Winter's Crown: Part Four of the High Fantasy Novella Serial
Date: 2025-06-23T05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: dragons; epic fantasy; novella serial; political; military; court intrigue; strong female protagonist; disability representation; royal princess palace; magic; Fiction; Sci-Fi; Short Reads; coming of Age
Description: Winter comes for the kingdom of Ostreich. The sisters hold the captital—but for how long? Irmin steels the defences. Adelinde uncovers a chilling conspiracy. Elana plays a dangerous game of politics. As foreign armies gather and old enemies stir, they must decide: who will claim the throne before the kingdom fractures for good? Duty clashes with destiny in Winter’s Crown, the fourth novella in the The Ravenglass Throne epic fantasy serial. Read now and get lost in the intrigue.
Publisher: Wyvern Books, Ltd.

Winter's Crown

The Ravenglass Throne, Volume 4

Jon Cronshaw

Published by Wyvern Books, Ltd, 2025.

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

WINTER'S CROWN

First edition. June 23, 2025.

Copyright © 2025 Jon Cronshaw.

Written by Jon Cronshaw.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Want to know how it all began?

1. Irmin

2. Adelinde

3. Elana

4. Irmin

5. Adelinde

6. Elana

7. Irmin

8. Adelinde

9. Elana

10. Irmin

11. Adelinde

12. Elana

13. Irmin

14. Adelinde

15. Elana

Author’s Note

Have you read The Ravenglass Chronicles?

Enjoying The Ravenglass Throne? Discover How It All Began

Acknowledgements

About the Author

For Teri Ruscak.

Want to know how it all began?

Get Three Sisters: A Ravenglass Throne Prequel Collection absolutely free—three novellas showing Irmin, Adelinde, and Elana's pivotal moments before they fought for the crown.

Visit joncronshaw.com/threesisters to get three prequel novellas.

"Through trinity comes unity; through unity, strength. As above in the heavens, so below in the earth, so within the spirit. The pattern repeats, endless and eternal, binding all things in sacred geometry."

- From anonymous Guardian text

1. Irmin

Irmin made her way through Reichsherz’s crowded streets. Everywhere she looked, signs of preparation were underway—soldiers reinforcing barricades, citizens stocking up on supplies, wyvern riders patrolling the skies in tight formations.

The solstice festival was fast approaching, but this year, the usual air of celebration was tempered by an undercurrent of tension. News of the impending threat had spread after the emergency council meeting, and now the entire city seemed to be holding its breath.

Irmin climbed the steps to the high wall surrounding the palace grounds, her boots ringing against the weathered stone. From this vantage point, she could see the full scope of the defensive preparations—and the vulnerabilities that still remained.

“Quite the view, isn’t it?”

Riven’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see him leaning against the parapet, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“It’ll do,” she said, turning back to survey the city. “But we have work to do. I need eyes on those western towers, and the patrol patterns in the lower city are still too predictable.”

Riven pushed off from the wall and came to stand beside her, his keen gaze sweeping over the layout of the streets and buildings below. “If I were planning an attack, I’d strike here, here, and here.” He pointed to several blind spots in the patrol routes, areas where an agile force could slip through undetected.

Irmin frowned, but she couldn’t deny the accuracy of his assessment. She signalled to Berthold, who perched nearby, his dark scales gleaming in the morning sun.

“Berthold, relay new orders to the squadron leaders. I want those weak points covered, and I want the patrol patterns randomised. Keep the enemy guessing.”

The wyvern dipped his head in acknowledgement, then spread his wings and leaped from the wall, the downdraft from his wingbeats stirring Irmin’s hair.

“He’s a magnificent beast,” Riven said, as Berthold’s form grew smaller in the distance. “You’re lucky to have him.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it. We’ve trained together since I was a child. Our bond is built on trust and hard work.”

Riven’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “I can see that. It’s a rare thing, a bond that strong.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, watching the city’s defences continue to take shape under Irmin’s command.

“You know Gerlach won’t rely on conventional tactics,” Riven said. “He’ll use every dirty trick in the book to catch us off guard.”

“I know. That’s why I need your help. We need to be ready for anything.”

Riven’s eyebrows shot up. “My help? I thought I was just here to look pretty and make witty comments.”

Despite herself, Irmin felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “You’re not bad at that, either. But right now, I need your mind more than your charm.”

Riven clutched his chest in mock offence. “I suppose I can set aside my dashing good looks for the sake of the Kingdom.”

Irmin rolled her eyes. Over the past few weeks, she’d grown accustomed to Riven’s particular brand of humour. It was a welcome respite from the constant stress of war preparations.

Together, they spent the next several hours poring over maps and discussing strategies, Irmin’s tactical mind melding with Riven’s unconventional thinking. It was a surprisingly natural partnership, their strengths complementing each other in ways Irmin hadn’t anticipated.

As the sun dipped towards the horizon, Irmin stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of her spine after hours hunched over the planning table. “I think we’ve done all we can for now. The defences are as strong as we can make them without more time.”

Riven exhaled, his posture loosening as he stepped back from the maps. “Agreed. Gerlach won’t know what hit him.”

“There’s one more thing I want to show you,” Irmin said. “Come with me.”

Without waiting for a response, she strode off towards the wyvern stables, trusting Riven to follow. She heard his footsteps fall into pace behind her as they wended through the bustling courtyard.

When they reached the stables, Irmin led the way to a large secluded enclosure near the back. She paused at the gate, then turned to Riven with a small smile. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? For me? You shouldn’t have.”

Irmin shook her head and pushed open the gate. “Come on.”

As they entered the enclosure, a shape detached itself from the shadows at the back. Gleaming green scales caught the light as the figure moved forward, resolving into the sleek, powerful form of a wyvern.

Riven’s breath caught. “Kornel?”

The wyvern chirped in response, bounding forward to nuzzle against Riven’s outstretched hand. Riven’s face transformed, the ever-present smirk giving way to a look of pure, unguarded joy.

“But how?” he asked, running his hands over Kornel’s scales as if to assure himself the wyvern was real. “His wing...”

“Kornel’s been recovering here for the past few days.”

Riven looked up at her, and for a moment, Irmin was struck by the depth of emotion in his eyes. “I don’t know what to say. This is...I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Irmin shifted, uncomfortable with the raw gratitude in his gaze. “We need every rider at their best for what’s coming. And that means every wyvern, too.”

But even as she said it, she knew it was more than that. Over the past weeks, she’d come to rely on Riven, to trust him in a way she’d never expected.

Seeing him reunited with Kornel, seeing the unabashed happiness on his face, stirred something in her chest, something warm and unfamiliar.

Riven seemed to sense her discomfort. He straightened, some of his usual bravado sliding back into place. “Well, I suppose this means you’re stuck with me now. Can’t very well leave after a gift like this.”

Irmin huffed a laugh. “I suppose not. Though I’m starting to think that might not be such a bad thing.”

The words surprised her, even as she said them, but she found she didn’t want to take them back. The look on Riven’s face—a mix of surprise, delight, and something softer, more tentative—told her she’d made the right call.

“Why, Commander,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were starting to like me.”

Irmin rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t quite suppress her own smile. “Don’t let it go to your head. We still have a war to win.”

“Of course, of course. Business before pleasure and all that.”

At that moment, standing in the wyvern stables with the sounds of the city’s preparations fading into the background, Irmin felt a sense of rightness settle over her. This partnership with Riven—this trust they’d built against all odds—it felt like a piece of a puzzle slotting into place.

Riven vaulted onto Kornel’s back, the wyvern’s wings spreading wide in anticipation. “What do you say, Commander? Care to take our new strategies for a test flight?”

Irmin whistled for Berthold, the great black wyvern landing beside her with a thud.

“Try to keep up,” she said as she swung into the saddle.

And with a rush of wings and a whoop of laughter from Riven, they were off, soaring over the city as the sun painted the sky in shades of fire.

For a few precious moments, the looming threat of war fell away, replaced by the sheer, simple joy of flight.

Beside her, Riven and Kornel swept through the air.

This was what they were fighting for. Not just the Kingdom, not just the Crown. But this—the wind in their faces, the trust in their hearts, the knowledge that they were part of something greater than themselves.

2. Adelinde

The core chamber stretched into darkness above them, its vaulted ceiling lost to shadow despite the alchemical lanterns Adelinde had carefully positioned. Her footsteps echoed across the worn stone as she led her sisters deeper into the ancient space.

The ravenglass core dominated the chamber’s heart, its void-black surface drinking in what little light reached it, creating an absence more profound than mere darkness.

The air grew thicker as they descended, carrying that familiar metallic taste that always accompanied large concentrations of ravenglass. But here, so close to the core, the sensation was almost overwhelming.

Behind her, Irmin’s boots rang against stone with military precision, while Elana’s guide-cane tapped a softer rhythm.

“No one but Witz and I have seen this...until now.”

Through their bond, Adelinde felt Gisela’s pain as a distant ache—fighting against restraints that should never have been necessary. Each pulse of agony made her chest tighten, but she forced herself to focus. The thought of Gisela’s suffering steeled her resolve more than any academic pursuit ever could.

Irmin moved past her into the chamber, her sword hand never straying far from her hilt as she took in every detail with a commander’s eye—always the soldier, even here in the Kingdom’s most sacred space. “The ancients built this? All of it?”

“They did more than build it,” Adelinde said. She stepped closer to the core, its perfect surface reflecting nothing. “They created the foundation of everything we are. Every wyvern bond, every resonance pattern that maintains our power—it all flows through here.” She traced her fingers through the air just above the core’s surface, feeling the energy hum against her skin. “This is where it all begins. And where it could all end.”

Elana stood perfectly still, her face composed. Only her white-knuckled grip on her cane betrayed her unease. Years of diplomatic training couldn’t quite mask her reaction to the sheer magnitude of what they faced. “And the corruption threatens this? All of this?”

“It threatens everything.” Adelinde spread her notes across a nearby table, diagrams and calculations spilling across the parchment.

Ancient translations mingled with her own theoretical frameworks. “The corruption isn’t just breaking individual bonds—it’s poisoning the entire network. Each corrupted specimen can poison the existing resonance patterns. If it reaches the core...”

“Then what?” Irmin asked.

“Then every bond severs at once. Every wyvern in the Kingdom turns feral. Everything we’ve built, everything we are...gone in an instant.” Adelinde’s voice caught as she remembered Gisela’s transformation, the horror of watching corruption spread through her golden scales. “And worse—the bonds won’t just break. They’ll twist. Corrupt. Turn into something that should never exist.”

Silence fell, broken only by the core’s subtle resonance—a sound felt more in bones and teeth than ears.

Witz landed on a stone pedestal, his scales shimmering with hints of emerald in the chamber’s dim light. “If you fail here, everything fails. The Kingdom falls not with battle cries, but with broken bonds and shattered minds.”

Adelinde took a steadying breath, forcing her scholarly detachment to the surface. She couldn’t afford emotion now, not when precision was so crucial. “But I think I’ve found a way to stop it,” she said. “To cleanse the corruption before it spreads too far. But I need your help—all of you.” She turned to face her sisters. “Your strengths, your bonds, your trust.”

“A ritual?” Elana asked. “The political ramifications of the core being compromised...If word of this reaches the wrong ears.”

“It won’t matter who knows what—if we’re all dead or worse,” Irmin said, studying Adelinde with new intensity. “What do you need from us?”

Adelinde pointed to specific positions around the core’s circumference. “Three points of focus, working in concert. Mind to perceive, strength to act, will to bind. The ancients built this chamber with precise geometric alignments, designed to channel power through specific paths. But it needs more than just physical positioning—it needs different aspects of mental energy, working in harmony.”

She traced the patterns with her fingers. “See how the flow lines intersect here, and here? They form resonance channels that amplify psychic energy. But trying to handle that much power alone...” She swallowed hard, remembering her failed attempt to purify the corrupted shards. “It’s too much for any single mind to control.”

“And you think we can provide these aspects?” Elana asked. “Three sisters, three points of power?”

“I know we can. We have to.” Adelinde’s voice caught again as Gisela’s pain lanced through their bond. The corruption was spreading faster now, eating away at everything that made her wyvern unique. “Please. I can’t...I can’t lose her. Not like this.”

Her sisters exchanged glances.

Time stretched between them, heavy with shared history and separate hurts.

Finally, Irmin straightened. “Tell us what to do.”

They took their positions—Adelinde at the focal point nearest her research. Irmin positioned herself where the chamber’s defensive architecture was strongest. Elana completed their triangle.

The core’s resonance grew stronger, responding to their presence.

“Focus on your strengths,” Adelinde said. Years of research crystallised into this moment, theory becoming desperately needed practice. “Irmin, channel your connection with Berthold, your warrior’s discipline. Draw on that perfect unity between rider and mount. Elana, use your diplomatic finesse, your ability to balance competing forces. I’ll weave it all together, guide the energies where they need to go.”

She reached out with her mind, feeling the core’s power like a vast ocean of potential. She sensed her sisters doing the same—Irmin’s strength flowing like molten steel, Elana’s will steady as bedrock.

Slowly, carefully, Adelinde began to weave the energies together, using techniques gleaned from ancient texts and desperate research.

The core’s surface rippled, possibilities dancing beneath its perfect black. Light flowed between the sisters, forming patterns that mirrored the chamber’s ancient geometries.

Gisela stirred where she lay nearby. The wyvern’s pain spiked, but underneath it, Adelinde felt something else. Hope. Faint, but growing stronger.

Adelinde pushed deeper, using her sisters’ strength to bolster her own, using the core to focus their combined bond.

Gisela’s corruption fought back, twisting away like something alive and hostile. But they pressed harder, their unity growing stronger with each passing moment.

The chamber seemed to resonate with their effort.

Sweat beaded on Adelinde’s forehead as she maintained the delicate balance.

One mistake, one moment of discord, and the backlash could destroy everything they were trying to protect. But she felt her sisters’ presence steady and true, their trust finally given without reservation.

Gisela’s consciousness seemed to clear. The wyvern’s mind touched hers, no longer clouded by corruption’s haze. Their connection strengthened, and memories flowed between them—hours spent in quiet research, shared discoveries, the simple joy of understanding.

The corruption tried to twist these memories, to poison them with doubt and darkness, but the sisters’ combined power held it at bay.

But the purification wasn’t complete. Traces of corruption still lingered in the deepest layers, fighting their efforts with increasing strength.

Adelinde felt the strain building in the core, threatening to destabilise the very network they were trying to save. The chamber’s geometries began to waver.

“We have to stop.” She drew back their combined power. “The resonance is becoming unstable. If we push too far...”

The chamber’s light dimmed as they released their hold on the energies.

Adelinde stumbled from the core chamber, her legs trembling with exhaustion. The stone corridors blurred past as she ran, trailing her hand along the cold walls to keep her balance. Each breath burned in her chest, but she couldn’t slow down. Not when Gisela’s presence in her mind felt clearer than it had in days.

Her sisters called after her, but their voices faded as she ran.

Palace guards jumped aside as she passed.

Through their partially restored bond, she felt Gisela’s confusion and hope mingling with lingering traces of corruption.

The secure holding area lay deep beneath the palace’s eastern wing.

A guard stepped forward with a raised hand. “My lady, protocols require—”

“Let her through.” Irmin’s voice rang from behind, carrying command, authority. “Now.”

The guard stepped aside.

Adelinde barely noticed, her focus narrowed to the heavy doors ahead.

The familiar metallic taste of ravenglass-reinforced restraints filled the air. But underneath it, she sensed something else—Gisela’s presence stronger with each step.

Her hands shook as she worked the door’s complex locking mechanism. When it finally swung open, she rushed inside, nearly stumbling in her haste.

Gisela lay in the centre of the reinforced chamber, her massive form barely contained by the space. Golden scales still showed traces of corruption’s purple taint, but they gleamed brighter than they had in days. The wyvern’s head lifted at Adelinde’s entrance, and their eyes met.

“Gisela?” Adelinde’s voice cracked. She stepped closer, hands outstretched. “Can you...? Are you...?”

The wyvern’s consciousness brushed against hers—weak and weary. No trace remained of the feral rage that had dominated their bond since the corruption took hold. Instead, Adelinde felt warmth, recognition, and beneath it all, a profound relief that mirrored her own.

“Adelinde.” Gisela’s voice emerged rough, but unmistakably hers. “You found a way.”

Adelinde closed the distance between them, pressing her forehead against the familiar scales. They were warm again, not fever-hot as they’d been under corruption’s influence. Tears she’d been holding back finally fell as Gisela’s wing curled around her, drawing her closer.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Adelinde traced the patterns of scales she knew by heart. “When the corruption...when I couldn’t reach you...”

“You never lost me.” Gisela’s thoughts wrapped around hers, their bond humming with renewed strength. “You found the path back. You and your sisters.”

At the door, Adelinde’s sisters stood watching. Their own wyverns had joined them—Berthold’s dark form and Velten’s silver scales framing the entrance.

“The corruption’s not completely gone,” she said, noting the lingering traces of purple still visible on some scales. “But we know it can be beaten now. We know there’s a way.”

Gisela’s agreement rumbled through her. “And we know the price of failure,” she said.

“It won’t happen again. We won’t let it.”

Gisela stirred. “The corruption lingers. If we don’t clear it completely, it will begin spreading again,” she said.

Adelinde’s hand tightened on her wyvern’s scales. “I can’t risk another attempt with the core. Not until I fully understand how to purify the corrupted shards. We’ll have to wait—”

“Perhaps not.” Irmin stepped forward, though Berthold and Velten remained at the doorway. She drew her ravenglass sword, its void-black surface thirsty in the torchlight. “How does the purification work, exactly?”

“The ravenglass acts as a conduit,” Adelinde said. “It magnifies our bonds, allows us to focus and direct the energy. But it has to be pure, untainted—”

“This sword isn’t pure ravenglass,” Irmin said. “It was forged with my blood.”

Adelinde raised her eyebrows. “Just like the core. The ancients used royal blood in its creation—that’s why our family line has always been so strongly connected to it.” Her mind raced through implications. “This could work. The sword could act as a focus, just like the core, but on a smaller scale.”

“Show me.”

They arranged themselves in a triangle around Gisela, just as they had in the core chamber. But this time, Irmin held her sword at the centre, its surface beginning to ripple as they focused their combined will through it.

“The wyverns,” Adelinde said. “They can amplify our effort. Position them to form a second triangle—bonds reflecting bonds.”

Berthold and Velten moved forward at their riders’ command, taking positions that mirrored their human partners. As they settled into place, Adelinde felt the power build—not the overwhelming force of the core, but something more controlled, more precise.

The sword’s surface rippled between black and white as they poured their combined strength through it. Gisela’s remaining corruption responded immediately, purple traces lifting from her scales.

The purification that had been so difficult in the core chamber now flowed smooth and clean, guided by their unity of purpose.

When it was done, Gisela’s scales gleamed pure gold once more. The sword settled back to stillness, though Adelinde sensed new depths in its perfect black surface.

“We’ve found it,” she breathed, wonder replacing exhaustion. “The key to fighting the corruption. But to cleanse the entire network...” Her gaze turned distant as calculations raced through her mind. “The solstice. That’s when the stars align, when our power will be strongest. That’s when we return to the core.”

Irmin sheathed her sword. “Then we have until the solstice to prepare. To gather our strength.”

“And to ensure we survive until then,” Elana said.

Adelinde met her sisters’ eyes. They had found their path forward. Now they just had to walk it together.

3. Elana

Lanterns cast warm pools of light across the palace courtyard, their gentle glow at odds with the tension thrumming beneath the festival preparations. Elana moved through the bustle with measured steps, her guide-cane sweeping a precise path as she tracked each detail of the solstice celebration taking shape around her.

Velten padded at her side as his keen gaze swept the courtyard. A constant awareness thrummed through their bond—every smiling servant could be an enemy, every laughing noble a potential traitor.

“The western arch needs more support.” Elana pitched her voice to reach the workers arranging decorative garlands. “And ensure the loading platform can bear the weight of at least three full-grown wyverns.”

The instructions seemed innocent enough—merely another noble fussing over festival logistics. But the workers were hand-picked soldiers, their casual movements masking careful positioning of defensive strong points throughout the courtyard.

Above, wyvern riders traced elaborate patterns against the darkening sky. To casual observers, they would appear to be practising for the festival’s aerial displays. But Elana had helped design those formations herself, ensuring each sweep and spiral put the riders in perfect position to defend critical areas of the palace.

“Your Highness.” Lady Varina approached, her silk skirts rustling. “The musicians have arrived early. Shall I have them set up in the eastern gallery?”

“The western alcove would be better,” Elana said. “The acoustics are superior.” And the eastern gallery needed to remain clear for Irmin’s strike team, though she couldn’t say that aloud.

Velten shot her a warning. A servant was approaching—one of their trusted informants.

“Your Highness?” The maid bobbed a perfect curtsy. “Begging your pardon, but there’s a small issue with the wine delivery that requires your attention.”

Elana recognised the code phrase immediately. “Lead on.”

They moved to a quiet corner of the courtyard, partially screened by hanging lanterns. The maid—Sara, Elana remembered—pulled a folded note from her apron pocket.

“I heard them talking, my lady. In the kitchens. They didn’t know I was there, but...” Sara’s voice shook. “It’s worse than we thought.”

Elana took the note, positioning herself so the lantern light fell properly for reading. She took out a magnifying lens and squinted. The code was simple but effective—a recipe for mulled wine that contained something far more dangerous than spices.

Gerlach’s people were everywhere—palace guards, kitchen staff, even some of the nobles’ personal servants. They planned to strike from a dozen directions at once, using the festival as cover.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. They had corrupted wyverns hidden in the city, ready to be released when the signal came. The devastation would be immense.

“Thank you, Sara.” Elana kept her voice level. “The wine selection seems adequate, after all. Though perhaps warn Cook about the spicing.”

The maid curtsied again and hurried away, her part played perfectly. Velten’s growl vibrated. “More than we expected.”

“But not more than we can handle.” Elana’s mind raced through contingencies, adjusting plans and positioning. “Tell Irmin to double the roof patrols, especially near the wyvern stables. And have someone shadow the kitchen staff—discreetly.”

Velten’s acknowledgement hummed as he padded away, his movements casual enough not to draw attention.

Elana continued her circuit of the courtyard, each step carefully measured. She paused to compliment the flower arrangements, discuss seating arrangements with the steward, and chat with minor nobles about their festival attire.

When enough pieces were in place, she made her way to the small strategy room tucked away in the palace’s western wing. Her most trusted allies waited—military officers who had proven their loyalty, nobles whose support had been thoroughly vetted, and agents whose very existence was known only to a select few.

“The situation has changed,” she said without preamble. “Gerlach’s reach extends further than we anticipated. We need to adjust our defensive positions accordingly.”

She laid out the new intelligence. Through years of diplomatic training, she had learned to read the subtle tells that betrayed uncertainty or deception. But these people had earned their places in this room. Their responses showed only determination and focus.

“Double the hidden squads near the main gates. And ensure every servant in the banquet hall has been personally vouched for by someone in this room. The wyvern stables are our most vulnerable point—we can’t risk them releasing those corrupted mounts into the city.”

Sergeant Wulfram nodded. “I’ve already increased the patrols, Your Highness. And Commander Irmin’s strike team is positioned to respond at a moment’s notice.”

“Good.” Elana traced the courtyard’s layout on the strategy table. “The festival activities will proceed as planned. Let them think their infiltration has gone unnoticed. But I want eyes on every entrance, every corridor, every possible approach to the palace.”

The meeting continued, each detail examined and refined until Elana was satisfied they had covered every contingency they could anticipate.

As the others filed out, weariness settled onto her shoulders. But there was no time for rest—not with the most crucial meeting still ahead.

She made her way to her private chambers, where her sisters waited. Irmin paced near the window, while Adelinde sat quietly with her research notes spread across a side table.

“It’s worse than we thought,” Elana said. “Gerlach’s people are everywhere. And they have corrupted wyverns hidden in the city.”

“How many?” Irmin turned from the window.

“Too many.”

“My strike teams are ready. The moment they show themselves...”

“We’ll be ready,” Adelinde said, looking up from her notes. “The purification ritual is prepared. When the time comes, we’ll cleanse the corruption from the entire network.”

“If we can hold them off long enough for the ritual to work.” Elana straightened in her chair. “We’ll need perfect coordination. Perfect trust.”

“Whatever comes,” Irmin said, “we face as one.”

“As sisters,” Adelinde added.

“Then let’s end this.” Elana stood, her fatigue falling away. “Together, we are stronger than any corruption, any treachery.”

4. Irmin

Irmin moved through the barracks while her soldiers checked weapons and adjusted armour, preparing for the battle ahead. The quiet intensity of their preparations filled the air, broken only by the soft scrape of whetstone on blade and the occasional murmur of conversation.

“The eastern squad is ready, Commander,” Sergeant Wulfram said on his approach. “All positions secured.”

Irmin nodded. After Eberhard’s betrayal, after discovering how deep Gerlach’s corruption ran through their ranks, it was good to have someone she could trust at her side.

“Keep them sharp,” she said. “But rested. We can’t afford fatigue when the fighting starts.”

“Understood.” He hesitated.

“What is it?”

“I...erm...”

“Speak your mind, Sergeant.”

He lifted his chin. “The squadron is with you, Commander. All the way.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

“Commander.” Riven materialised from the shadows near the weapon racks. “A word?”

She followed him to a quieter corner of the barracks, noting how her soldiers watched him pass. They’d grown more accepting of his presence, but old habits died hard. A rogue rider would always draw wary eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about the palace’s defensive layout. There are three points where Gerlach’s forces might slip through. Places even your best soldiers might miss.”

He outlined the vulnerabilities with precise detail—the kind of expertise that made him valuable...and dangerous.

Irmin studied him, seeing past the casual pose to the tension in his shoulders.

“I know I’m not what you expected. But I’ll prove I’m worth relying on.”

She wanted to trust him. After weeks of fighting side by side, after seeing him risk his life for her cause, she almost did. But betrayal had worn deep grooves in her confidence.

A soft rustle of wings interrupted her thoughts. Witz landed on a beam above them, his scales shimmering with hints of emerald in the lamplight.

“Your thoughts chase themselves like mice in a trap. But strength does not come from armour or titles, Irmin. It comes from knowing where to place your trust.”

She stiffened. “Trust is what got us into this mess. Trust in people who turned against everything they swore to protect.”

“Did it?” Witz’s head tilted. “Or was it trust placed blindly in rank and position, rather than earned through action and choice?” His gaze swept the barracks. “A blade in the wrong hand is no blade at all. But in the right hand...”

Irmin looked between Witz and Riven, noting the subtle tension in the rogue rider’s stance.

“You two know each other,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Riven’s usual smirk faltered. “The royal wyvern knows everyone of importance.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She crossed her arms, studying them both. “This isn’t the first time you’ve spoken.”

An awkward silence fell. Riven suddenly found the weapon racks fascinating, while Witz remained still on his perch.

“Perhaps we should focus on those defensive weaknesses,” Riven said.

“No.” Irmin’s voice hardened. “No more deflections. No more half-truths. If I’m going to trust you, I need to know who you really are.”

Witz’s wings rustled. “I knew Riven when he served your father.”

“Served my father?” She turned to Riven. “In what capacity?”

“It was a long time ago. Another life, really.”

“His designation as a rogue rider,” Witz said. “It was not a punishment. It was a necessity.”

“A necessity for what?”

“For keeping certain secrets safe.” Witz’s black eyes fixed on her. “Your father was a wise man, Irmin. He understood that some tasks required...unconventional methods. Riven served that purpose.”

“You were a spy. All those years operating outside the law...”

“Were spent gathering information your father needed.” Riven’s usual levity vanished. “Information that couldn’t be obtained through official channels. Because...well, those channels were corrupted.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? I was his military commander, I should have—”

“Should have what?” Witz cut in. “Been burdened with knowledge that could compromise your position? Been forced to lie to your own troops about operations you couldn’t acknowledge?”

Irmin paced, her mind racing through implications. “How many others? How many ‘rogue’ riders were actually working for him?”

“That’s not important right now,” Witz said. “What matters is that you can trust the people in this room. All are loyal. All are committed to the Kingdom’s survival.”

Irmin stopped pacing, studying Riven with new eyes. “That’s why you came back. When the corruption crisis started.”

“Your father had contingencies in place. Plans for various threats.” He met her gaze. “I was one of those contingencies.”

“There’s more to this story.” She narrowed her eyes. “Much more.”

“Yes.” Witz’s tail curled around his perch. “But tonight is not the time for history lessons. You have a battle to prepare for, Commander. Focus on that.”

She wanted to press further, to demand the full truth. But she recognised the wisdom in Witz’s words. They had immediate threats to deal with.

“This isn’t over. When this is done, I want the whole story.”

“When this is done,” Riven said, “you’ll have it. I promise.”

“Your father trusted him,” Witz said. “With things he couldn’t trust to even his own General. Remember that when doubt creeps in.”

Irmin narrowed her eyes. “Fine. But no more secrets between us.” She fixed Riven with a hard stare. “I need to know I can rely on you completely.”

“You can. Whatever comes next, I’m with you.”

“No more masks, no more games.”

Riven smirked. “I can’t promise that.”

“Fine.” She turned back to the task at hand, pushing questions aside for now. “Then let’s hear more about these defensive vulnerabilities you spotted.”

As Riven began outlining weak points in their security, Irmin caught Witz watching them both. Whatever other secrets Witz kept, she sensed this one had been shared for a reason.

She let that thought settle and turned back to join her squadron.

Some of her troops were career soldiers, others common recruits who’d proven themselves through hard work and loyalty. Each had chosen to stand with her, not because of her rank, but because they believed in what they fought for.

And Riven...he’d chosen this path despite having every reason to protect his own interests. Instead, he’d thrown his lot in with them completely.

The realisation settled something in her chest. Her father had always said a commander’s strength lay not in her sword arm, but in her ability to recognise and nurture the strength in others.

When she stepped into the centre of the barracks, all eyes fell on her.

“Listen well,” she said. “Tonight we fight not just for the Kingdom, but for each other. For everything we believe in.” Her gaze swept the room, meeting each pair of eyes. “Titles don’t matter here. Rank doesn’t matter. What matters is loyalty. Trust. The strength we find in standing together.”

The soldiers straightened, their focus sharpening.

“Each of you chose to be here. Chose to fight against corruption and betrayal. That choice means more than any oath or commission.” She drew her ravenglass sword. “Tonight, we prove that true strength lies not in high position or noble birth, but in the bonds we forge with each other.”

“Commander.” Wulfram gave her the nod. “We’re ready.”

Tomorrow would bring battle, but tonight they prepared not as Commander and soldiers, but as companions united in purpose.

Berthold’s certainty matched her own; she felt it as darkness gathered beyond the barracks’ walls. They had chosen their path.

5. Adelinde

The core’s resonance hummed through Adelinde’s bones as she sat cross-legged on the chamber floor, surrounded by calculations and ancient texts. Alchemical lanterns cast shifting shadows across her notes, their light seeming pale and weak next to the core’s perfect darkness.

“The energy flow has to be precise,” she muttered, adding another notation to her already crowded diagram. “Even a slight misalignment could cause catastrophic feedback.”

Witz stood nearby, his tail held high as he watched her work.

Adelinde’s fingers traced another calculation. “The power requirements are astronomical. Even with my sisters’ help...” She swallowed hard. “What if I can’t handle it? What if the power overwhelms me before we even begin?”

“You’ve prepared more thoroughly than anyone could,” Witz said. “The theoretical framework is sound.”

She sniffed. “It’s one thing to understand the theory. To map out energy flows and resonance patterns on paper. It’s another to actually channel that much power through living bonds.” Her voice dropped. “To risk everything on calculations that might be wrong.”

“You’re not just a theorist anymore, Adelinde. You have proven that your understanding can translate to action. The purification of Gisela—”

“Was different. Smaller scale. This...” She gestured at the core, its perfect black surface reflecting nothing. “This is beyond anything we’ve ever attempted. If I’m wrong, if I can’t control it...”

“Then the Kingdom falls.”

“Exactly. And I don’t know if I can take that risk.”

“But it falls anyway, if you do nothing.”

Adelinde let out a trembling sigh. “I get it...I just...I don’t know if I’m the person to do this.”

“Knowledge is meaningless without the courage to act on it. The power of this core is vast, but it means nothing if you fear to wield it.”

Adelinde’s hands clenched on her notes. “I know the stakes, Witz. I’ve seen what the corruption does, felt it through my bond with Gisela. But knowing doesn’t make the task any less daunting.”

“No.” Witz curled his tail around his feet. “But it gives you the tools to face it. Your understanding of ravenglass resonance, your sisters’ strengths, the ancient wisdom you’ve uncovered—these are not merely academic pursuits. They are weapons in the war we face.”

He moved closer, his black eyes reflecting depths of knowledge accumulated over generations. “You fear the power might overwhelm you. But you forget—you will not face it alone. Your sisters bring their own strengths, their own understanding. Together, you form a circuit stronger than that which any individual could achieve.”

“If we can maintain perfect harmony. If we can coordinate our efforts exactly”—Adelinde traced another calculation to show the delicate balance required between different aspects of mental energy—“the slightest discord could shatter everything.”

“Then trust in your preparation,” Witz said.

Adelinde stood, her legs protesting hours of stillness. She approached the core, feeling its resonance grow stronger with each step. Its surface remained perfectly black. But underneath that darkness, she sensed possibilities—paths of power that could either save or destroy, depending on how they were wielded.

“The solstice alignment will help,” she said. “The celestial geometries will naturally amplify our efforts. And if we position ourselves correctly,” she said, her hand hovering just above the core’s surface, “the energy should flow like water finding its natural course.”

“But remember—the core responds to intention as much as position,” Witz said. “Your understanding of its mechanics is vital, but so is your willingness to trust your instincts. To let the power flow through you rather than trying to control every aspect.”

Adelinde let his words settle in, feeling the truth of them. She had spent so long studying the technical aspects, the precise calculations required for purification. But power like this couldn’t be completely contained by mathematics. It required a deeper understanding—an integration of knowledge and intuition.

“My sisters...” She turned back to her notes, seeing them with new eyes. “They each bring different forms of understanding. Irmin knows the practical application of power, how to channel and direct it. Elana understands the delicate balance required so that complex systems can function.”

“And you?” Witz’s head tilted.

“I understand the underlying patterns. The resonance that connects everything.” She gathered her notes, her hands steady now. “Together, we might actually have a chance.”

“Now you begin to see. Knowledge isn’t just about accumulating information—it’s about knowing how to use it. How to transform understanding into action.”

Adelinde straightened, squaring her shoulders as she faced the core. “I’ll do it. We’ll do it—together.”

Through their bond, she felt Gisela’s approval—her wyvern’s presence strengthened.

Tomorrow would bring either triumph or catastrophe.

6. Elana

Lamplight cast wavering shadows across maps and ledgers as Elana sat alone in the war room, her fingers tracing palace corridors and choke points she had memorised days ago. Her guide-cane rested against the table, within easy reach though unnecessary in this familiar space.

“The great hall remains vulnerable.” She adjusted her magnifying lens to study the interior layout. “Too many entrances, too many places for infiltrators to hide.” She made another notation, adding to the countless marks and annotations that already crowded the parchment.

She reached for another document—detailed servant rotations and noble quarters assignments that she had revised dozens of times. Each position had been carefully chosen, each patrol route calculated to keep potential traitors separated and monitored. But was it enough?

The weight of responsibility pressed down on her shoulders. Not just the security plans, but the lives that depended on her getting everything right. One mistake could leave Gerlach’s hidden allies free to strike from within.

Soft wings rustled in the doorway. Witz stepped into the room, his black eyes fixed on Elana. “You cannot plan for every betrayal. No matter how many hours you spend trying.”

“I have to try. After what happened with the council, I need to take every precaution.” Elana gestured at the lists spread before her—suspected traitors, nobles who had wavered in their loyalty, families with ties to Gerlach’s conspiracy. “What happens to them? After we win—assuming we win—what do we do with those who betrayed us?”

“Gerlach must be made an example of. Brutal public execution. His lands and assets seized, his name struck from the records. The Kingdom must see the price of such treachery.”

“And his closest allies?”

“Those who knowingly aided his plot must face similar justice,” Witz said. “The noble houses must understand that such betrayal carries consequences that extend beyond a single generation.”

Elana tapped a finger against the table. “But the others? Those who wavered, who chose wrong out of fear or uncertainty?”

“Give them a path to redemption. Let them prove their loyalty anew.” Witz’s tail swept across scattered papers. “A wise ruler knows when to punish and when to forgive. Execution for the leaders, exile for their strongest supporters, but mercy for those who can still be brought back to the fold.”

“And their lands? Their positions?”

“Redistribute them carefully. Reward those who stood firm, but do not create new resentments in the process. Balance is key.”

Velten’s agreement hummed. The wyvern had always understood the delicate dance of power better than she had.

“Some will resist,” she said. “Even after Gerlach falls, some will cling to his cause.”

“Then root them out. Quietly, carefully, but thoroughly. Show mercy to those who repent, but leave no ember of rebellion to spark future fires.”

Elana’s fingers found a particular report—detailed observations of noble behaviour during council sessions, patterns of alliance and antipathy carefully mapped. “We’ll need to restructure the entire court. Change meeting protocols, reassign chambers, break up old power blocks.”

“Yes. But do not destroy everything in your haste to rebuild. Some traditions anchor people, give them stability in uncertain times.”

The truth of his words settled into her chest, uncomfortable but undeniable. She had spent so long trying to maintain perfect control, to account for every possibility. But the real test would come after the battle—in how they rebuilt from the ashes of betrayal.

“The noble houses will resist change. Even those who remained loyal may baulk at too much disruption to their privileges.”

“Then give them new privileges to replace the old,” Witz said. “Let them earn positions of trust, prove themselves worthy of greater responsibility.” His black eyes gleamed. “A court reordered is an opportunity as much as a challenge.”

She could see the possibilities. Those who stood with them now could be elevated, given roles that bound them more tightly to the Crown. New alliances could be forged, old rivalries redirected towards more productive ends.

“And what of my sisters? How do we prevent the court from trying to play us against each other again?”

“By standing together. Let them see three faces of the same power—the warrior, the scholar, the diplomat. Each with her own strength, but united in purpose.”

Velten’s approval flowed. They had learned that lesson the hard way, but the learning would serve them well in the rebuilding to come.

A servant opened the door. “Lord Darius has arrived.”

“Thank you.” Elana straightened her papers, mind already turning to the next moves in this intricate game. They had to win the battle first, which would bring challenges of its own.

Lord Darius entered and bowed. “Your Highness. The hour grows late.”

“Yet here we all are, planning through the night.” Elana gestured for him to sit. “What news from the court?”

“Subtle shifts, as always.” He settled into the chair. “House Kessler draws closer to Gerlach’s remaining allies, while the southern families start to distance themselves. They sense which way the wind blows.”

“And the border houses?”

“Harder to read. They play their cards close, watching to see who emerges strongest.” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “But there are whispers I don’t like. Conversations that stop when loyal ears draw near.”

“You think they’ve already chosen sides?”

“I think some never truly left Molotok’s influence.” He reached into his cloak, withdrawing a familiar dagger—the one used to kill her father. “Which brings me to a request, Your Highness.”

Elana’s breath caught, but she kept her voice steady. “Speak freely.”

“If opportunity presents itself”—he turned the weapon, the light catching its edge—“I would see this blade taste Gerlach’s blood. With your permission, of course.”

Witz shifted but remained silent.

Elana considered the request, weighing implications and consequences.

Poetic justice had its appeal, but the political impact had to be considered.

Finally, she nodded. “A fitting end. But if you succeed, the body must be displayed at Temple Hill. Let all see the price of treason.”

“As you command.” He returned the dagger to his cloak. “There’s more, Your Highness. I fear Gerlach’s move is merely the first strike in a larger campaign. The border nobles—some are already lost to us, I fear. And Molotok will surely press their advantage while we’re weakened.”

“Molotok is in hand.” She kept her tone confident. “We have plans in place, should they try anything foolish.”

Lord Darius made a half-smile. “Then I’ll take my leave. Dawn comes too soon, and there’s much to prepare.”

After he’d gone, Witz stretched his wings. “Plans for Molotok, hmm?”

“None whatsoever.” Elana slumped in her chair. “I’ve been so focused on Gerlach, on internal threats...”

“That external ones had to wait,” Witz said, gliding down from his perch. “Are they still awaiting a response to your ultimatum?”

“They can keep waiting. It buys us time, at least.”

“Time you’re using to shore up internal defences rather than prepare for invasion.”

“What choice do we have?” She gestured at her maps. “We can’t fight enemies within and without simultaneously. Gerlach has to be dealt with first.”

Witz’s tail lashed the air. “I don’t like any of it. But you’re right—for now, it’s the best course available.”

“One battle at a time. We deal with Gerlach, stabilise the court. Then we can turn our attention outward.”

“Assuming Molotok gives you that time.”

“They will. They’re cautious by nature, preferring to let others strike first.” She traced border lines on her map. “They’ll wait to see how our internal conflict plays out before making any overt moves.”

“Unless that’s exactly what Gerlach is counting on.” Witz’s black eyes reflected the lamplight. “Unless this whole plot was coordinated with them from the start.”

The possibility hung heavy in the air. If Gerlach’s betrayal and Molotok’s pressure were indeed coordinated...

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, they had more immediate concerns.

7. Irmin

Festival drums echoed through Reichsherz’s streets as Irmin stood atop the palace walls, her hand resting on Berthold’s scales. Below, citizens packed the thoroughfares, their celebrations a stark contrast to the tension thrumming through her squadron.

Berthold’s alertness sharpened Irmin’s senses. The wyvern’s head lifted slightly, tracking something beyond normal perception. “Movement on the western approach.”

Before she could respond, the first explosion ripped through the night. Orange flame bloomed near the merchant quarter, followed by screams that cut through festival music. More explosions followed—precise, coordinated strikes at key defensive positions.

“Squadron, mount up!” Irmin’s voice carried command strength as she swung into Berthold’s saddle.

Around her, riders rushed to their positions with practised efficiency. “First Wing with me. Second Wing, secure the civilian quarters. Third Wing, maintain palace perimeter.”

Riven appeared at Irmin’s side, already mounted on Kornel. The green wyvern’s scales caught the firelight. “They’re targeting the anti-air defences first. Trying to clear the way for their aerial assault.”

Another explosion punctuated his words.

Through the bond network, Irmin felt her squadron’s grim determination as they launched into darkness.

Berthold’s powerful wings carried them high, giving her a clear view of the coordinated attack unfolding below.

“There!” Sergeant Wulfram announced through the network. “Enemy riders approaching from the north!”

Dark shapes emerged from cloud cover—at least two dozen wyvern riders moving in attack formation. Their mounts’ scales gleamed with unnatural purple light, corruption’s taint evident, even at this distance.

“Defensive pattern,” Irmin commanded. “Protect those civilians!”

Her squadron moved as one, forming a barrier between the corrupted riders and the panicking crowds below.

The enemy formation split, trying to force gaps in their defence.

“Don’t let them separate us!” Irmin said. She drew her sword as Berthold banked hard, intercepting a corrupted rider who’d tried to dive past their line.

Ravenglass rang against steel as she parried the rider’s strike, then countered with a slash that opened his arm.

Berthold’s claws raked his opponent’s wing, forcing them to withdraw.

But more corrupted riders pressed the attack, their mounts moving with unnatural speed and aggression.

“Commander!” Riven’s warning came sharp through the network. “They’re herding us away from the palace!”

He was right. The enemy’s attack pattern wasn’t random—they were deliberately drawing Irmin’s forces away from the palace.

“Second wave incoming!” Wulfram’s voice carried urgency. “At least thirty riders, bearing straight for the palace!”

Irmin’s mind raced through options as she parried another attack. They couldn’t abandon the civilians, but the palace defences wouldn’t hold against so many corrupted riders.

“Riven!” She caught his eye across the chaos. “Take Third Wing and intercept that second wave. We’ll hold them here!”

He nodded. “Try not to die while I’m gone.”

“Same to you.”

Kornel took him away, leading Third Wing towards the new threat. Irmin felt her squadron’s determination sharpen through the network as they closed ranks against the remaining attackers.

Berthold roared as two corrupted riders tried to flank them.

His tail lashed out, catching one mount’s wing while Irmin’s blade found the other rider’s shoulder.

The corrupt wyverns fought with terrifying strength, but their movements were predictable—all aggression, no finesse.

“Keep them contained!” Irmin commanded as her forces pressed the advantage. “Don’t let them break our formation!”

Combat filled her world—the clash of steel, the thunder of wings, Berthold’s fierce joy as they moved in perfect unity. Through their bond, she felt his battle rage tempered by discipline. Unlike the corrupted mounts, he fought with calculated precision.

A corrupted rider dived past their defence, heading straight for a group of civilians.

Irmin didn’t hesitate. “Now!”

Berthold tucked his wings, dropping into a controlled dive that brought them directly into the enemy’s path.

Irmin’s sword swept down as they passed, finding a gap in the rider’s armour.

The corrupted wyvern screamed as its rider fell.

“Commander! Riven’s wing is engaged, but more riders approach from the east,” Wulfram explained. “They’re trying to surround us!”

Irmin exhaled. “Not today,” she said, feeling Berthold’s agreement rumble. “First Wing, form up! We end this now!”

Her squadron drove upward, forcing the corrupted riders to either follow or cede the height advantage.

The enemy took the bait. As they climbed, Irmin’s forces split into pairs, executing a manoeuvre they’d practised countless times.

The corrupted riders found themselves boxed in, their superior numbers working against them in the tight space.

“Strike pattern!” Irmin commanded. “No mercy!”

Berthold’s claws found corrupted scales while Irmin’s blade sang its midnight song.

Their opponents fought with corruption-fuelled strength, but they couldn’t match the precision of her squadron’s coordinated assault.

The corrupted riders’ formation broke, their attacks becoming desperate and uncoordinated.

One by one, they fell or fled, leaving the sky above the civilian quarter clear.

But there was no time to celebrate. Berthold’s warning came sharp and urgent. “The palace!”

Irmin wheeled towards the royal grounds, where Riven’s wing still battled the second wave of attackers.

They were holding their own, but barely—and more corrupt riders approached from multiple directions.

“First Wing, with me!” She didn’t wait for acknowledgement before urging Berthold into a dive. “We hit them from behind while Riven holds the front!”

They plunged into chaos, their arrival taking the enemy by surprise.

Irmin slashed a corrupt rider across the back with her blade while Berthold’s tail swept another from his saddle. She felt Riven’s fierce approval across the network as his forces pressed their sudden advantage.

“About time you joined us!” His voice carried even over the noise of the battle. “I was starting to think you’d found better entertainment!”

“Just giving you a chance to prove yourself useful!” She parried a strike meant for his flank, their movements synchronised despite their different fighting styles.

Kornel twisted through impossible spaces, his agility allowing him to strike where enemies least expected.

Together with Berthold’s raw power, they formed a deadly combination that the corrupted riders struggled to counter.

But more enemies poured in from the city’s outskirts, their mounts’ scales gleaming with that sickly purple light.

This wasn’t just an attack—it was an invasion, meant to overwhelm through sheer numbers what they lacked in skill.

Berthold’s determination blazed. “Let them come. We hold until your sisters are ready.”

Irmin tightened her grip on her sword, feeling the ravenglass respond to her will. Above the palace, stars wheeled into solstice alignment—and somewhere below, her sisters prepared to end this once and for all.

Irmin spotted a familiar silhouette through the smoke—Eberhard astride his bronze-scaled wyvern, directing corrupted riders.

Her former mentor’s betrayal still burned, but now that pain crystallised into deadly purpose.

“Berthold.” She didn’t need to say more. Her wyvern caught her intent and banked sharply towards their target.

Eberhard’s mount wheeled to meet them, its corrupted scales gleaming with sickly purple light. “Commander! Come to watch your Kingdom fall?”

Irmin’s blade arced downward as Berthold swept past, forcing Eberhard to parry.

Their wyverns circled, seeking advantage in the smoke-filled air.

“You taught me better than that,” she called back, reading his mount’s subtle tells—signs of aggression that corruption couldn’t quite mask. “Always strike first, strike hard.”

“I taught you many things.” He pressed forward, his blade weaving patterns she knew too well. “Including how to recognise a lost cause.”

Their weapons clashed again as their mounts spiralled higher. Berthold’s fury matched her own—rage at betrayal transformed into battle focus. They moved as one, each sweep and strike flowing from years of shared combat.

But Eberhard knew their techniques. He’d helped develop many of them. His counter-attacks exploited weaknesses he’d trained into her style, forcing Irmin to adapt with each exchange.

“Gerlach showed me truth,” he said, parrying her thrust and countering with a slash that nearly found her shoulder. “The old ways are dying. The corruption isn’t decay—it’s evolution.”

His mount’s tail lashed out, catching Berthold’s wing. Pain lanced through their bond, but they held formation, turning the injury into momentum for a counter-strike.

“Evolution?” Irmin’s blade found a gap in Eberhard’s defence, drawing first blood. “Is that what you call madness?”

Their wyverns clashed again, claws raking scales as riders traded strikes.

Height advantage shifted with each pass, neither able to gain clear superiority. But Irmin noticed something—corruption made Eberhard’s mount stronger but less controlled. Its movements grew increasingly erratic, while Berthold maintained his discipline.

“You still don’t understand.” Eberhard’s voice carried above the wind. “The core chamber falls tonight. When Gerlach severs the bond network, every wyvern in the Kingdom will know true freedom.”

“Freedom? Like your mount? Corrupted and crazed?” She pressed her attack, using Berthold’s superior control to force closer engagement.

Eberhard’s mount snapped wildly, purple light pulsing through its scales. The corruption was spreading, eating away at whatever remained of their original bond.

“Better mad than chained!” He drove down, nearly unseating her with a savage combination. “Better corrupt than controlled!”

Irmin kicked free of her stirrups, trusting Berthold completely as she launched herself at Eberhard.

Her blade swept past his guard, finding flesh beneath bronze scales.

They tumbled through open air, grappling for advantage.

Eberhard’s greater size worked against him, while Irmin’s agility let her twist free of his grasp.

Berthold’s claws closed around them both, arresting their fall.

“The chains were never real,” Irmin growled, driving her pommel into Eberhard’s sword arm. “The bonds were always about trust. Partnership. Things you forgot in your rush to betray everything you swore to protect.”

His mount wheeled back for another attack, but corruption had taken too deep a hold. Its movements were pure chaos now.

“The Kingdom falls tonight,” Eberhard said, blood staining his uniform. “Gerlach’s forces are already inside. Nothing you do out here matters.”

“Wrong again, old friend.” Irmin’s blade pressed against his throat. “Everything matters. Every choice. Every battle. Every betrayal.”

She saw the moment his resolve broke—saw him realise that corruption had cost him not just his honour, but his mount’s sanity.

The bronze wyvern’s attacks grew wilder, its eyes lost to purple haze.

“You did this,” she said. “You broke faith. Broke trust. Broke everything that made you a true rider.”

Her sword swept down, ending their duel with brutal efficiency. Eberhard fell, his mount screaming in corrupted rage as it dived after him.

Irmin didn’t watch them land.

Without Eberhard’s leadership, the corrupted riders’ formation fell into disarray. Riven and Kornel darted through gaps in their defence, turning chaos against itself.

She scrambled back into the saddle, taking the reins once more.

“Commander!” Wulfram’s voice carried urgency. “We’re pushing them back, but more approach from the east!”

Irmin raised her blade, rallying her forces for another assault. But before she could issue orders, something else pulled at her consciousness—a psychic summons that hummed through every bond in the network.

Adelinde’s voice filled her mind, carrying power she’d never heard from her sister. “To the core! Now!”

The battle above the palace suddenly felt distant, secondary to that primal call. Berthold’s understanding resonated. This was where the real fight would be decided.

“Wulfram! Don’t let them regroup!”

“What about you?”

“I have another battle to win.” She turned to Riven, who had already guided Kornel closer. “Watch my back?”

8. Adelinde

The palace corridors echoed with battle sounds as Adelinde ran.

Smoke twisted through flickering torchlight, making every shadow seem alive with threat.

Through her bond with Gisela, she felt the core’s resonance growing stronger—and with it, a sense of desperate urgency.

The alignment was almost upon them.

Ahead, Irmin’s blade flashed in the dim light as she cut down another of Gerlach’s soldiers. Berthold’s massive form barely fit the corridor.

“Stay close!” Elana commanded, despite her breathlessness. Velten moved beside them, keeping pace.

A soldier burst from a side passage, his blade swinging, only for Riven to materialise from nowhere and intercept the attack with fluid grace.

Above, through broken windows, Kornel’s wings stirred the smoke-filled air as he kept watch for aerial threats.

“The main hall’s blocked!” Irmin called back, finding another enemy’s weak point with her sword. “We’ll have to cut through the library!”

Adelinde’s heart clenched at the thought of her sanctuary becoming a battlefield.

But there was no time for sentiment—not with corruption spreading through the bond network, not with the core’s safety hanging by an ever-thinning thread.

They burst into the library’s grand chamber, where the battle had already left its mark. Broken shelves spilled precious books across stone floors, centuries of knowledge scattered like fallen leaves.

Smoke curled between toppled columns, and the scent of burning parchment filled the air.

Adelinde forced herself not to look at the destruction of her beloved refuge.

“Incoming!” Riven’s warning came sharp as soldiers poured through the library’s eastern door. Their armour bore Gerlach’s colours, but their eyes gleamed with unnatural purple light. The corruption had already taken hold in them, twisting loyalty into mindless aggression.

Irmin met their charge without hesitation, her ravenglass blade swinging.

Berthold’s tail swept shelves aside, clearing space for combat while blocking their enemies’ advance. The wyvern’s roar shook dust from high rafters.

“This way!” Adelinde guided them towards a hidden door concealed behind rows of ancient texts.

But more corrupted soldiers appeared from behind fallen bookcases, cutting off their path.

Adelinde clutched her notes tighter, desperately wishing she’d learned more than basic self-defence. Theory and research wouldn’t help against cold steel.

Elana stepped forward, her guide-cane striking with surprising speed.

Velten’s strikes sent corrupted warriors stumbling back, buying them crucial moments to advance.

“Keep moving!” Irmin shouted over the clash of steel. “We have to reach the core before—”

An explosion rocked the library’s foundations, sending more shelves toppling.

Adelinde felt the panic of other wyverns via the bond, along with their pain as corruption spread more quickly through their ranks.

Loyal mounts turned against their riders, bonds twisting into something unnatural.

They fought their way through smoke and chaos, each sister covering the others’ weaknesses.

Adelinde’s knowledge guided them through lesser-known passages while Irmin’s blade cleared their path. Elana’s tactical mind anticipated ambush points, keeping them one step ahead of their pursuers.

Each fallen book, each broken artefact made Adelinde’s heart ache. But the true repository of knowledge lay ahead—the core itself.

A corrupted soldier lunged at her, blade aimed for her chest. But Riven appeared again, finding a gap in the attacker’s armour with his weapon. “Your sisters are better fighters than you,” he said.

Adelinde nodded. “I have other talents.”

Finally, they reached the grand wyvern chamber.

Moonlight streamed through its high windows, painting everything in silver and shadow.

Palace guards had formed a shield wall near the main entrance, their discipline unbroken even as corrupted forces pressed their attack.

“The alignment.” Adelinde’s voice shook. “We have to hurry.”

Irmin nodded, blood streaking her armour. “The path is clear.”

“Gisela!” Adelinde called, spotting her wyvern emerge from the darkness.

The wyvern took up position beside her sisters’ mounts.

Then all three wyverns roared in unison—Berthold’s deep battle cry, Velten’s piercing challenge, and Gisela’s keening wail—shaking the air around them.

More explosions shook the palace foundations. Through broken windows, Adelinde glimpsed aerial combat still raging above the city. Corrupted riders clashed with loyal forces.

All her research, all her careful preparation, had led to this moment.

Now theory would become desperate action, and knowledge would become their greatest weapon.

The guards held their line as the sisters moved towards the core chamber’s hidden entrance.

The core’s resonance grew stronger as Adelinde led the way down the steps.

She stepped forward, feeling power pulse through the stone. Corruption had spread further since her last visit—purple veins now threaded through the core’s perfect black surface, twisting what should have been pure resonance.

“Take your positions,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “Irmin, to the right focal point. Elana, left. Our wyverns will form the outer triangle.”

She felt Gisela’s determination as her mount moved into place. Berthold and Velten took their positions, their presence strengthening the geometric patterns Adelinde had studied so carefully.

She spread her notes before her, though she’d memorised every detail. The ancient texts had been clear—three points of power, working in perfect harmony. Mind to perceive, strength to act, will to bind. But theory was one thing. Actually channelling the core’s vast energy was another thing entirely.

Witz perched near the core itself, his scales shimmering with hints of emerald as he watched their preparations.

Above, through carefully carved openings in the chamber’s ceiling, three stars wheeled into solstice alignment. Their light seemed to pierce the darkness, igniting something deep within the core’s structure. Power surged through the ravenglass, making it difficult to breathe.

“Remember,” Adelinde said, “don’t fight the energy flow. Let it move through you. Guide it rather than trying to control it completely.” She swallowed hard. “And whatever happens, don’t break the connection. No matter what you feel or see.”

Her sisters nodded, their faces set, and their wyverns’ fierce focus merged with their own.

Adelinde began the ritual, her voice steady as she recited words learned from crumbling texts. The core’s resonance shifted, responding to patterns of sound and will that hadn’t been used in centuries. Power built around them, making the very air shimmer with potential.

Through their combined bonds, she felt her sisters add their strength to the working.

Irmin’s martial discipline provided framework and focus, while Elana’s finesse helped balance competing energies. Their wyverns amplified each contribution, turning individual efforts into something greater.

The core’s surface rippled as they pressed against corruption’s hold.

Purple veins writhed, fighting their attempt at purification. But they pushed harder, their unity growing stronger with each passing moment.

The chamber’s ancient geometries began to glow, channels of power awakening after centuries of sleep.

Adelinde’s hands trembled as she guided the energy flow, weaving together threads of resonance that hadn’t merged since the Kingdom’s founding.

The power was overwhelming—far greater than anything she’d prepared for. It pressed against her mind like a physical weight, threatening to sweep away conscious thought.

But her sisters’ presence steadied her, grounded her. Irmin’s strength became her strength; Elana’s will reinforced her own. Their wyverns’ fierce loyalty added another layer of protection against corruption’s assault.

The core’s hum grew into a roar as power surged through awakened channels. Light erupted from its surface, filling the chamber with a radiance that was somehow both blinding and dark at the same time.

Through that impossible illumination, Adelinde glimpsed the bond network itself—a vast web of connections spanning the entire Kingdom.

“We’re doing it!” Her voice shook with effort. “Keep going! Don’t let up!”

Corruption fought back with renewed fury, trying to maintain its hold on the network. But their combined power proved stronger.

Purple veins began to dissolve, replaced by pure resonance as the core’s natural energy reasserted itself.

The chamber vibrated with contained force, its ancient stone groaning under the strain.

Adelinde felt Gisela’s joy as the last traces of corruption seeped away. Around them, other bonds strengthened and stabilised as the purification spread through the network.

The power peaked, becoming almost too much to bear as the stars came into perfect alignment.

Adelinde’s knees buckled as the core’s energy poured through her, using her connection to cleanse corruption from the furthest reaches of the Kingdom.

Only her sisters kept her from collapsing completely.

Finally, after what felt like hours but might have been moments, the surge began to fade.

The alignment shifted.

The core became still, its surface once again perfect and pure.

The chamber’s resonance settled into familiar harmony, though something felt different—stronger, more alive than before.

Adelinde sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face as relief overwhelmed her.

They had done it. Actually done it.

The corruption was gone, the bond network restored to its natural state.

Gisela’s roar shook the chamber as she moved to Adelinde’s side.

“You have done what many thought impossible.” Witz stepped forward. “But this is only the beginning. The Kingdom must be rebuilt, trust restored, bonds strengthened anew.”

Adelinde turned to her sisters, seeing her own exhaustion mirrored in their faces. But she also saw something else—pride, determination, and most importantly, unity. “None of us could have succeeded alone.”

Irmin’s hand settled on her shoulder, strong and steady. Her warrior sister’s usual stoicism had given way to a rare smile. “We fight better together. Always have, even when we forgot it.”

“And together, we’ll rebuild.” Elana’s diplomatic mask softened as she joined them. “Everything we lost, everything that was broken—we’ll make it stronger than before.”

Witz shifted. “This is all very touching, but may I remind you, the battle is far from over. Gerlach has taken the throne room.”

9. Elana

Elana emerged from the core chamber, her sisters at her side. The palace corridors felt eerily quiet after the intensity of what she’d just experienced, though distant sounds of conflict still echoed from beyond the walls.

Velten’s heightened alertness sharpened Elana’s senses. The silver wyvern’s muscles tensed, responding to dangers she couldn’t quite detect in the half-light.

She caught Irmin’s eye. Her sister already had her hand on her sword hilt, scanning for threats. Adelinde swayed, exhausted from the purification ritual.

Witz flew at her side. “The next phase requires different weapons. The kind you wield best, Elana.”

They emerged into the palace courtyard. Bodies lay scattered across the stone. Nearby, wyverns rested, their scales returning to natural hues as corruption faded from their bonds.

Irmin’s voice rang out, commanding her riders to regroup. Scattered cheers rose as soldiers noticed their wyverns calming, bonds restored to their proper strength.

But Elana saw the exhaustion in every face, the cost of victory etched in blood and sacrifice. Many of these men and women had fought their own corrupted mounts, had nearly lost bonds that defined their very existence.

“The holding pens,” Irmin said, already striding towards where corrupted wyverns had been contained. Her boots left bloody prints on the stone. “They need to be released.”

The massive beasts appeared docile now, confusion replacing aggression in their eyes. But the soldiers still hesitated when Irmin ordered the chains removed. After seeing what corruption could do, their fear was understandable.

“They’re not the enemy anymore,” Irmin said. “Let them return to their riders.”

Elana stepped forward as one young soldier particularly struggled with his task, hands shaking on heavy chains. “The bonds are restored,” she said. “Trust in that, if nothing else. What was broken has been mended.”

One by one, wyverns reunited with their riders. Each successful reunion strengthened her hope that victory might actually be within reach.

Wingbeats announced Riven’s arrival, Kornel landing with customary grace. The rogue rider’s face showed open gratitude as he approached, all his usual mockery set aside. “I don’t know what you did, but Kornel’s himself again. The bond—it’s stronger than ever. Thank you.”

Before any of them could respond, Sergeant Wulfram rode in hard, his mount’s scales still bearing traces of combat. “Commander! Fresh riders approaching from the north. At least three squadrons, moving fast. They’re regrouping for another assault on the palace!”

Irmin began issuing orders.

“You two need to stay out of this fight,” Irmin said, turning first to Elana. “If something happens to you, everything we’ve done here will be for nothing. The Kingdom needs its leaders whole.”

Adelinde shook her head. “I’m going to the laboratory. If the ravenglass is pure now, we need to know. The core’s cleansing might have affected more than just the bonds.”

“And Gerlach is still here,” Elana said. “If he’s in the throne room, I’ll deal with him. Some battles require words rather than steel.”

“And he knows you’re coming,” Witz said. “This confrontation was always meant to be yours. The final test of everything your father taught you.”

Irmin hesitated, clearly torn between leading the defence and protecting her sisters. Elana placed a hand on her arm. “You do your part. Let me do mine,” she said. “The Kingdom needs its warrior in the sky right now.”

Irmin’s jaw tightened, but she nodded and mounted Berthold. “Don’t do anything reckless. That’s supposed to be my role.”

Adelinde was already hurrying towards her laboratory, muttering about energy patterns and resonance fluctuations. Elana watched her sisters diverge—one to battle, one to research, while her own path led to confrontation of a different sort.

She adjusted her cloak and checked that her guide-cane was secure.

This would end today, one way or another. The time for half-measures and political manoeuvring had passed.

10. Irmin

Smoke stung Irmin’s eyes as she urged Berthold higher, surveying the battle still unfolding above Reichsherz. Enemy riders swarmed towards the palace like dark wasps, their mounts’ scales no longer showing traces of corruption’s purple taint.

“First Wing, form up!” she instructed. “Defence pattern—protect those walls!”

Through the smoke, she glimpsed Riven and Kornel taking position on her right flank, their movements fluid and precise.

“They’re trying to overwhelm the eastern approach,” Riven called. “Using their numbers to—”

An enemy rider burst through the smoke, his mount’s claws extending for Berthold’s throat.

Irmin’s blade flashed, finding flesh as her wyvern twisted away.

His tail lashed out, catching their attacker’s wing and sending them tumbling.

“First Wing, hold the centre!” she shouted, already wheeling to meet another threat. “Second Wing, push them east! Don’t let them mass for a concentrated strike!”

More enemies pressed their attack. Irmin’s sword became an extension of her will, each strike flowing from years of combat experience.

Berthold moved beneath her, humming with shared purpose.

“Commander!” Sergeant Wulfram’s warning cut through the battle noise. “More incoming from the north!”

Fresh wings darkened the sky as another wave of riders joined the fight.

“Riven!” Irmin caught his eye across the chaos. “Take Third Wing and split their formation! Drive between their ranks!”

He grinned. “If they can keep up!”

Kornel dived through enemy lines, his agility making impossible manoeuvres look easy. Riven’s blade found weak points while Third Wing followed his lead, turning the enemy’s numbers against them.

Irmin pressed her own attack, Berthold’s roar shaking the air as they plunged into combat.

A rider came at them from above.

Berthold rolled, putting Irmin in perfect position to strike.

Her blade opened the enemy’s defences while Berthold’s claws found purchase on scales.

“Keep them scattered!” she commanded through the network. “Don’t let them coordinate!”

Irmin parried attacks and delivered counters. Berthold’s natural strength gave them advantage in close combat.

Through smoke and flame, she tracked her squadron’s movements. First Wing held above the palace, their coordinated attacks preventing enemy forces from massing. Second Wing drove east, using the rising sun to blind their opponents. And Third Wing followed Riven’s lead, striking where least expected.

An enemy mount’s tail nearly took her head off, but Berthold dived under the attack, coming up beneath their opponent.

Irmin’s blade found the rider’s leg while Berthold’s claws raked vulnerable wing membranes.

“They’re pulling back!” Wulfram called. “Regrouping for another push!”

“Not this time.” Irmin felt Berthold agree. “All wings, advance! Push them now while they’re disorganised!”

Irmin drove Berthold into a steep dive, wind tearing at her face as they plunged towards Gerlach’s forces.

Dark armour gleamed below as enemy riders formed up.

“Now!”

Berthold’s roar shook the air as they burst through the enemy formation.

Irmin’s blade swept through their ranks, punishing any rider too slow to evade.

A massive wyvern charged them head-on, its rider wielding twin blades that caught dawn’s light.

Berthold met the challenge with devastating force, his bulk slamming into their opponent while holding position for Irmin to strike.

She parried both blades. The enemy rider fought with savage strength, but their movements were predictable—all aggression, no finesse. She waited for the pattern, then struck through their guard with precise economy.

“Commander!” Riven warned. “Above you!”

She glimpsed movement too late—another mount diving from cloud cover, claws extended for Berthold’s wings.

But Kornel appeared, his incredible speed letting him intercept the attack. Riven’s blade flashed as they passed.

“Getting slow in your old age?”

“Just giving you a chance to prove yourself useful!”

They broke apart as more enemies pressed the attack. Irmin felt her squadron moving into practised formations. “Strike pattern! Split their lines!” she called out to them.

As they climbed, the rising sun caught Berthold’s wings, drawing attention upward.

Below, Riven guided Kornel through a series of impossible manoeuvres, their agility making them irresistible bait.

Gerlach’s riders broke formation, chasing the more obvious threat.

“Now! Hit them while they’re scattered!”

Her squadron struck from multiple angles, using their coordination to overwhelm the enemy’s superior numbers.

Irmin’s strikes found weak points, while Berthold’s strength carried them through the chaos of close combat.

Together, they became a weapon of precision and power.

A large wyvern crashed into them mid-roll, its rider screaming a battle cry.

Berthold twisted, using their momentum against them while his tail lashed out at vulnerable wing joints.

Irmin’s sword swept down, ending the threat with brutal efficiency.

She caught glimpses of Riven and Kornel executing their own deadly dance.

“They’re breaking!” Sergeant Wulfram’s voice carried triumph. “The formation’s collapsing!”

Irmin pressed the advantage, driving Berthold towards the heart of enemy resistance.

More riders rose to meet them, but their attacks grew desperate and uncoordinated.

Irmin spotted Gerlach’s elite riders astride massive wyverns, their presence darkening the sky as they drove towards the palace.

But before she could issue commands—a streak of green.

Kornel moved like water through air, his sleek form slipping between two elite wyverns.

Riven’s blade flashed.

“Circle pattern, now!” he commanded.

Kornel responded, banking into a tight spiral that forced the larger wyverns to follow.

Riven’s instructions came quick and precise, complete trust evident in every movement. This wasn’t just skilled flying—this was perfect unity between rider and mount.

Unity that had only been possible because of their combined efforts to purify the corruption.

“Commander!” Wulfram’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Their leader—three o’clock, high!”

She spotted him immediately—a massive rider on an equally massive mount, directing the elite forces.

“Berthold.” She didn’t need to say more. Her wyvern caught her intent. They drove upward, gathering speed as they climbed.

Enemy wyverns moved to intercept, but Kornel appeared again, Riven’s blade keeping them occupied while Irmin pressed towards her target.

She caught his brief nod as they passed.

The lead rider’s mount wheeled to meet them and roared its challenge.

They clashed mid-air, the impact jarring enough to rattle teeth.

Berthold’s claws found purchase on scales while Irmin’s blade swept towards the rider’s guard.

Ravenglass swords clashed, neither able to gain a clear advantage. The tail of the leader’s wyvern lashed out, nearly catching Berthold’s wing.

Berthold tucked his wings, dropping beneath their opponent’s guard.

Irmin’s blade found the gap in the leader’s armour, a precise strike that ended the fight in a single moment.

Without their leader’s coordination, the elite riders’ formation collapsed into chaos.

They fought on, but their attacks grew wild and unfocused.

“All Wings, press the advantage! Don’t let them regroup!”

Her squadron surged forward as one, their unified attack devastating what remained of enemy resistance.

The last of Gerlach’s forces fled, their mounts no match for coordinated defence.

Irmin felt Berthold’s satisfaction rumble as they circled the palace once more, ensuring the airspace was secure.

Below, cheers rose from loyal soldiers who had held the ground.

Their voices carried triumph tempered by exhaustion—the kind of victory that left bones aching.

“Squadron, form up! Secure the perimeter. I want eyes on every approach.”

Her riders moved, their formations precise despite fatigue. Through smoke and early sunlight, she glimpsed Riven and Kornel making one final sweep of the eastern quarter before banking towards the palace.

Berthold landed in the courtyard with a grace that belied his size.

As Irmin dismounted, her legs trembled—the cost of sustained aerial combat making itself known.

Riven landed beside her, his own exhaustion showing in the slight stiffness of his movements. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, one hand resting on Kornel’s scales. “Commander.”

The title carried weight it hadn’t before.

Through their shared combat, Riven had proven himself more than just a useful ally. He’d become something she’d never expected—someone she could truly trust.

“This victory belongs to all of us.” She turned to address her assembled squadron, her voice resonating through the ranks, a tangible sound that every rider could feel. “Every rider, every mount. We held the sky together.”

Approval rippled to her from Berthold as tired cheers rose from her forces.

They had earned this moment, paid for it in blood and sweat and unwavering loyalty.

But celebration died as running footsteps approached.

A palace messenger sprinted towards them, face pale. “Commander! Urgent news—Gerlach has taken the throne room. He’s heavily guarded, and...”

Irmin’s hand found her sword hilt as she exchanged glances with Riven. They both knew what this meant.

11. Adelinde

Adelinde’s boots pounded against stone as she raced through smoke-filled corridors, her heart matching the frantic rhythm of her steps.

Battle sounds echoed through the palace—steel on steel, wyvern screams, the distant thunder of explosions.

She clutched research notes against her chest, precious knowledge that meant nothing if she couldn’t confirm their success.

The purification ritual had worked on the core, but had it affected the other ravenglass specimens?

Had they truly found a way to cleanse corruption from their world?

Another explosion rocked the palace, sending debris skittering across her path. She stumbled but kept moving, forcing exhausted muscles to respond.

She felt Gisela’s encouragement—her wyvern’s presence stronger now, clearer than it had been since corruption first took hold.

The laboratory door appeared ahead, its heavy wood bearing fresh scorch marks.

But as she approached, movement inside made her freeze mid-stride.

Shadows shifted beyond the gap—someone was already there.

Before she could retreat, the door burst open.

Klara and Sigmund leaped out, improvised weapons raised.

Adelinde yelped and threw up her hands, nearly dropping her notes. “It’s me!”

“My lady!” Klara lowered her makeshift spear. “We thought you were one of Gerlach’s agents.”

Sigmund’s hands trembled as he set aside his own weapon. “I apologise, we didn’t expect—”

“No time!” Adelinde pushed past them. “I need to check the samples. Now!”

She yanked open the first cabinet with shaking hands, breath catching as she examined the ravenglass shards within.

Where corruption had twisted their surfaces with purple veins, now perfect clarity remained.

She moved to the next cabinet, then the next, confirmation building with each examination.

“We did it. Every specimen...they’re all pure again.”

The shards glowed darker than black, their surfaces unmarred by corruption’s taint.

All her research, all their combined efforts, had finally borne fruit.

Gisela’s fierce joy matched her own.

Klara and Sigmund moved closer, their expressions shifting.

These weren’t just purified specimens—they were proof that corruption could be beaten.

Another explosion shattered the moment of victory, closer this time.

Battle still raged outside, lives still hanging in the balance.

They couldn’t afford to celebrate yet.

“Secure these samples.” Adelinde began gathering her most crucial notes. “Lock down the lab. The city’s still under attack, and my sisters need me.”

“I’ll stay,” Klara said. “Monitor the specimens, make sure nothing changes.”

Sigmund stepped forward. “Then I’ll accompany you, my lady. The corridors aren’t safe.”

Adelinde nodded, grateful for his steady presence as she secured the last cabinet.

They burst back into the corridor at a run, Sigmund’s longer stride matching her desperate pace.

More explosions shook the palace, and the clash of steel grew louder.

Gisela’s presence urged her onward.

Another blast rocked the corridor, sending them stumbling against the wall. Dust and debris rained down as cracks spread.

“The structural integrity—”

“Won’t matter if we lose this fight!” Adelinde pushed away from the wall, forcing herself back into motion.

Her legs burned with exhaustion, but she couldn’t stop.

They rounded a corner and nearly collided with a group of palace guards.

The soldiers raised weapons before recognising them, then quickly formed a protective circle around Adelinde and Sigmund.

“My lady!” Their leader saluted. “The throne room—your sisters...”

“Take me there. Now!”

They moved as one through smoke-filled corridors, every step bringing them closer to the heart of the conflict.

The guards took up formation as they approached the throne room’s corridor.

12. Elana

The throne room’s shadows deepened as Elana stepped forward.

Gerlach stood before the ravenglass throne—her father’s throne—his stance casual despite the guards flanking him.

“Baron Gerlach.” Elana kept her voice steady, pitched to carry to every corner of the vast chamber. “You stand accused of high treason against the Crown.”

His laugh held no humour. “Treason? Is that what you call trying to save our Kingdom from weak leadership? From those who would rather talk than act?”

“No,” she said, withdrawing a leather folio from her cloak. “I call this treason.”

Lord Darius moved closer, his hand resting on his dagger’s hilt.

She sensed other nobles shifting behind her.

“First, the corruption of our ravenglass.” She produced documents bearing Gerlach’s seal. “Your agents deliberately tainted our greatest resource, weakening the bonds between riders and mounts. All while you claimed to champion military strength.”

Gerlach’s smile tightened. “Accusations without proof. Anyone could have forged those seals.”

“Perhaps.” She withdrew another document, this one bearing Molotok’s distinctive mark. “But can you explain these communications with our enemies? Detailed intelligence about our defences, our trade routes, our military capabilities?”

Murmurs rippled through the assembled nobles. Gerlach’s guards exchanged uneasy glances.

“You speak of strength,” Elana said. “Yet you conspired to cripple our greatest advantage. The wyvern bond network that maintains our Kingdom’s unity—you would see it corrupted, twisted into something unnatural.”

“Unnatural?” Anger crept into his tone. “What’s ‘unnatural’ is how we chain these magnificent creatures to our will. The corruption doesn’t weaken them—it sets them free!”

Lord Darius stepped forward. “I’ve seen your ‘freed’ wyverns. Maddened beasts, their bonds perverted into something grotesque. Is that your vision for our Kingdom’s future?”

Elana raised her hand, silencing further argument. “Your own words condemn you, Baron. But if more proof is needed.” She produced a final document—confessions detailing every aspect of Gerlach’s conspiracy. “Your allies abandon you, one by one. Even now, your forces in the city have fallen to Commander Irmin’s riders.”

Gerlach laughed. “Confessions? That’s no evidence. Just more speculation and hearsay.”

“You orchestrated my father’s assassination.” Her voice carried absolute certainty now. “Used House Darius’s stolen blade to sow discord amongst the nobles. All while feeding information to Molotok, preparing them to strike when we were at our weakest.”

The chamber fell silent as the full scope of his betrayal became clear. Nobles who had wavered now stood firmly behind her.

“You understand nothing.” Gerlach’s casual mask cracked. “The old order is dying. Can’t you see? The bonds themselves are chains, binding us to traditions that make us weak!”

Elana shook her head. “Look around you, Baron. Your conspiracy lies in ruins. Your forces scatter. Your corruption’s purified.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “The only weakness here is your own. Your fear of change you couldn’t control, of power you couldn’t dominate.”

Gerlach’s stance shifted, his muscles tensing. “You have no proof I—”

“The assassin’s confession implicated you directly.” Elana stepped forward, each tap of her guide-cane punctuating her words. “But more damning are the funds traced through your accounts. The communications with known conspirators. The carefully orchestrated plan to frame House Darius while you prepared to strike.”

“Others were involved! I was merely—”

“A traitor.” Elana’s voice hardened. “You betrayed not just my father, but every person in this room. Every family who trusted you. You sought to destroy what generations have built, all for your own twisted vision of power.”

Lord Darius advanced, his hand tight on his dagger’s hilt. “You have no place in this Kingdom. Your actions are a stain on all we stand for.”

He gestured, and his guards moved to surround Gerlach. Other nobles joined them.

The baron’s remaining loyalists exchanged uncertain glances. He drew his blade with surprising speed. But he was one man against many, his desperate strikes finding only air.

Lord Darius pressed forward, his dagger a blur.

A vicious slash from Darius drove Gerlach to his knees, blood staining his fine clothes.

Still, he fought, but numbers and skill proved too much.

Within moments, guards had him pinned, his weapons kicked away.

Elana approached him. “It’s over, Baron Gerlach. Your conspiracy ends here.”

He laughed. “You think this ends with me? You’re blind, all of you. There are greater powers at work than you could ever understand.”

“What powers?” She pressed closer, but Gerlach laughed harder before slumping unconscious, blood pooling around him.

Silence fell as his words sank in.

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances with the implications of larger threats.

“The roots of betrayal run deep.” Witz’s voice carried quiet certainty. “This is but one branch of a larger tree.”

Velten’s concern matched her own. They had won this battle, but at what cost? And what other threats still lurked in shadow?

She straightened, turning to address the assembled nobles. “This is not the end of our struggle. But today, we have reclaimed a piece of what was stolen from us.” Her gaze found Lord Darius. “Thank you. This Kingdom needs leaders like you.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” He bowed and gestured to Gerlach’s body. “And thank you for helping me clear my family’s name.”

The throne room doors burst open as Irmin charged in, Berthold’s roar echoing behind her, her ravenglass sword raised, ready for combat.

Adelinde followed close behind with Sigmund and a contingent of palace guards, their weapons drawn.

“Elana! We heard—”

“It’s over.” Elana remained calm, one hand raised to stay their advance. “Baron Gerlach’s conspiracy ends here.”

Adelinde moved closer. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.” Elana gestured to Gerlach’s still form. “Though he hints at greater powers yet unrevealed.”

“There always are.” Irmin sheathed her blade. “But we’ll face those when they come.” She looked around at the gathered nobles. “I want everyone in this room arrested. I want them questioned and tried for treason.”

Elana shook her head. “Question them by all means, but arrests aren’t necessary...yet.”

Irmin pursed her lips then took a step back with a nod.

Elana’s steps carried her towards the empty throne, its presence a physical reminder of everything lost—and everything still worth protecting.

She felt the weight of generations pressing down, demanding justice, demanding leadership worthy of their sacrifice, a reminder of all that was lost—and all that was still worth fighting for.

13. Irmin

Morning light glinted on broken armour and fallen weapons as Irmin stood beside Berthold in the courtyard, every muscle aching from the night’s combat.

The wyvern’s scales bore fresh scratches, evidence of too-close encounters. But his presence remained steady, a reminder of what they’d fought to protect.

Nearby, soldiers and riders tended to their wounds and their mounts.

Quiet words of encouragement passed between them, their spirits lifted despite obvious fatigue.

Many nodded as they caught her eye—no longer just following orders, but bound by shared combat.

Kornel rested in a patch of sunlight, his green scales catching the morning light. The sight of him whole and uncorrupted stood as proof of what they’d accomplished.

Her sisters’ efforts with the core had worked better than any of them dared hope.

“Commander.” Lord Darius approached. Behind him, several of her squadron leaders gathered. “Your courage turned the tide. The Kingdom owes you a debt.”

Irmin shook her head. “I just did what needed doing. We all did.”

“You did more than that.” Sergeant Wulfram stepped forward. “You gave us hope when we needed it most. Showed us what real leadership looks like.”

Berthold’s amusement susurrated through their bond. He knew how much she hated moments like this—preferred action to accolades, combat to ceremony. But some acknowledgements couldn’t be avoided.

“This wasn’t just my victory. We wouldn’t have won without Elana’s strategy and Adelinde’s work. My sisters...” She paused, the words still feeling strange, but right. “We’re stronger together than apart.”

The gathered leaders exchanged glances.

Lord Darius smiled.

She turned to address her forces, pitching her voice to carry. “We’ve won a great victory today. But the cost...” Her gaze swept over the wounded, the exhausted, the gaps where companions should have stood. “The cost reminds us what we fight for. What we must protect.”

She took a deep breath. “Get some rest. All of you. You’ve earned it.” Her voice softened. “And thank you. For standing with us when it mattered most.”

The soldiers dispersed, many stopping to check on companions or help with the wounded. Irmin watched them go, seeing not just warriors but people who had chosen to believe in something larger than themselves.

“So, Commander.” Riven’s familiar smirk carried new warmth. “Do I get an official spot in your squadron after all this?”

“You’ve earned it,” Irmin said. “Though don’t expect me to go easy on you. My standards don’t drop just because you helped save the Kingdom.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Riven reached up to scratch Kornel’s jaw. “Besides, your training methods can’t be worse than what we’ve already been through.”

“How’s Kornel? The corruption—”

“Is completely gone.” Riven’s hand settled on Kornel’s scales. “I can feel it. The bond’s clearer than ever, like something that was muffling it has lifted.” He looked at her. “Thank you. What you and your sisters did. I never thought we’d get this back.”

“We all fought our own battles,” Irmin said. “But in the end, it took all of us.”

Riven nodded. “Your sisters surprised me. Especially the scholarly one. Never thought book learning could hit that hard.”

“Addie’s stronger than she looks. They both are. I just wish...”

“That you’d seen it sooner?” His knowing smile held no mockery. “Sometimes the hardest things to see are right in front of us.”

“Get some rest,” Irmin said. “Both of you. Tomorrow starts the real work.”

“Yes, Commander.” Riven’s salute carried both respect and that hint of irreverence she’d come to expect.

As he led Kornel away, their movements flowed together.

Alone with Berthold, Irmin let her shoulders drop. Exhaustion pressed down, but her mind refused to quiet.

Too many thoughts demanded attention—betrayals that still stung, loyalty that had proven stronger than steel, the price paid in blood and trust to reach this moment.

She ran a hand over Berthold’s scales, drawing comfort from their familiar texture.

The restored bond network hummed in her mind, a constant reminder of what they’d achieved.

Not just victory in battle, but the renewal of something precious. Something worth every sacrifice.

“Your squadron looked to you for strength,” Witz said, appearing silently beside her. “But true strength often lies in knowing when to rely on others.”

Irmin turned to face him. “I’m learning that. Slowly, maybe, but learning.”

“The Kingdom breathes again, but its heart remains fragile. Strengthen it, as you have strengthened your bond with your sisters.”

“We will.”

14. Adelinde

Adelinde sat between her sisters, tracing patterns in her latest sketches of the bond network. Though victory still felt fresh, something nagged at her mind—questions that refused to settle despite their success.

Irmin’s leathers creaked as she shifted, impatience evident in every movement. Even now, hours after the battle, she remained combat-ready. Beside her, Elana maintained her diplomatic composure.

“The purification worked. Better than I’d hoped, actually. Every corrupted specimen I’ve examined shows complete recovery. The resonance patterns have stabilised throughout the network.”

“Then we won,” Irmin said. “The corruption’s gone—Gerlach’s dead. What more is there?”

“Too much.” Adelinde pulled out older notes—observations made before corruption had spread, patterns she’d noticed but couldn’t explain. “Gerlach couldn’t have done this alone. The technical expertise required, the precise manipulation of ravenglass resonance.” She shook her head. “He simply didn’t have the knowledge. Couldn’t have.”

Elana leaned forward. “You think someone was guiding him?”

“Someone was behind this entirely. Someone who understood exactly how to attack the core, how to exploit vulnerabilities in the bond network that I’m only beginning to comprehend.”

Above them, Witz perched in silence, watching their exchange.

“Then we find them.” Irmin’s fingers drummed against the table. “Whoever they are, wherever they’re hiding—we root them out and end this properly.”

“It’s not that simple.” Adelinde spread out timeline diagrams, patterns of corruption’s spread marked in careful detail. “Look at how systematic it was. How patient. They didn’t just stumble onto this method—they developed it over time, tested it gradually. This required both technical knowledge and political leverage.”

“And resources,” Elana said. “The kind of resources that suggest state-level involvement.”

“Molotok.” Irmin practically spat the name.

But Adelinde shook her head. “Or were they manipulated just like Gerlach? The corruption’s spread pattern suggests multiple points of origin, not just our northern border.”

She pulled out another diagram—this one showing theoretical paths of resonance manipulation. “Whoever did this understood things about ravenglass that even I’m only beginning to grasp. Things that shouldn’t be possible, according to conventional theory.”

“So, what are you saying?” Irmin asked.

“I’m not sure how much we actually stopped. For all we know, this was just the opening move in a much larger game.”

“The roots of betrayal are rarely confined to one man.” Witz’s voice carried across the room. “You are right to look deeper, Adelinde.”

Elana turned to him. “Then why not tell us what you know? You seem to have plenty of answers when it suits you.”

Witz met her gaze but remained silent.

Adelinde studied her notes—years of research suddenly feeling incomplete, inadequate. “The corruption wasn’t just about weakening bonds or driving wyverns feral. It was...” She hesitated, the theory almost too disturbing to voice. “It was like they were testing something. Learning how far they could push the network before it broke completely.”

Irmin frowned. “Testing for what?”

“I don’t know. But look at these resonance patterns.” She indicated specific diagrams. “The corruption spread in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. It’s like someone found paths through the network that I never knew existed.”

“So what do we do?” Elana asked.

Adelinde gathered her notes, trying to organise scattered theories into coherent thoughts. “We prepare. And we need to be ready for whatever comes next.”

“We will be.” Irmin touched the hilt of her sword. “But together this time.”

Adelinde nodded, feeling their unity strengthen even as new questions pressed at her mind.

They had won this battle through combined strength.

Adelinde straightened in her chair, pushing aside diagrams to focus on her sisters’ faces. “The forces working against us are still out there, and they’ll strike again when we’re at our most vulnerable.”

“We won’t let our guard down,” Irmin said.

“The corruption might be cleansed for now, but whoever engineered it still has the knowledge, the means to try again. If we don’t stay vigilant, everything we fought for will be undone.”

Irmin’s jaw tightened. “Let them come. We’ll be ready.”

“Not if we don’t know where to look.”

Elana nodded. “Then we need to find out who’s behind this before they have a chance to strike again. Follow the threads of conspiracy back to their source.”

“Whoever did this...they’ve probably been watching us for years. Studying our weaknesses, our habits,” Adelinde said, sighing. “We need to be smarter this time. More coordinated. Irmin’s military strength, Elana’s diplomatic connections, my research—everything has to work together.”

“Agreed.” Elana’s fingers traced patterns on the table’s surface. “But we keep this between us for now. The fewer people who know we’re looking, the better chance we have of finding something before they realise we’re onto them.”

Irmin frowned. “My squadron—”

“Can help without knowing everything,” Elana cut in. “We all learned that lesson with Eberhard, didn’t we? Trust has to be earned, not assumed.”

“We coordinate everything,” Adelinde said. “Every piece of intelligence, every strategic decision, every diplomatic move. No more secrets between us—we can’t afford them.”

Her sisters nodded, and she felt something shift between them—the last barriers of distrust finally crumbling away.

They had fought together, bled together, nearly died together.

“You see the threads,” Witz said, black eyes fixed on Adelinde. “Trust your instincts, but trust your sisters more.”

15. Elana

Evening light painted the palace gardens in shades of amber and gold, turning battle scars into shadows amongst the empty flowerbeds.

Elana walked slowly, her guide-cane finding familiar routes as she absorbed the strange quiet.

Water trickled from a nearby fountain, its gentle sound a balm to nerves still raw from combat.

Velten’s presence steadied her, his form seeming to glow against the darkening sky.

Signs of the battle lingered everywhere—scorched earth where corrupted wyverns had landed, broken statuary from aerial combat, gardens trampled by rushing soldiers.

But life persisted. Spring would bring new growth. Life pushing through damaged soil.

Boot steps approached from two directions—one measured, the other light.

Elana smiled, recognising her sisters before they spoke.

“We’ve survived worse than I thought we would,” Irmin said by way of greeting.

Adelinde joined them. “The battle is over, but the questions remain.”

They formed a triangle without conscious thought, each sister taking her natural position—Berthold’s dark power, Velten’s silver grace, and Gisela’s restored brilliance creating perfect balance.

“If this has taught me anything,” Elana said, “it’s that we’re stronger together than apart.”

Irmin nodded. “We’ve had our differences. Still do, probably always will. But they don’t have to divide us.”

“I’ll admit,” Adelinde said, “I can’t do this alone. None of us can. The corruption taught us that much, at least.”

Witz’s wings stirred the evening air as he glided to perch near the fountain. His scales shimmered with hints of emerald as he regarded the sisters. “The strength of this Kingdom lies not in its wyverns, nor its rulers, but in its bonds,” he said. “Protect them, and you protect Ostreich.”

“We learned that lesson the hard way,” Elana said. “But we won’t forget it again.”

The garden’s peace settled around them.

They stood in comfortable silence as evening descended.

Whatever storms gathered on the horizon, whatever enemies plotted in shadow, they would face it all with united strength.

The Kingdom had been built on bonds between rider and wyvern, between ruler and people, between sisters who found their way back to trust.

Those bonds had been tested, nearly broken, but emerged stronger for the trial.

“There is another matter we must address,” Witz said. “The throne cannot remain empty forever.”

Irmin shifted. “Is now really the time?”

“If not now, when?” Witz’s tail swept behind him. “The Kingdom needs stability. Clear leadership.”

“Elana should rule,” Adelinde said while Gisela’s unease pulsed through her. “She understands diplomacy, how to balance competing interests—”

“No.” Elana shook her head. “Irmin has the military’s loyalty. They’ll follow her without question, which is what we need most right now.”

“Both of you are wrong,” Irmin said. “Addie’s understanding of what binds our Kingdom together—that’s more valuable than any battlefield skill.”

They fell silent.

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Witz said. “But decide you must, before the spring equinox. Either amongst yourselves, or I will choose, as is my right and duty.”

“We just fought so hard to stay united,” Adelinde said. “I don’t want succession to divide us.”

“Then don’t let it.” Witz spread his wings. “You have time. Use it wisely. Learn from each other’s strengths. The right choice will become clear.”

Wings beat against evening air. A rider landed near their group, bowing before delivering his report. “Commander—movement on the Molotok border. Their forces gather in unusual numbers.”

“And so it begins,” Elana said. “They won’t wait long to test our strength.”

Irmin growled. “Let them try.”

Elana blinked slowly. “The noble houses must be united, our alliances secured,” she said. “Molotok will probe for weakness—and we cannot afford to show any. Adelinde, what are your thoughts?”

She paused and raised her brow. “Well, I shall be expanding my research into the ravenglass network,” she answered with certainty in her voice. “If they try to corrupt it again, we need to be better prepared.”

“Agreed.” Elana nodded. “Irmin, can you oversee the military’s reorganisation? We need our forces coordinated, ready for anything.”

“Already started.”

“Good to hear. So we must divide our efforts,” Elana said. “But not our focus. Regular meetings, constant communication. No more working in isolation.”

“No more secrets,” Adelinde said.

“And no more distrust,” Irmin added.

They stood at the garden’s edge as stars began emerging.

The Kingdom spread before them, battered but unbroken.

Somewhere beyond the horizon, threats gathered like storm clouds.

“We’ll be ready,” Elana said. “For Molotok. For whatever comes next.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

Order Silent War (The Ravenglass Throne: Part Five).

Author’s Note

Thank you for joining me on this journey through The Ravenglass Throne!

This novella represents a significant turning point in our story—the sisters finally coming together to fight a common enemy, culminating in the dramatic purification ritual at the core and the defeat of Baron Gerlach.

I've particularly enjoyed exploring how Irmin, Elana, and Adelinde overcame their distrust to combine their unique strengths.

The aerial battle sequences, Adelinde's desperate research, and Elana's political manoeuvring all showcase different facets of power in this world.

And of course, Riven and Kornel's reunion was a moment I'd been planning for quite some time!

The story is far from over, though—we still have eight more novellas to go!

The mystery of who was truly behind Gerlach's conspiracy remains, Molotok forces are gathering at the border, and the question of succession looms large.

Who should take the throne?

What new threats await our sisters?

The adventure continues to unfold.

If you're enjoying The Ravenglass Throne, I'd love to invite you to join our community on Patreon at patreon.com/joncronshawauthor.

Our members there are already into Part Six—meaning you'll be at least a full novella ahead of other readers when you join!

Beyond just early access to the main story, Patreon members also receive:

- Dozens of exclusive short stories set in the Ravenglass Universe

- Audio versions of The Ravenglass Throne

- My weekly author video diary where I share insights into my creative process

- Commentary on every chapter of the series, revealing inspirations and behind-the-scenes decisions

Even if you join as a free member, you'll get access to regular stories and updates.

Patreon is where I'm most active online—it's the heart of our Ravenglass community and the best place to connect with me directly about the story.

Thank you again for reading.

The support and enthusiasm from readers like you keeps this world alive and growing!

Happy reading,

Jon

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Three Sisters: A Ravenglass Throne Prequel Collection reveals the defining experiences that forged each princess years before their father's assassination thrust them into the fight for the crown.

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Council of Shadows - See Elana navigate treacherous court politics and learn that true diplomatic strength comes from embracing who she really is.

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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, 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.