Jolthar dismounted from Maelruth gracefully, his drake letting out a low growl as if sensing the tension in the air.
Villagers and tribesmen stared in awe at the sight of the drake, some whispering among themselves while others gawked openly.
Eran, who had been silent for most of the journey, muttered under his breath, "You sure know how to make an entrance."
Jolthar ignored the comment, his gaze fixed on the castle gates.
As they approached the entrance, the guards stepped aside, their expressions neutral but watchful. A messenger led them through the halls, and the atmosphere grew heavier with every step.
When they entered the main hall, however, their strides faltered.
Belan was there.
Clad in a regal yet practical ensemble that blended elegance with ferocity, her presence dominated the room. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, and her piercing eyes glinted with a restrained intensity.
