Meredith led her battalion into Middleton with the easy swagger of someone completely unbothered by the thousand eyes watching her every step. Dust swirled around the soldiers' boots as they marched, the clinking of armor providing a steady rhythm.Merchants paused mid-bargain to gape, and children scrambled to the edges of the road, whispering excitedly about "the princess leading the army."Middleton nestled at the crossroads of Pyria's major trade routes, it stretched wide and vibrant, its cobbled streets lined with shops and market stalls. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the noise of merchants and townsfolk hummed in the distance."It's bigger than I expected," Fresia murmured, her tone tinged with awe."It's Pyria's second-largest town," Meredith replied, her eyes scanning the horizon. "Do you think they're admiring the troops or me?" she quipped to Fresia, who rode beside her, her expression caught between amusement and exasperation."Probably the troops," Fresia replied dryly. "You're hardly subtle about basking in it.""They should admire me," Meredith shot back, tossing her hair dramatically. "I'm fantastic."Gabriel, soaring overhead, caught the exchange. His golden eyes narrowed slightly as they darted toward Fresia, who rolled her eyes but smiled faintly at Meredith. He descended smoothly, landing a few paces ahead of the column as they neared the barracks.The central hall was lit by a dozen lanterns, casting long shadows on the map spread across the table. Meredith, Gabriel, Fresia, and her senior officers surrounded it, listening as Roderic outlined Stormgard's movements.Field Marshal Roderic was a man forged in the fires of countless campaigns, his grizzled visage a map of scars and weathered lines that spoke of hard-earned victories. Where Garrick exuded a boisterous camaraderie, earning loyalty through wit and shared laughter, Roderic commanded respect with a sharp tongue and a gaze that could cut through steel.Both were indispensable leaders, but where Garrick led from within the ranks, shoulder-to-shoulder with his troops, Roderic stood apart, embodying the unshakable authority of a seasoned commander who had seen it all—and survived.Meredith's promotion to Battalion Commander marked a pivotal moment in her journey, elevating her from the leader of a compact, agile company to the head of a formidable force nearly a thousand strong.Her previous command—a tight-knit group of 120 seasoned soldiers—had relied on precision, adaptability, and personal connections forged through shared risks. Now, she faced the challenge of overseeing a sprawling battalion that demanded a far broader scope of leadership. The troops under her command ranged from disciplined infantry and seasoned scouts to logistical teams managing supplies and engineers reinforcing defenses.The scale was daunting, the logistics more complex, and the stakes impossibly higher. Yet, as she looked out over her assembled forces, Meredith felt not just the weight of responsibility but the fire of opportunity.Roderic tapped the map with his finger, his tone sharp. "Stormgard's forces are on the move. Their main army is camped three days' march from here, with flanking divisions closing in from the north and south. If they converge, Middleton will fall.""And what's stopping us from stopping them?" Meredith asked, tilting her head."The fact that their supply lines are heavily guarded," Roderic replied. "Sabotaging them would be a significant risk."Meredith smirked. "Good thing I like risks. We infiltrate, sabotage their supplies, and leave them scrambling to reorganize while we strengthen Middleton's defenses. Simple."Roderic's lips pressed into a thin line. "Simple, is it?""Effective," Meredith corrected, her eyes sparkling. "You're too cautious, Field Marshal. Sometimes chaos is the best strategy."The older officers exchanged wary glances, but Roderic remained focused on Meredith. "If this goes wrong, Middleton won't have time to recover.""It won't go wrong," Meredith said firmly. "And if it does, I'll take full responsibility."Gabriel's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Bold words, but boldness alone doesn't win wars."Meredith turned to him, her smirk unfazed. "No, but it's a great start. Don't worry, Gabriel—I'll bring you back a souvenir from their supply wagons. Maybe a flag?"Fresia coughed into her hand, clearly holding back a laugh, while Gabriel's golden gaze narrowed."Commander," Roderic interrupted, his tone sharp. "This isn't a game."Meredith leaned over the map, her confidence never wavering. "No, it's a war. And if we don't act boldly, we'll lose. I've led missions like this before, Field Marshal. Trust me."Roderic studied her for a long moment before nodding reluctantly. "Fine. Take a small detachment—your best soldiers. But if you fail, the consequences will be on your head.""They already are," Meredith replied lightly. "Don't worry, I'll make you look good."After the meeting, Gabriel found Meredith studying the map in silence. The flickering light of the lantern cast shadows across her face, softening her otherwise sharp expression."Sabotaging supply lines is a calculated risk," Gabriel said, stepping closer."Exactly. And I've done the math," Meredith replied without looking up.Gabriel's wings shifted slightly, a faint rustle breaking the quiet. "Stormgard is under Elyon's jurisdiction. If they falter, Elyon may intervene. You're not just dealing with mortals anymore."Meredith looked up, her smirk returning. "Then we make sure they don't have time to falter. Hit hard, hit fast. Problem solved."Gabriel's jaw tightened. "You make it sound so easy.""It's called confidence, Gabriel. You should try it sometime."Gabriel's gaze flicked briefly to Fresia, who was organizing supplies nearby, her soft laughter carrying over as she joked with the scouts. His jaw clenched, and he forced his focus back to Meredith. "Confidence won't save you if you underestimate your enemies.""Neither will doubt," Meredith replied, her smirk unwavering. "But I appreciate your concern. It's touching, really."With that, Meredith turned and made her way toward Fresia. Fresia greeted her with a warm smile, stepping close as they spoke, her hand brushing against Meredith's arm in a way that seemed almost natural. Their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by quiet laughter and an occasional touch that felt both casual and intimate.From a distance, Gabriel's golden eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable to anyone who might have glanced his way. But inside, a sharp pang twisted in his chest, a feeling he wasn't accustomed to. The sight of their closeness, of the way Meredith's easy smile seemed reserved for Fresia alone, unsettled him in ways he refused to acknowledge.His wings shifted restlessly as he turned away, attempting to push the unwelcome emotion aside. Focus on the mission, he told himself firmly, but the words rang hollow.---Far from Middleton, in the celestial halls, Malachel stood before a golden altar that shimmered with an unearthly light. His wings, folded neatly against his back, gleamed faintly in the glow. The Twins, Cassiel and Raphael, flanked the altar, their golden eyes fixed on Elyon's radiance above.Elyon's voice, smooth and commanding, filled the chamber. "The royal dragon grows into her strength. She emboldens the kingdom, yet she does not yet understand the weight of her role. Her time is coming, and when it arrives, she will be delivered."Malachel inclined his head, his expression regal, though a faint smile teased at his lips. "Delivered, my Lord? Such a delicate word, as though she were a gift wrapped in silk. I trust this honor of delivery will fall to me?"Cassiel's voice, sharp and unyielding, broke the silence. "She is bound to her kingdom. Her strength fuels their fire, but the fire has its limits. When it dims, she will serve the greater purpose."Malachel tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "A flame that burns brightly, but always at the expense of the wick. Such poetic tragedy, don't you think?"Cassiel's tone hardened. "It is not tragedy. It is design. She is Pyria's strength, but Pyria's survival demands more. When her duty is done, she will submit."Raphael stirred slightly, his voice softer and weighted. "Duty... and sacrifice. The two have always walked hand in hand."Malachel's smile faltered briefly, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before his composure returned. "Sacrifice, yes. The word alone sings of nobility. But in practice, it tends to scream."Elyon's voice sharpened, silencing the chamber. "The royal dragon was forged for this purpose. She will sustain her kingdom, and when the moment comes, her sacrifice will seal its endurance. She is bound to this path, and it will not waver."Cassiel inclined her head slightly. "The threads have already been woven. The kingdom and its dragon are one, their fates inseparable. When the time comes, she will come to you."Malachel's voice turned smooth again, though the glint in his eyes remained sharp. "And should the threads fray, my Lord? Should she, in her youthful vigor, forget that the fire must serve its source?"Cassiel's answer was immediate and unwavering. "She will not stray."After a brief silence, Raphael added, almost reluctantly, "But fire... can be unpredictable."Elyon's presence grew heavier, his words final. "When the time comes, Malachel, you will bring her to me. She is mine to command, and her fire is mine to extinguish."Malachel stepped forward, bowing deeply, his wings sweeping the floor in a gesture of elegance. "As you will it, my Lord. When her strength is spent and her kingdom's thirst quenched, I shall bring her to you."