"Very well," Aragon declared, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "We march at dawn. Let all our forces be ready. We will strike swiftly and without mercy."
He turned to Freja and Katheryn. "Grandmother, I need you to prepare our magical defenses.
Whatever dark forces are at play, we must be ready to counter them."
To Malaica, he said, "Your network of spies will be crucial. I want eyes and ears in every corner of the kingdom," he added, "Coordinate with the Nueman warriors. I want our forces moving as one, a tide of retribution that will sweep all before it."
As his allies dispersed to carry out their tasks, Aragon stood alone for a moment, the weight of leadership heavy on his shoulders. The dragons, Eliviraa and Freja's beast, rumbled low in their throats, as if sensing the approaching conflict.
Aragon's hand fell to the hilt of his sword, his fingers tracing the intricate dragon crest.
