patience felt like surrender when every day brought new evidence of corruption’s spread.

“The nobles will never unite while you remain divided,” Witz said. “They see three princesses pulling in different directions and wonder why they should choose any single path. Show them unity, and perhaps unity will follow.”

Elana’s fingers found her guide-cane again, tracing its familiar patterns. The smooth wood grounded her. “You think I should call them? Try to coordinate our efforts?”

“I think you already know you should.” His wings rustled slightly. “The question is whether you’re ready to take that step. To admit you need their help as much as they need yours.”

She let out a long sigh and nodded. “Send messages to both of them. Request an emergency meeting—somewhere private, away from the council’s eyes.”

“And what will you tell them?”

“The truth.” She moved to her desk, pulling out fresh paper. The familiar act of preparing to write steadied her. “That if we’re going to save this Kingdom, we need to start by saving ourselves from each other. That we’re stronger together than apart, even if we don’t always agree on methods.”

Her pen moved across the paper, each word chosen carefully. This wasn’t a diplomatic missive or a military command—this was a plea to family, to the bonds that ran deeper than titles or politics.

“They may not come. Or they may come with their own agendas, their own fears.”

“Then we’ll deal with that too.” She sealed the letters with steady hands. “We can’t afford to fail. Not now. Not with everything at stake.”

She handed him the letters.

Witz nodded once before launching himself into darkness.

The message was sent—but would they answer?

9. Irmin

Heat shimmered in rippling waves above the lava pool’s roiling surface, an undulating dance of air and fire that distorted the jagged rocks ringing the molten expanse.

Irmin stood at the very edge of the volcanic cauldron, close enough to feel the upwelling thermals, watching as her squadron manoeuvred the crates of corrupted ravenglass into position.

Berthold’s unease pressed against her mind. The wyvern perched on a high outcropping, basalt talons sunk deep into the pitted stone, his midnight scales throwing back the lava’s lurid glow in shattered ribbons of scarlet and saffron.

Every so often, a rumbling growl would shudder through their bond, the sound resonating out from Berthold’s chest to echo in the minds of the other wyverns. A warning and a command in one, telling them to keep their distance.

“Careful with those bindings!” Irmin called over the hiss and bubble of the caldera.

Two soldiers were struggling with one of the larger crates, its warped timbers groaning as they wrestled it towards the drop point.

“If even a single shard breaks free of containment, we risk an uncontrolled release.” She started forward, gravel scattering beneath her boots. “The corruption could spread to the other specimens before we have a chance to prevent it.”

As she wove between the labouring soldiers, Irmin noted how the sickly purple light seemed to intensify whenever the crates were brought into proximity. It was as if the corrupted shards were somehow communing with each other.

“Commander Irmin?” Wulfram tapped her elbow.

She turned, taking in the weathered planes of his face, the deep crags that bracketed his mouth. “Something on your mind, Sergeant?”

Wulfram shifted his weight, scree crunching beneath his boots. “Before we proceed with this course of action, are we certain it’s the wisest path?”

Irmin cocked an eyebrow. “You have an alternative?”

“It’s just...” He gestured at the waiting crates. “The ravenglass, corrupted or not, remains a finite resource. Surely there must be some method of purification we could attempt? Some way to salvage a portion of this stockpile? The potential military applications alone—”

“Enough.” She shook her head. “Wulfram, I understand your reservations. But the risk of containment failure is too high with a concentration of blight this potent. You’ve seen what these tainted shards can do to the bond between wyvern and rider.”

The sergeant opened his mouth as if to argue, but she cut him off. “The ravenglass destroyed here today could outfit a hundred wings. But would you risk those hundred wings turning on us at the first note of battle?”

“I bow to your experience in this matter, Commander. But perhaps, if we were to study the corrupted shards further, we might—”

“And risk that corruption escaping into the world at large? No. My sister labours even now to find a way to reverse the corruption’s effects. But until such time as her research bears fruit...”

Irmin swept her arm out in an arc, taking in the caldera’s sullen glow, the stacked crates pulsing violet. “If the choice lies between destruction and corruption, I will choose destruction every time. Corruption spreads like a poison, Sergeant. Destruction, at least, cauterises the wound.”

“Cauterisation is a healer’s last recourse,” Berthold said through their bond. “When all other remedies have proven futile.”

“Then let us pray Addie’s skills prove equal to this rot.”

Wulfram’s face had settled into hard lines. He inclined his head in a gesture that managed to convey resignation and acceptance in equal measure. “As you command.” The words were rote, but Irmin didn’t miss the doubt that still lingered in the sergeant’s eyes.

She watched him rejoin the squadron, noting the similar doubt in other faces. They were good soldiers, loyal to their oaths. But they didn’t fully understand the danger. Hadn’t seen how the corruption could twist bonds and turn wyvern against rider.

“First crate,” she ordered, pushing aside her own doubts. “Let’s finish this.”

The squadron worked with efficiency, despite their obvious reservations. Two riders guided their crates into position, using chains to lower the first towards bubbling rock.

The moment the crate touched lava, dark energy exploded upwards. The corrupted ravenglass glowed fierce and bright before dissolving into the molten pool, each shard releasing a pulse of twisted power as it died.

Nearby wyverns shuffled, wings twitching. Through their bond, Irmin caught Berthold’s disgust, mixed with grim satisfaction. “It fights even in death. Like poison resisting the flame,” he said.

“Next crate,” Irmin commanded, keeping her voice level. “Keep the pace steady. We finish this today.”

One by one, they fed the corrupted stockpile to the volcano.

Wulfram muttered under his breath as another crate disappeared into molten rock, sending up a gout of purple-tinged flame. “All that power, all that potential... wasted.”

“Not wasted,” Irmin said. “Contained.”

“As you say, Commander.”

“There may come a time when we have the luxury of studying the corruption. But that time is not now. In this fight, our victory lies not in what we claim, but what we keep from those who would see us broken.”

Wulfram nodded. “True enough.”

The work continued methodically, each crate’s destruction marked by that same unnatural flare.

With each one, Irmin felt the weight in her chest lighten slightly, though she kept her expression neutral for the sake of her troops.

When they reached the final crate, the largest of the lot, she stepped forward to supervise its placement personally.

The corrupted ravenglass within pulsed as if sensing its impending doom.

“Steady now,” she called as the chains creaked under the strain. “Keep it level.”

The crate swung out over the lava pool, purple light streaming from every seam in its construction.

For a moment, it seemed to resist.

“Hold fast!”

The soldiers strained against the chains, their faces tight with effort.

With a final screech, the chains released.

The crate plunged into the molten rock.

The resulting explosion sent everyone staggering back.

Purple lightning crackled across the pool’s surface before dissipating into darkness.

A shockwave of corrupted energy pulsed outward but found no purchase.

Silence fell, broken only by the eternal bubbling of the lava.

“It’s done,” Irmin said, straightening. “Good work, everyone. We’ve done what we needed to.”

Berthold landed beside her, his bulk raising a small storm of gravel and grit. “Message from the capital. Your presence is requested at the palace, immediately.”

“Good.” Irmin hefted herself into the saddle. The worn leather creaked a familiar complaint, and her body settled into the grooves. “I have much to report.”

10. Adelinde

The holding chamber seemed to drink in what little light reached them, casting Gisela’s thrashing form in shadow. Adelinde stood at the observation window, her fingers pressed against the cold glass as she watched her wyvern—her partner, her closest friend—slam against restraints that should never have been necessary.

The once-brilliant eyes that had guided Adelinde through countless research sessions now gleamed with unnatural light, focused on nothing and everything at once.

“My lady.” The guard captain’s voice carried carefully measured calm. “We need your decision. The corruption spreads faster when she’s agitated, and these restraints won’t hold forever.”

Adelinde’s hands trembled as she reached for their bond—that precious connection that had steadied her through years of study and doubt. The moment her mind touched Gisela’s, psychic static tore through her consciousness. She recoiled, gasping as Gisela let out a roar that bore no resemblance to her usual melodic voice.

“She’s still in there.” Adelinde pressed harder against the glass. “I can feel her fighting it. If I could just reach her properly—”

Another attempt at connection sent her staggering back, head splitting with discordant energy. Klara caught her arm, steadying her.

“The corruption warps everything it touches,” Klara said. “Even bonds as strong as yours.”

Gisela’s tail lashed against reinforced walls, leaving gouges in stone. Her wings strained against their bindings as another tortured sound escaped her—part roar, part wail. The guards shifted uneasily, hands tight on their spears.

“You have to decide now,” the captain said. “Before she breaks free.”

Adelinde’s vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall. All her research, all her careful study of corruption’s spread—none of it had prepared her for this. For watching darkness consume her closest companion while she stood helpless.

“Do it.” The words scraped her throat raw. “Seal the chamber.”

The captain nodded to his men. Heavy doors began to swing closed, their ravenglass-laced iron designed specifically to contain feral wyverns. The sight of them closing on Gisela felt like physical pain.

Just before they sealed completely, Gisela’s eyes met Adelinde’s. For one heartbeat, the corruption’s haze seemed to clear. Recognition flickered—and with it, desperate pleading.

Then darkness swallowed the golden eyes again. The doors slammed shut.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’ll fix this. I swear I’ll fix this.”

Klara’s hand settled on her shoulder, offering what comfort she could. But nothing could ease the ache of severed connection, the horrible emptiness where Gisela’s presence should be.

Muffled roars penetrated the thick walls. Each sound struck deeper, reminding her of her failure.

This was her fault. Her arrogance in attempting larger-scale purification. Her certainty that she could control the process.

She couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t listen to Gisela’s pain, couldn’t face the guards’ pitying looks or Klara’s gentle concern.

Her laboratory offered no real sanctuary, but she fled there anyway, slamming the door behind her.

Failed experiments littered every surface—corrupted specimens she’d tried to cleanse.

Her legs gave out. She slid down the door until she hit cold stone, wrapping her arms around herself as if she could physically hold back the tide of grief and guilt.

“I can’t do this.” The words emerged between broken sobs. “I can’t fix this. I don’t know how to fix any of this.”

The corruption’s subtle hum filled the laboratory, emanating from specimens she’d failed to purify.

Even here, in what was usually her sanctuary, she couldn’t escape its presence. Couldn’t escape the evidence of her inadequacy.

She’d thought she was prepared. Had spent every second she could studying the corruption’s patterns, developing theories about its spread.

But in the end, all her knowledge had accomplished nothing.

Worse than nothing—it had cost her Gisela.

Another distant roar shook dust from the ceiling. Adelinde pressed her hands against her ears, but she couldn’t block out the sound. Couldn’t block out the memory of Gisela’s eyes in that final moment of clarity.

What had she seen there? Fear? Accusation? Trust?

She didn’t know which would be worse.

The gentle click of the laboratory door roused her.

Klara approached, and without a word, she kneeled beside Adelinde, close enough to offer comfort but not so close as to crowd.

“You’re not failing,” Klara said. “You’re trying to do the impossible, and no one can do that alone.”

Adelinde wiped her tears. “But it is my responsibility. I’m the one who pushed too far, too fast. I’m the one who couldn’t control the purification cascade. And now Gisela...” Her voice broke on her wyvern’s name.

Through the walls, another distant roar carried—fainter now, but no less painful.

“It’s on all of us.” Klara’s tone held unusual firmness. “Your sisters, the wyverns, the people—we’re all in this together. The corruption doesn’t just threaten Gisela or the bond network. It threatens everything.”

“But I should have seen it coming. All my research, all those translations about resonance patterns and corruption spread...” Adelinde gestured helplessly at her cluttered workbench. “What good is knowledge if I can’t use it to save her?”

“Knowledge isn’t just about having answers. It’s about knowing how to find them.” Klara shifted, catching Adelinde’s gaze. “And you’ve found more answers than anyone. The purification process works—we’ve seen it work on smaller scales.”

“And look what happened when I tried to push it! The corruption didn’t just resist, it spread through the pure specimens. Used them as conduits to grow stronger.” Fresh guilt crashed through her. “I made everything worse.”

“You learned something vital.” Klara’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. “Now we know the corruption can use purification attempts against us. That’s not failure—that’s crucial information.”

Adelinde started to protest, but Klara pressed on. “Think about it. Every experiment tells us something about how the corruption works. Even the failures give us data we need.”

“Data won’t save Gisela.”

“No. But it might help us understand how to save her.” Klara stood, offering her hand. “You’ve already done so much. Imagine what you can do with help.”

Adelinde stared at the offered hand. Part of her wanted to stay here, crushed under the weight of her failure. But Gisela deserved better than that. The Kingdom deserved better.

Slowly, she allowed Klara to help her up. Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced them to hold her weight. “We need to review everything. Every note, every observation about how the corruption spreads through living bonds.”

“I’ll gather the relevant texts.” Klara moved towards the shelves, then paused. “What about your sisters? Their experience with corrupted specimens might help.”

Adelinde hesitated—the thought of admitting her failure to them, of revealing how badly she’d mishandled things. “They have their own battles to fight.”

“Battles that all connect to this one.” Klara selected several volumes. “They could provide perspectives we’re missing.”

11. Elana

Elana’s fingers traced the polished edge of the meeting table, its surface cool beneath her touch. Imperial banners stirred in the evening breeze.

Velten’s steady presence helped her maintain composure as she waited. His silver scales caught lamplight, casting shifting patterns across the chamber’s dark wood panels.

Footsteps approached—one set measured and precise, the other quick and light.

Irmin entered first, her ceremonial armour replaced by practical leather. She chose the seat furthest from the head of the table, her movements carrying barely contained energy. Berthold’s massive form filled the doorway behind her.

Adelinde slipped in moments later, with ink staining her fingers and shadows beneath her eyes. She hesitated before taking her own seat, as far from Irmin as possible.

“Where is Gisela?” Elana asked.

Adelinde’s shoulders tightened. “Indisposed.”

Velten’s concern rippled. But before Elana could press further, Witz landed nearby. The royal wyvern’s emerald-tinged scales glistened as his gaze swept over each sister in turn.

“Well?” Irmin’s fingers drummed against the table. “You called us here. What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait?”

“You know why.” Elana took in a breath. “The Kingdom fractures while we chase separate threads of the same conspiracy. It’s time we share what we’ve learned. All of it.”

“Share? Like how you shared your suspicions about Gerlach? Or how Adelinde shares her research into the corruption’s spread?”

“That’s not fair,” Adelinde said. “My work is delicate. Theoretical. If I revealed the wrong details at the wrong time—”

“Theoretical?” Irmin cut her off. “While I’m out there destroying actual corrupted ravenglass, you hide in your laboratory with theories that help no one.”

“No one?” Adelinde’s voice cracked. “You think I’m not fighting? You think I’m not trying to save—”

“Enough.” Elana didn’t raise her voice, but authority rang in her tone. “This is exactly why I called you here. We can’t afford to work against each other. Not anymore.”

Velten steadied her.

“The council refuses to act. Even with evidence of Gerlach’s conspiracy laid before them. They debate procedure while corruption spreads through our ranks.”

Irmin snorted. “What did you expect? They’re politicians, not warriors. While you play their games, our enemies gather strength.”

“Those games, as you call them, are what keep the Kingdom from civil war.” Elana pulled out Gerlach’s ledger and her reams of notes, setting them on the table.

“Let me see those.” Irmin flipped through the pages of Elana’s notes.

“Every noble house watches, weighs alliances, considers which side to support,” Elana said. “One wrong move could shatter what little stability remains.”

Adelinde sniffed. “There is no stability. Not anymore. The corruption spreads faster each day.” Her voice dropped. “You have no idea what we’re really facing.”

Elana studied her younger sister, noting the shadows in her eyes, the way her hands shook.

Something had happened—something beyond normal research frustration.

“Then tell us. Help us understand.”

Adelinde glanced at Witz. “I...” She swallowed hard. “I developed a process to purify corrupted specimens. It worked on a small scale, but when I tried to expand it...” Her voice cracked. “Gisela. The corruption reached her through our bond. She’s...confined. Until I can find a way to save her.”

Silence fell heavy between them.

“That’s...that’s awful.” Irmin set the notes aside. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Would you have understood? You, who sees every problem as a target for your sword? Or you”—Adelinde turned to Elana—“who measures everything against political advantage?”

“We’re your sisters,” Elana said.

Irmin nodded. “We’re family.”

“Are we?” Adelinde’s hands clenched. “When was the last time we acted like family instead of rivals? When did we stop trusting each other?”

“Then let’s start now.” Elana opened Gerlach’s ledger. “Everything I’ve uncovered points to something larger than noble politics. Gerlach’s connections to Molotok, his funding of rogue Guardians—it’s all building towards the solstice.”

Irmin leaned forward. “The same deadline we found in the stronghold. The ravenglass stockpile was meant for something specific.”

“The corruption isn’t random,” Adelinde said. “It follows patterns, spreads through existing resonance networks. Someone who understands the system is deliberately targeting its weakest points.”

“Someone like the Guardians?” Elana asked.

Adelinde nodded. “They have the knowledge. But this feels bigger than rogue elements within their ranks. The coordination, the timing...”

“Gerlach’s ledger shows regular payments to multiple Guardian contacts,” Elana said. “But you’re right—he’s following someone else’s plan.”

Irmin nodded. “Molotok.”

“They’re involved but not driving it.” Elana traced a particular entry in the ledger. “Look at the pattern of meetings, the flow of information. Gerlach receives instructions more often than he gives them.”

Irmin drew the notes towards her and turned to a page. “This general. Who is it? What do we know?”

Elana shrugged. “I only know what is recorded.”

Berthold’s growl vibrated through the chamber. “The corruption spreads while you debate sources. Action matters more than origins.”

“No,” Adelinde said. “Understanding the source is crucial. The corruption could destroy everything—not just individual bonds, but the entire network that maintains them.”

Something in her tone made Elana sit straighter. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Adelinde glanced at Witz again. The royal wyvern’s black eyes fixed on her, measuring.

“There’s...” She drew a shaking breath. “There’s something you need to know. About how the bond network really works. About what happens if the corruption reaches its heart.”

“You mean the core?” Irmin cut in. “What could be so important about—”

“You know about the core?”

“Of course I know. Military command requires understanding our defensive infrastructure.” Irmin’s hand tapped on the table. “Though, apparently, not everyone thinks such knowledge should be shared.”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“Enough.” Elana raised her hand. “What matters now is understanding the threat. Adelinde, explain what you’ve discovered about the corruption’s spread.”

Adelinde drew a shaking breath. “The core isn’t just an anchor point. It’s...it maintains everything. Every bond, every connection between rider and wyvern flows through it. If the corruption reaches the core...”

“The entire network collapses,” Irmin said. “Our military strength, our trade routes, our very way of life—gone in an instant.”

“Worse than gone.” Adelinde’s hands trembled. “The bonds wouldn’t just break. They’d twist. Corrupt. Every wyvern in the Kingdom would turn feral.”

Silence fell.

“So we defend the core,” Irmin said. “Station troops—”

“It’s not that simple.” Elana kept her voice measured. “If knowledge of the core’s location spreads, we risk drawing attention to our greatest vulnerability.”

“Better than doing nothing!” Irmin stood, her chair scraping stone. “While we sit here, our enemies gather strength. The stronghold raid proved they’re stockpiling corrupted ravenglass. Building towards something.”

“The solstice festival.” Elana nodded. “But rushing to action without understanding the full scope—”

“What’s to understand?” Irmin began to pace. “They mean to destroy us. Everything else is just detail.”

“All of which matters. The noble houses watch every move we make. One wrong step could drive potential allies into Gerlach’s arms.”

“Allies?” Irmin’s voice dripped scorn. “Like Lord Darius, who still won’t commit? Or Baron Kessler, who suggests we wait until after the solstice to act?”

“The corruption spreads while you argue.” Adelinde’s quiet voice cut through. “I’ve seen what it does. Felt it. Through Gisela...”

Through their bond, Velten’s concern pressed against Elana’s mind. The silver wyvern’s tail lashed once.

Berthold’s growl filled the chamber. “The warrior speaks truth. Action matters more than politics now.”

“All of it matters,” Witz said. “The sword, the word, the truth—each has its place in this dance. But while you argue over steps, your partner changes the music.” His black eyes fixed on each sister in turn. “You see fragments of the whole, yet refuse to share your vision.” He spread his wings, emerald-tinged scales catching lamplight. “Your enemies do not suffer such division. They move as one, each piece coordinated, each strike planned. The solstice approaches, and with it, a deadline you cannot afford to miss.”

“Then tell us what to do,” Adelinde said. “You knew Father’s mind better than anyone. What would he do?”

“He would expect his daughters to find their own path.” Witz’s tail curled around his perch. “But he would also expect them to walk it together.”

Before anyone could respond, boots echoed in the corridor outside. A palace messenger burst in, face pale beneath his formal livery.

“Your Highnesses.” He bowed quickly, hands shaking as he held out a sealed scroll.

Elana received the scroll and she took out her magnifier. Her fingers broke Molotok’s seal as her sisters moved to read over her shoulder.

“They want us to surrender the wyvern bonds. All of them. To be ‘regulated’ by Molotok authorities for the ‘greater stability of the region.’”

“They know,” Adelinde said. “About the core, about how the network really works. They know everything.”

“Gerlach.” Irmin’s hand whitened on her sword hilt. “He’s been feeding them intelligence. Playing us against each other while setting up their final strike.”

“If they gain control of the core...” Adelinde couldn’t finish the thought.

“They won’t.” Elana’s voice cut through their rising panic. “Because we won’t let them. We are daughters of Ostreich, heirs to a legacy built on unity between rider and wyvern. And we will not let that legacy fall to corruption or conquest.”

She turned to face her sisters. “We’ve fought separately long enough. Each pursuing our own solutions while our enemies coordinated their attack. That ends now.”

“How?” Adelinde asked. “We don’t even trust each other anymore.”

“Then we learn to trust again. Because we have no choice. We stand together, or we fall apart. And I refuse to let this Kingdom fall.”

“Listen to her words,” Witz said.

“Irmin, we need your military expertise—not just for fighting, but for coordinating our defences and resources. Adelinde, your research could save us all, but only if you share what you’ve learned. And I...” She paused. “I will keep the noble houses from tearing each other apart. But I need you both. We need each other.”

Her sisters exchanged glances.

“Alright then.” Irmin’s voice carried grudging acceptance. “But no more secrets. No more working at cross purposes.”

“Agreed.” Adelinde nodded. “Though some secrets may be harder to share than others.”

“Then we share them carefully.” Elana turned back to the messenger. “Tell the Molotok envoy we will consider their terms.”

The messenger bowed and retreated, leaving silence in his wake.

“You’re going to negotiate with them?” Irmin asked.

“No. But it gives us time to prepare.”

12. Irmin

Sunset painted Reichsherz’s spires in shades of amber and gold, long shadows stretching across cobbled streets. Irmin adjusted her grip on Berthold’s reins, the worn leather familiar against her calloused palms as they banked around the palace’s eastern tower.

Berthold’s wings beat a steady rhythm against the cooling air, but his muscles remained tense.

“Third Wing, report status,” she commanded through the bond network.

“All clear in the merchant quarter, Commander.” General Eberhard’s response came quickly. “No unusual activity.”

Irmin’s eyes narrowed as she tracked his bronze-scaled wyvern’s position. Fourth pass of that sector in under an hour. Too many for the standard patrol pattern.

“Something’s wrong,” Berthold said through their bond. “His movements are wrong. Like he’s checking specific points.”

“I see it.”

Berthold’s growl vibrated through the saddle. “A scout marking targets.”

The thought chilled her. Eberhard had served alongside her for years. He’d helped train half the squadron’s riders. His loyalty had never been questioned.

But these were not normal times.

She watched him circle the merchant quarter again, his wyvern’s movements carrying none of their usual fluid grace.

“Sergeant Wulfram. Take Second Wing and continue eastern patrol. I need to discuss strategy with the general.”

“Understood, Commander.”

Irmin guided Berthold towards Eberhard’s position, keeping her approach casual. Just a commander checking in with her officer. Nothing to draw attention.

“General.” She pitched her voice to carry across the evening air. “A word?”

Eberhard’s wyvern banked sharply. “Of course, Commander. Though perhaps we should wait until—”

“Now.” She indicated the empty training yard below. “It won’t take long.”

They landed in the yard, their wyverns’ claws clicking against worn stone.

“Your patrol patterns have changed.” Irmin swung down from Berthold’s saddle, her boots striking the ground with deliberate force. “Care to explain why?”

“Changed?” Eberhard dismounted. “I’m not sure what you mean. Standard sweeps, just like always.”

“Four passes of the merchant quarter in less than an hour is not standard.” She stepped closer, watching his face. “Neither is lingering near strategic points. Or avoiding eye contact with your commander.”

His hand twitched towards his sword hilt before stilling. Another tell. “You’re seeing threats where none exist, Commander. The recent attacks have us all on edge.”

“Do they?” She circled him, forcing him to turn to keep her in sight. “Then explain the meetings.”

“Sorry?”

“With Baron Gerlach’s agents.”

“You had me followed?”

“Let’s just say Baron Gerlach keeps careful records.” Her voice hardened. “How long? How long have you been feeding information to our enemies?”

He barked a laugh. “Is that what you think? That anyone who questions the current regime must be an enemy?”

“The current regime, as you call it, is all that stands between order and chaos.” She kept her tone level despite the rage building in her chest. “Or did Gerlach’s gold help you forget your oaths?”

“I swore to serve the Kingdom, not three squabbling princesses who can’t even trust each other. Gerlach offers stability and strength. A clear vision for—”

“A clear vision of corruption and treachery.” Her hand found her sword hilt. “How many others? How deep does this rot spread in my squadron?”

He drew himself up, and she saw the certainty in his eyes. This wasn’t just about gold or ambition. He believed in Gerlach’s cause.

That made him far more dangerous.

“Deeper than you know, Commander.” His smile held no warmth. “Why do you think your sister’s evidence gained no traction in council? Why do your investigations keep hitting dead ends? The old order is dying, whether you accept it or not.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to justify betrayal? That you’re on the winning side?”

“I’m on the right side.” His hand dropped to his sword. “The Kingdom needs change. Real change. Gerlach understands that. Why do you think so many have rallied to his banner?”

Irmin’s mind raced. How many others had turned? How much of her own command was compromised?

“And the corruption?” She kept him talking, noting his subtle shifts in stance. “The ravenglass smuggling? The attacks on wyvern bonds? Was that part of Gerlach’s grand vision too?”

“The old bonds must be broken before new ones can form. You’ve seen how the current system stifles true partnership between rider and mount. Gerlach’s way offers freedom.”

Berthold’s growl filled the yard. “You call madness freedom? Corruption freedom?”

Eberhard’s wyvern mantled its wings, bronze scales catching the last rays of sunlight.

“Your own mount is affected.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “How can you not see what this is doing to them? To us?”

“Change requires sacrifice,” he said, but his hand trembled slightly as he drew his sword. “I had hoped to avoid this, Commander. To bring you to our cause willingly. You’re a good leader, despite your loyalties.”

“And you were a good officer.” Her lip curled. “Once.”

His blade swept up into guard position. “Last chance, Commander. Step aside. Let events unfold as they must. There’s still a place for you in what comes after.”

“After what? The solstice festival. That’s when Gerlach plans to strike.”

His expression confirmed it. “The time for talking is over. Stand down, or—”

Movement flashed in the shadows.

A dark form dropped from above, landing between them.

“Or what?” Riven’s ravenglass dagger swallowed the dying light. “You’ll add murder to treason?”

Eberhard’s eyes narrowed. “I should have known you’d be involved.”

“Yes, you should have.” Riven’s blade danced between his fingers. “Though your observation skills seem lacking lately.”

Through their bond, Berthold’s warning came sharp and urgent. “More approaching. At least six...no, eight.”

Irmin caught the slight shift in Eberhard’s stance—a fighter preparing to spring a trap. “How many of my troops? How many did you turn?”

His smile widened. “Enough.”

The attack came from multiple directions at once. Guards emerged from shadows, blades already drawn. Above, wings beat against the evening air as more riders descended.

“Commander! Look out!” Riven’s warning came with a thrown dagger that took one attacker in the throat. “They’re boxing us in!”

Irmin was already moving, her sword clearing its sheath as the first blade swept towards her neck. She blocked, the impact jarring up her arm.

Berthold’s roar shook the courtyard. The wyvern’s tail lashed out, scattering two guards who’d tried flanking her left side.

But more kept coming.

Three more attackers pressed forward, their movements coordinated—they’d trained together, knew each other’s styles.

These weren’t mercenaries. These were her own men.

The thought fuelled her rage. Her sword became a blur of midnight against steel.

One attacker fell, then another.

A blade slipped past her guard, scoring her arm. Another caught her thigh, drawing blood.

“Commander!” Riven’s voice carried real concern. “We need to move! More coming from the east wing!”

He was right. The courtyard’s confines worked against them, limiting Berthold’s effectiveness while allowing the attackers to press closer.

“Ideas?” She caught a downward slash on her crossguard, muscles straining.

Riven’s dagger took another guard in the throat. “As it happens...”

Before she could ask, he produced something from his sleeve—small, metallic, trailing smoke.

“Cover!”

A burst of light and sound.

Her vision swam, her ears ringing.

Through their bond, she felt Berthold’s momentary disorientation.

Riven yanked her arm, pulling her towards what looked like solid wall.

She let him guide her.

His fingers found a concealed mechanism. Stone ground against stone.

They dived through the opening, Berthold squeezing through behind them, his wings scraping the stone.

The passage was narrow, forcing them to move in single file. Riven led the way, seemingly unbothered by the darkness.

“How did you—?”

“Let’s focus on not dying first. Questions later.”

The passage twisted, descended, then opened suddenly into a larger chamber. Moonlight filtered through high windows, painting everything in silver and shadow.

“The old training hall.” She recognised it now. “Abandoned after the east wing renovation.”

“And conveniently forgotten by most of the guard rotation.” Riven moved to the chamber’s centre, blade ready. “Better fighting space, multiple exits, and...”

He grinned, gesturing to the ceiling’s elaborate support beams.

“High ground for your friend there.”

Berthold’s approval rumbled. The wyvern launched himself upwards, massive form disappearing into shadows above.

Their pursuers burst from the passage, blades gleaming.

Eberhard emerged last, his face twisted. “Enough games! Take them!”

Irmin’s blade wove patterns of death, each strike flowing into the next. Beside her, Riven moved with deadly grace, his fighting style complementing hers as if they’d trained together for years.

Above, Berthold waited for the perfect moment. When a group of attackers pressed too close together, he swooped down.

Claws tore through armour. Teeth flashed in the moonlight.

“The solstice! You can’t stop what’s coming! The corruption is too deep, too—”

Riven’s pommel took him in the temple. The general crumpled mid-sentence.

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of ragged breathing and Berthold’s low growls.

“Well.” Riven cleaned his blade. “That was fun.” He paused, his breath catching. “You’re bleeding.”

Irmin glanced at her wounds—shallow cuts, nothing serious. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure. But perhaps we should secure our friend here before he wakes? He seemed eager to share information about the solstice.”

She nodded, though questions pressed against her tongue. Why had Riven followed her? How had he known about Eberhard’s trap?

But he was right—they needed answers more than explanations right now.

“Berthold.” She gestured to the unconscious captain. “Watch him. If he so much as twitches wrong...”

The wyvern’s teeth gleamed. “Gladly.”

Riven helped her bind Eberhard, his hands quick and sure with the ropes.

“The solstice festival,” she said as they worked. “Gerlach means to strike then. But why? Why risk such a public display?”

“Symbolism. The longest night. The turning of the year. When better to break the old order?”

She studied him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes kept scanning the shadows.

“You knew about this. About Eberhard, about the trap.”

“I suspected.” He finished the last knot with precise movements. “Been watching him for days. The way he moved, and the meetings he tried to hide...classic signs of someone about to betray everything they once held dear.”

Irmin sniffed. “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “More than most. But right now, we need to focus on what comes next. The solstice approaches, and if I’m right about Gerlach’s plans...”

A groan interrupted him. Eberhard stirred. Blood matted his hair where Riven’s pommel had struck.

Irmin crouched beside him, letting him see her sword’s edge.

“Start talking. Tell me everything about Gerlach’s plans for the solstice. Every detail. Every name. Every piece of this conspiracy you’ve sold your honour to support.”

“You still don’t see it, do you? This is bigger than Gerlach. Bigger than the Kingdom itself. The corruption...it’s just the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

“You’ll see. When the longest night falls, when the old bonds shatter, you’ll all see what true freedom means.”

Berthold’s scales bristled as he loomed over their prisoner.

“The festival,” Irmin said. “What’s Gerlach planning?”

“Why spoil the surprise?” Blood stained his teeth as he smiled. “Just know that when the corruption reaches the core, when every bond breaks at once, there will be no more chains. No more false partnerships. Only pure, unfettered power.”

Riven’s blade pressed against Eberhard’s throat. “How does he know about the core?”

“Because that’s supposed to be his job.” She turned to him. “The question is, how do you know about it?”

Riven shook his head. “He’s going to use the festival as cover while his agents reach the core chamber. With everyone gathered to celebrate the solstice, it’s the perfect distraction.” Riven’s expression hardened. “And the perfect symbolic moment to destroy everything.”

She stood. “We need to warn my sisters. Get word to the council. Prepare defences—”

“They’ll be watching,” Riven said. “Gerlach’s people. They’ll notice if too many riders gather in one place.”

“Then we scatter them. Make it look like routine patrol patterns.” She traced routes on the old training map still hanging on one wall. “Small groups, ready to converge at a moment’s notice.”

“You should rest,” Riven said. “Those cuts need attention.”

She waved him off. “Later. We need to—”

“Need to be at our best when the fighting starts.” He stepped closer, producing bandages from somewhere in his dark clothing. “Let me help.”

She studied him. The casual rogue was gone, replaced by someone who understood exactly what was coming.

“Why did you really follow me tonight?”

His hands stilled on the bandages. “Because I’ve seen that look before. In my own eyes, when I was about to betray everything I believed in.” He resumed wrapping her wounds. “Eberhard had that same look. He, too, was certain that what he was doing was right, no matter the cost.”

“And now? Whose side are you really on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He tied off the last bandage. “I’m on the side that’s trying to save this Kingdom, not tear it apart. Even if that means working with people who don’t quite trust me yet.”

She flexed her arm, testing the bandage. His field medicine was as precise as his bladework.

“Trust is earned.”

“Then let me earn it.” He stepped back, giving her space. “I know things about Gerlach’s operation that could help. Routes, contacts, weak points in his network. Let me help you stop this before it’s too late.”

13. Adelinde

The ravenglass core chamber stretched above Adelinde, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadows. She stood at the heart of it, the massive core blacker than nothing.

Behind her, Witz perched on a stone pedestal, his scales shimmering. His black eyes tracked her every movement, unblinking, inscrutable.

Adelinde’s tools and notes lay scattered across a nearby table, the detritus of countless hours of study. But for all her efforts, the core’s true nature still eluded her.

And all the while, Gisela suffered.

The thought of her wyvern companion sent a lance of pain through Adelinde’s chest. Even now, she could sense Gisela’s agony through their bond, each laboured breath and spasm of corrupted scales echoing in her own mind.

Steeling herself, Adelinde turned back to the inscriptions. She couldn’t afford despair, not now. Not with so much at stake.

Her fingers traced a line of symbols, their edges worn smooth by centuries. “‘Mind to perceive, strength to act, will to bind. Apart they fray, together they...’” She squinted at the next glyph, its form ambiguous. “‘Restore?’ Or ‘renew,’ perhaps?”

“Knowing the ancients, likely both,” Witz said, gliding closer. “They had a penchant for layered meanings in their technical writings.”

Adelinde managed a strained smile. She let her fingers linger on the cool stone, her mind churning. The core’s purpose had never been purely physical. That much was clear. Its resonance responded to more than just ravenglass alignment—it echoed the mental states of those around it, the intention behind their interactions.

And the ancients, it seemed, had known how to manipulate that fact.

Adelinde turned back to the core.

What power it held, and what danger.

All their wyvern bonds, all their mental links that held the Kingdom together, dependent on this single volatile nexus.

But for how much longer?

The tendrils of corruption grew with each passing day.

Gisela’s pain lanced through her again, sharper this time. Adelinde gritted her teeth and bent back to the inscription, forcing her mind to focus through the psychic noise.

“‘The balance maintains itself through trinity,’” she read. “‘As above, so below.’”

But there was something there, some kernel of truth beneath the poetics.

“‘Three stars guide the wanderer home. Three pillars support the temple’s dome. Three forces joined restore the—’”

Adelinde froze, the final word unread. Restore. There it was again.

“Balance through trinity,” she whispered. “Three forces joined...”

Her mind raced, assembling pieces she hadn’t even known were part of the puzzle. The astronomical charts from the archives, dense with solstice calculations. The chamber’s structure, with its curving geometries and focal points. And everywhere, that repeating theme of three.

Ignoring Witz’s questioning look, Adelinde leaped to her feet and sprinted for the laboratory. She burst through the doors, startling Klara and Sigmund from their own research.

“The star charts,” she gasped, rummaging through piles of vellum. “The ones on the solstice constellation. Where—? Aha!”

She snatched up the relevant maps and diagrams, spreading them across the central table in a rustling fan.

Klara and Sigmund hurried over.

“What’s wrong?” Klara asked.

“The Winter Crown.” Adelinde stabbed a finger at the parchment, indicating three brilliant points in a triangular array. “Three stars, bright enough to be seen even in the longest night. The ancients used their alignment to mark the solstice, but what if there was more to it?”

She grabbed a charcoal stub and sketched over the map, tracing lines of power between the stars. Sigils and equations bloomed under her fingers as the others looked on, the fractured pieces of her research coalescing into sudden, brilliant clarity.

“They were using the stars as a celestial lock. The solstice alignment channels energy along specific paths, creating a resonance pattern primed for psychic manipulation.”

She turned to another chart, this one detailing the core chamber’s layout. With quick, sure strokes, she overlaid the Winter Crown’s geometry onto the blueprint.

“There. Do you see? Three focal points, equidistant around the core. Each one corresponding to a star in the crown.”

Witz leaned in, eyes narrowed. “Forming conduits for the core’s power. But what activates them?”

“Not what. Who.” The answer fell from Adelinde’s lips with a certainty as hard and cold as ravenglass. “‘Mind to perceive, strength to act, will to bind.’ It’s not just instructions, it’s ingredients. The resonance requires more than physical positioning—it needs different psychic energies, working in concert.”

Understanding dawned in Witz’s eyes. “Different aspects. Distinct, yet harmonious. In balance.”

“In trinity,” Adelinde finished. “The power of three, reflected across realms. In the heavens, on the earth...” Her hand touched her chest, feeling the faint pulse of her link to Gisela. “And in the bonds that connect us.”

All this time, they’d thought the ancients’ writings on the solstice were mere ritual, the last echoes of a culture obsessed with cyclical patterns. But the truth was so much vaster.

The solstice alignment didn’t just mark celestial geometry—it created psychic geometry, forming channels through which the core’s power could be shaped and directed by sufficient mental resonance.

But the shaping was key. Raw power alone wouldn’t suffice, no more than a single note could create a symphony. The core required harmony, the interplay of complementary tones. Mind to perceive the pattern, strength to hold the channel, will to direct the flow...

Three. Always three.

“Three aspects,” Adelinde said. “Three sisters, bearing the bloodline legacy. We could form the conduits, use our bonds to cleanse the corruption.”

Sigmund drew a sharp breath. “You’re saying you could fix this? Truly?”

“Possibly.” But even as she said it, the enormity of the task crashed down on her. The sheer power required, the mental fortitude and perfect synchronicity.

And the risk. One mistake, one moment of discord, and the backlash could destroy everything.

Klara laid a hand on her arm, gentle but firm. “This is...I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“None of us have.” Adelinde swallowed hard. “And that’s the problem. If we attempt this and fail, we could make things so much worse.”

“Worse than the entire Kingdom collapsing?” Sigmund asked. “Worse than every bond breaking at once?”

Through their faltering link, Adelinde felt Gisela’s pain spike again, accompanied by a wash of bitter despair. Gisela knew she was fading, her sense of self eroding under the corruption’s relentless tide. She was losing hope.

“But if the corruption reaches the core...” She couldn’t finish the thought.

“Everything ends.”

She turned to Witz. “We have to try. I have to try.” Her voice softened. “And I need their help, don’t I? Irmin’s strength, Elana’s focus...I can’t do this alone.”

“Then you need to tell them. Your sisters need to understand what’s required.”

14. Elana

Elana stood at the head of the council chamber table, hands resting on polished oak as she surveyed the assembled nobles.

The seats of Baron Gerlach and several of his key allies sat empty. Even those who had come wore expressions of guarded scepticism, their eyes darting and postures stiff.

At Elana’s left, Irmin shifted restlessly, her hand never straying far from her sword hilt. To the right, Adelinde sat silent and still.

Taking a steadying breath, Elana raised a hand for silence. The murmurs died away, replaced by an expectant hush.

“My lords and ladies. We gather today under the shadow of great peril. What I have to say cannot wait for the usual pleasantries and procedures. The very future of our Kingdom hangs in the balance.”

She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. Some of the nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Others leaned forward, brows furrowed.

“I will speak plainly. A conspiracy festers at the heart of Ostreich. A plot to destabilise our government, shatter our bonds, and leave us vulnerable to invasion. And the architect of this scheme sits among us. Or rather, sat.”

Elana watched the reactions carefully, noting who seemed genuinely startled and who merely feigned surprise.

“Baron Gerlach’s absence speaks louder than any accusation. But I will not ask you to take my word alone.”

With that, she nodded to Irmin. Her sister stood.

“My lords and ladies,” Irmin said. “What I bring before you today is not rumour or speculation, but hard evidence of treason.”

She laid out her findings methodically, presenting documents and artefacts that tied Gerlach to the corrupted ravenglass shipments, the assassination plot, and the growing unrest in the border provinces.

Elana watched the faces of the assembled nobles, gauging their reactions.

Some, like Lord Darius, looked increasingly grim as the evidence mounted. Others, particularly among the older guard, shifted uneasily in their seats.

“This is all very disturbing,” Lord Haldren said, stroking his greying beard. “But much of it is circumstantial. Shipments go astray, merchants cut corners. It doesn’t necessarily point to a grand conspiracy.”

A murmur of agreement passed through some of the older nobles.

“We have testimony from captured smugglers that directly implicates him in the ravenglass plot.”

“Smugglers’ words,” Lady Varina scoffed. “Hardly unimpeachable.”

Irmin slammed her hand down on the table, causing nobles to start. “Enough! While you quibble over details, our enemies sharpen their blades. I have seen the corruption firsthand. I have fought Gerlach’s bought men, seen the tainted ravenglass eating away at the very bonds that hold our Kingdom together.” She leaned forward. “This is not the time for petty politics. This is a time for action. For unity against a common threat.”

Silence fell, heavy and absolute. Even the most vocal dissenters seemed cowed by Irmin’s words. Elana shot her sister a grateful look, then stood once more.

“Commander Irmin speaks truth. And there is more.”

She nodded to Adelinde, who rose to take her place.

“My lords and ladies,” Adelinde said. “What I bring before you today is a truth that has long been hidden. A truth about the very nature of our Kingdom’s strength.”

She laid out her findings about the devastating potential of the ravenglass corruption. She spoke of celestial alignments and psychic resonance, of the delicate balance that maintained the wyvern bonds.

And of the catastrophe that would ensue if that balance was shattered.

“The solstice approaches. And with it, our one chance to counter this threat. To cleanse the corruption and prevent our Kingdom from falling...” She looked around the table, meeting the gaze of each noble in turn. “But it will take all of us. Every scrap of strength, every ounce of will. The ritual requires perfect unity. And that unity must start here, in this room.”

Silence fell once more. Elana could practically feel the wheels turning, the nobles grappling with the enormity of what they had learned.

And in that silence, she saw her chance.

She stood, drawing all eyes to her.

“My sisters have laid the truth before you. A truth that some of you may wish to deny. After all, it is easier to cling to old divisions, old grievances, than to face an uncomfortable reality.” She raised her chin. “But we no longer have that luxury. The threat we face cares nothing for our internal squabbles. It will devour us all, regardless of allegiance or history.”

She let her gaze sweep the room.

“Ostreich was built on unity. On the bonds between wyvern and rider, between bloodline and duty. Our ancestors understood that strength comes from standing together, not fracturing apart.”

Her voice rose, ringing with conviction.

“And now, in our darkest hour, we must remember that lesson. We must set aside our differences and focus on what truly matters—the survival of our Kingdom. The protection of our way of life.”

She straightened.

“I will not lie to you. The path ahead is perilous. It will demand sacrifice, resilience, and trust. But it is a path we must walk, for the alternative is unthinkable.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle.

“Gerlach seeks to divide us. To weaken us from within so that his true masters can strike at our most vulnerable moment. We cannot, we must not, let him succeed.”

Her gaze swept the room once more, fiercer now.

“So I ask you, here and now, to stand with us. Stand with Ostreich. Lend your strength to the Kingdom, your voices to the call for unity. Together, we can weather this storm. Divided...we will surely fall.”

Silence.

Elana held her breath.

Lord Darius stood. “House Darius stands with the Crown.”

Beside him, others began to rise.

One by one, the nobles pledged their support, their voices joining in a chorus of assent.

Elana felt the knot in her chest begin to loosen. They had done it. They had sown the seeds of unity.

Now they just had to hope they would take root in time.

The meeting concluded in a flurry of activity, nobles clustering in small groups to discuss logistics and next steps. Elana let out a slow breath, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders.

A hand clasped her arm. She turned to find Irmin standing beside her.

“You did well,” Irmin said. “Father would be proud.”

Elana swallowed hard. “We all did well. It’s about time we started acting as one.”

Irmin’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “Doesn’t mean you didn’t carry the day. That speech...” She shook her head. “You have a gift, Elana. Never doubt that.”

Before Elana could respond, Irmin was moving away, already deep in conversation with a knot of border lords.

Elana watched her go, feeling a strange mix of pride and trepidation. They had achieved a major victory today, but she knew it was only the beginning.

The real battle, the one that would decide the fate of Ostreich, was still to come.

She glanced around the chamber, noting the determined set of Adelinde’s shoulders as she conferred with Sigmund, the grim focus on Irmin’s face as she planned troop movements.

And in the shadows, almost lost amid the bustle, the silent, watchful form of Witz.

––––––––

TO BE CONTINUED...

––––––––

Order Winter’s Crown (The Ravenglass Throne: Part Four).

Author’s note

The Ravenglass Throne has been a labour of love, exploring themes of sisterhood, power, and the delicate balance between tradition and change.

I've always been fascinated by stories where magic and politics intertwine, and the idea of three sisters with different approaches to solving the same crisis felt like a perfect vehicle for exploring these themes.

The wyvern bonds add another layer of complexity—they're not just mounts or companions, but living symbols of the connections that hold the kingdom together.

Writing the three sisters as distinct personalities while showing how their strengths complement each other has been both challenging and rewarding.

Elana's political acumen, Irmin's martial prowess, and Adelinde's scholarly dedication each represent different facets of leadership, and watching them learn to work together despite their differences has been one of my favourite aspects of crafting this story.

If you've enjoyed The Ravenglass Throne so far, you can get early access to future parts and much more on my Patreon!

Patrons are already reading Part Five and will always be at least one full novella ahead of the public releases.

Additionally, my Patreon offers:

- Early access to all my works in progress,

- Regular exclusive short stories,

- Weekly author diary videos where I discuss my writing process and creative decisions

- Behind-the-scenes weekly author diary.

Visit: patreon.com/joncronshawauthor

Hope to see you there!

Jon

Have you read Ravenglass Legends?

Two siblings. One empire. A rebellion ignited.

When Ragnar is captured by the empire that destroyed his homeland, he's drawn into a world of court intrigue, ancient magic, and a destiny far beyond his imagining.

Meanwhile, his sister Maja, wielding a dangerous power, sparks rebellion in the empire’s heart.

Their choices will shape the fate of the empire. Will they rise as legends or be crushed by tyranny?

The Fall of Wolfsbane is an epic fantasy packed with adventure, magic, and the fight for freedom.

Perfect for fans of richly built worlds and character-driven sagas.

––––––––

Order The Fall of Wolfsbane today!

Claim your free Ravenglass Universe starter library.

Get your Ravenglass Universe starter library for free when you join Jon’s newsletter.

You will receive:

-  The exclusive Dawn of Assassins prequel novel Birth of Assassins,

-  The Fool, prequel to The Ravenglass Chronicles,

-  the Ravenglass Legends prequel Blades of Wolfsbane,

-  plus, more stories set in the Ravenglass Universe.

Visit. joncronshaw.com/starterlibrary and download your library.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who made this work possible. Especially to my family and friends who’ve supported me in countless ways.

I’ve got a great team of people helping me get my books to the highest standard I can, so thank you to my street team, you guys rock!

I also want to thank the members of Why Aren’t You Writing, Indie Fantasy Addicts, and the Sci-fi Roundtable. Sometimes writing books can be a lonely business, so having that kind of support means a great deal.

Special thanks for all my Patreon supporters, especially GhostCat, Ronnie Pecor, Debbie Harris, Rebecca Lynn, G. Mark Cole, TWolf, Kathi Barreras, and Valerie Jondahl.

This book was edited by Claire from cherryedits.com

Covers by Christian made the cover. I think it’s awesome!

About the Author

Jon Cronshaw writes fantasy and speculative fiction brimming with adventure, escapism, and an exploration of life's big questions.

He lives with his wife and son in Morecambe, England.

Read more at Jon Cronshaw’s site.