Chapter 77 ATTACK ON THE PALACE

Chapter 77 ATTACK ON THE PALACE
AUREN

The sky above Drakotath has turned the color of old blood by the time the first rays of the evening sun touch the sky. It's like the sky themselves are mourning the massacre that happened yesterday.

We got Mira’s message and instantly rushed back to the capital, but by the time we got to Ember Light, the damage was done. Bodies were littered everywhere.

I stand on the highest balcony of the main spire, black wings half-folded, the wind whipping my cloak behind me like a war banner. I rarely use my wings. I don't need to most of the time since I can just transform and be done with it. But today, I sense an uneasiness in Rhaegar, I'd rather not ignore.

Below, the palace grounds are swarmed with movement as my forces assembled. Torches flare to life across the yard, Wyverns shriek from the stables, their handlers rushing to saddle them. The air already tastes of ash and rot.

I look up and the dark cloud in the horizon has my ears on high alert. From the distance, I can hear hundreds, no thousands of people maneuvering their way in the clouds, heading straight for Drakorath.

“They are coming,” I growl, voice carrying across my assembled team of commanders.

Draven stands to my right, sword drawn, his armor freshly cleaned of the blood from yesterday's battle but his eyes still haunted. Imogen is on my left, runes glowing faintly along his forearms as he weaves layered shields over the palace walls. Mira leans against a pillar a few paces away, her dark robes fluttering, blue eyes sharp and calculating. Lyra stands beside her, smaller than the rest but radiating quiet determination, flames already dancing at her fingertips.

No Haven.

The absence of my mate burned like an open wound in my chest, but I shoved the pain down deep. She is safe with her mother in Vaeleria where nothing can get to her or the baby. She argued when I tried to send her away yesterday and the desperate pleading look in her eyes had me almost changing my mind.

“The undead,” I say, scanning the horizon where the first black silhouettes are already cresting the outer ridges. “Not the mindless corpses we are used to. These ones move with purpose, like Eurolys is directing them with his mind. Expect traps, coordinated strikes, and things that should not be able to regenerate. Kill everything.”

Draven nods once. “We hold the palace at all costs. The inner courtyard is the last line. If they breach the great gates, we fall back and burn the bridge behind us. They can't be allowed to get there.”

Imogen’s voice is calm but edged. “I will maintain the outer wards as long as I can. When they break, I shift to area denial. Mira, your spells?”

The witch smiles thinly. “I have a few new ones I have been saving for Eurolys’s pets. They will scream nicely. Besides, I heard fire can kill an undead faster than anything. Turns out that's my specialty.”

Lyra’s small hands clench. “I will take the eastern flank with the younger wyverns and a few soldiers. They will not pass me.”

I look at each of them in turn, letting the weight of command settle. “We do not fight for glory tonight. We fight to keep this palace standing. If any of you are to fall, make sure you take a hundred of them with you.”

A low, unified growl answers me.

Then the horns.

The army of the Undead pours over the ridge like a black tide.

There are thousands of them. Not the shambling corpses we are used to, but twisted things — bodies stitched together from multiple victims, bones protruding like blades, eyes glowing with the same sickly violet light we had seen in the Hydra. Some move on four legs like corrupted wolves. Others rise on wings made of tattered flesh and shadow. At their back, larger constructs lumber forward, colossal amalgamations of bone and dark magic that shook the ground with every step.

“Wyverns!” I roar. “Take to the sky!”

I leap from the balcony without waiting, shifting mid-air. I thought I could do this without Rhaegar, but this is a different kind of danger.

My dragon form explodes outward in a rush of black scales and golden fire. Wings snap open, catching the wind as I climb fast. Below me, dozens of wyverns launch into the air behind Draven’s commanding shout.

The first clash is brutal.

I dive straight into the heart of the horde, jaws wide. Golden dragonfire erupts in a roaring torrent, turning the front line into a screaming inferno. Flesh melts from bone, violet eyes burst like overripe fruit, and the stench of burning rot fills the air so thickly it chokes even my dragon senses.

But they keep coming.

A massive construct swings a club made from fused spines at me. I bank hard, raking its side with talons the length of swords. Black ichor sprays, but the thing does not fall. It simply reforms, bones knitting together with wet, sickening sounds.

“Imogen!” I bellow through the chaos.

A spear of pure ice the size of a ballista bolt slams into the construct’s chest, freezing it solid for a precious second. I wheel and slam my full weight into it, shattering the frozen horror into a thousand pieces.

Draven is a whirlwind on the ground. He leads a wedge of elite dragon guards straight into the breach near the outer gates, his sword flashing silver as he carves through the undead like a reaper. Every swing severes limbs or heads, but the creatures simply crawl forward on broken stumps, trying to drag him down by sheer numbers.

“Burn them!” he shouts. “Do not let them pile up!”

Lyra’s voice rings out from the eastern flank, high and fierce. She hurls waves of golden fire that matches my own, carving wide burning paths through the enemy. Young dragons and older ones fight beside her, their forms darting and diving with deadly precision. One wyvern screams as an undead flyer latches onto its wing, tearing scales free. Lyra spins mid-air and incinerates the attacker, but the damage is done. The wyvern spirals down, crashing into the outer courtyard with a sickening crunch.

Mira moves like smoke through the battlefield. Where she passes, dark curses bloom. Undead warriors suddenly turn on each other, clawing out their own eyes or tearing their brethren apart. Others simply collaps as their stolen life force unraveled into black mist. She laughs once, wild and sharp, when a towering bone construct charges at her only to dissolve into screaming worms at her feet.

But for every hundred we kill, two hundred more seem to rise.

The palace walls shakw as the largest constructs slam against the reinforced gates. Stones crack, wards flare bright blue then begin to fail under the relentless pressure.

I wheel overhead and unleash another torrent of dragonfire, clearing a swath near the main gate. “Imogen! Reinforce the gates!”

The sorcerer is already moving, hands weaving complex patterns. Runes flare along the stonework, knitting the cracks back together even as the undead claws scrape desperately against them.

A new horror rises from the rear of the enemy lines, a colossal undead dragon, stitched together from the corpses of fallen wyverns and ancient dragon bones. Its eyes burn violet. When it roares, the sound carries pure hate and hunger.

My blood turns to liquid fire.

“That one is mine,” I snarl, silently hinting at the others to stand down.

I fold my wings and dive like a falling star. The undead dragon meets me halfway, and we collide in mid-air with a thunderous boom that rattle windows across the palace. Its jaws snap at my throat. I twist, raking my claws across its exposed ribcage. Bones shatter, but dark magic immediately begins knitting them back together.

We tumble through the sky in a deadly embrace, fire and shadow clashing. Its teeth finds the slight bruise on my left shoulder, tearing through scales. Pain lance hot and bright. I roar and slam my tail into its side, sending us both spiraling toward the ground.

We crash into the outer courtyard in a explosion of stone and dirt. I roll free, wings flaring, and blast it point-blank with golden fire. The undead dragon shrieks as flames consum rotting flesh, but it still lunges, claws raking deep gashes across my chest.

Draven appeares at my side on his wyvern, sword blazing with enchanted light. “Together!”

He leaps onto the creature’s back and drives his blade down through its spine. I clamp my jaws around its neck and tears. Between us, we rip the abomination apart. Its body convulses once, twice, then finally still.

But there is no time to celebrate.

More undead creatures pour through the breached outer wall. Mira curses loudly as a swarm of smaller horrors surrounded her. She unleashes a wave of black lightning that turns dozens to ash, but others latch onto her robes, trying to drag her down.

Lyra sees it first.

“Mama!" She screams, and hurls herself into the fray, flames roaring around her like a living cloak. She burns a path to Mira, incinerating the creatures that had latched on.

Imogen’s voice rings out across the battlefield. “The inner gates are failing! The undead are too many for me to hold! Fall back to the great hall!”

We retreat in disciplined stages, burning the ground behind us. Draven covers the rear, his sword a blur as he cuts down anything that tries to pursue. I remain in dragon form, providing aerial support, diving repeatedly to strafe the advancing horde with fire.

The battle inside the palace grounds become a brutal, grinding meat grinder.

The creatures climb the walls like insects. Defenders on the battlements pour boiling oil and dragonfire down on them, but the creatures keep coming, crawling over their own burning corpses. One guard is dragged screaming from the parapet, his body torn apart before he hits the ground.

I land heavily in the main courtyard, shifting back to human form as my wounds knit slowly. Blood runs down my side. “Mira! Can you seal the outer courtyard?”

The witch is breathing hard, blood streaking her face, but her eyes burn with dark power. “I can slow them. But it will cost me.”

“Do it.”

She slams both palms to the ground. Black runes spread outward like spiderwebs, crawling across the stone. Wherever they touch, undead warriors freeze, then begin to crumble from the inside out, screaming as their stolen souls are forcibly torn free.

It buys us precious fucking minutes.

Lyra appeares at my side, face streaked with soot and blood that is not hers. “They just keep coming. How many more can there be?”

“Too many,” I answered grimly. “Eurolys is throwing everything at us to keep us occupied and exhausted. He wants to see how much we can take before we break.”

Draven joins us, sword dripping black liquid. “The great hall is the final stronghold. We can hold there longer. But if they breach the inner sanctum…”

He does not need to finish. The inner sanctum holds the secret scrolls containing ancient dragon rituals. If the undead reach it, there'll be nothing more to save.

I look at each of them — bloodied, exhausted, but unrelenting.

“We hold,” I say. “No matter the cost. For Drakotath. For the future we still have a chance to protect.”

A fresh roar rises from beyond the walls. The next wave is larger, heavier constructs, flyers circling overhead like vultures.

I draw my sword, golden flames licking along the blade.

“Then let us remind Eurolys why the Dragon King still rules.”

The battle for the palace reignites with savage fury.

We fight for hours into the night.

Wave after wave crash against us. I lost count of how many times I shift, how many times I burn myself nearly dry only to drag more fire from the depths of my soul. Draven’s armor is dented and slick with black blood. Imogen’s robes are torn, his magic flickering as exhaustion set in. Mira’s curses grow darker, more desperate. Lyra fights like a woman possessed, her flames never wavering even as tears cut tracks through the soot on her face. For a seventeen year old, she can surely hold her ground better than a lot of people.

At one point, a towering undead giant breaches the great hall doors. It swings a massive fist that sends defenders flying like dolls. I meet it head-on, shifting once more and clamping my jaws around its throat. We crash through pillars and walls, destroying half the hall in our struggle. I tear its head free in a spray of ichor, but the victory tastes like ash when I see the bodies of fallen guards lying broken beneath the rubble.

The dead are piling up on both sides.

By the time the moon climbs high, the palace grounds run black with corrupted blood. The air reeks of death and burning flesh. My body aches with a hundred wounds, and my fire is guttering low.

Yet we still stand.

Draven leans heavily on his sword, chest heaving. “They are pulling back. For now.”

Imogen slumps against a cracked pillar, breathing ragged. “The wards are nearly gone. One more push like that and we lose the inner sanctum.”

Mira wipes blood from her lip, eyes scanning the distant ridges where the remaining undead forces regroup. “Eurolys is testing us. He wants us tired. He wants us broken before he sends whatever he is truly saving for the final blow.”

Lyra stands among the bodies, small and fierce, flames still licking at her fingertips. “We held tonight. But we cannot hold it forever like this.”

I straighten, golden eyes burning in the darkness.

“Then we make sure tonight’s stand matters,” I say, voice carrying across the exhausted survivors. “We repair what we can. We rest what little we are able. And when they come again, we remind them why dragons have ruled these lands for millennia.”

The night deepens around us, heavy with the promise of more blood.

But for now, the palace still stands.

And I will burn the entire world to keep it that way for my queen and our future.