The forge glowed like the heart of a dying star, its heat pressing against Kara's skin as she stepped back from Ashka's wing. The steel patch she'd forged glistened faintly in the firelight, secured to the dragon's torn membrane with wire and grit. It wasn't pretty, but it held—flexing slightly as Ashka shifted her massive frame, testing the repair with a low rumble that vibrated through the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of molten iron and sulfur, a bitter tang that clung to Kara's throat with every breath. Her hands, smeared with soot and sweat, still gripped the hammer, its weight a tether to the reality of what she'd just done: she'd mended a dragon's wing, something no smith in Ironreach could claim.
But there was no time to revel in the feat. The distant wail of horns had grown louder, closer, slicing through the night like a blade. Veyl's riders were near—too near—and the tension in the forge was a living thing, crackling between her and the scarred man who'd brought this chaos to her door.
Talon stood by the shattered entrance, his gray eyes scanning the darkening sky through the broken roof. His hand rested on his sword hilt, his scarred face set in a scowl that hadn't softened since their last exchange. "We're out of time," he growled, his voice rough as the grind of steel on stone. "They're here. We need to move—now."
Kara's grip on her hammer tightened, her pulse spiking as she glared at him. "Move where?" she snapped, her voice sharp despite the fear clawing at her gut. "You think I'm just gonna follow you after you held a dagger to my throat? I don't even know what you're running from—or why I should care." She crossed her arms, planting herself firmly by the workbench, her emerald eyes blazing with defiance. He might have a dragon, but she wasn't some pawn to be dragged into his war—not without a damn good reason.
Talon turned to face her fully, his expression darkening, but there was something new in his gaze—a flicker of urgency that wasn't there before. He took a step closer, his boots crunching on the debris scattered across the floor, and for a moment, she thought he might draw that dagger again. Instead, he sheathed it with a deliberate slowness, his hands raised slightly as if to show he meant no harm. "I don't have time for your stubbornness, smith," he said, his voice low but edged with something raw. "Veyl's riders aren't just after me—they'll burn this whole village to ash if they think you're helping me. You fixed Ashka's wing. That makes you a target. You stay here, you die. You come with me, you might live."
Kara's jaw tightened, her mind racing as his words sank in. She didn't trust him—not one bit—but the horns were getting closer, and the faint roar of dragons in the distance wasn't something she could ignore. Her father, still in the corner, looked up with wide eyes, his hands trembling around the blade he'd been polishing. "Kara…" he started, his voice barely a whisper, but the fear in it cut her deeper than any blade.
She turned to him, her resolve hardening. "Bar the door and stay low," she said, her voice firm despite the storm in her chest. "Don't come out till it's quiet." She didn't wait for his protest, her gaze snapping back to Talon. "If I go with you, I'm not your damn servant," she said, pointing her hammer at him. "And I'm not dying for your fight. You try to screw me over, I'll bury this in your skull. Clear?"
Talon's lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through his icy demeanor. "Clear," he said, his voice gruff but lacking its earlier bite. "Now get on the dragon. We're wasting time."
Kara hesitated, her heart pounding as she weighed her options. Stay and face Veyl's riders alone, with nothing but a hammer and a crumbling forge to defend her father? Or go with this scarred bastard and his dragon, into a fight she didn't ask for but might not be able to avoid? The heat in her chest flared again, a pulse of connection with Ashka that seemed to urge her forward. The dragon's amber eyes met hers, steady and unyielding, and in that moment, Kara knew—she wasn't just a smith anymore. Whatever this bond was, it was pulling her into something bigger, something she couldn't walk away from.
"Fine," she said at last, her voice clipped as she slung her hammer onto her belt and strode toward Ashka. The dragon lowered her massive head, her scales cool beneath Kara's touch as she climbed onto her back, settling in front of Talon. His arms bracketed her as he gripped the reins, his presence a storm at her back, but she refused to let it unnerve her. She'd made her choice—for now.
Ashka launched into the air with a roar that shook the forge's remaining walls, the force of the takeoff slamming Kara back against Talon. The ground fell away beneath them, Ironreach shrinking to a cluster of flickering lights as they soared into the bruised sky. The wind whipped at her face, sharp and cold, carrying the scent of smoke and pine as Ashka's wings beat the air, the steel patch flexing with each stroke. Kara's heart pounded, a mix of terror and exhilaration coursing through her veins. She'd never been this high, never felt the raw power of a dragon beneath her, and despite the danger, a fierce pride swelled in her chest. She'd given Ashka her wings back, and now they were flying.
The moment of triumph was short-lived. A screech tore through the air, sharp and vicious, and Kara's head snapped around to see three dark shapes emerging against the storm clouds on the horizon. Veyl's riders—three dragons, smaller than Ashka but swift and deadly, their scales glinting like polished steel in the fading light. Their riders bore spears and torches, their silhouettes menacing against the gray expanse.
"They've spotted us," Talon snarled, his voice barely audible over the wind as he urged Ashka into a steeper climb. "We can't outrun them—not with her like this. We'll have to fight."
Kara's grip on Ashka's scales tightened, her other hand dropping to the hammer at her belt. Her stomach churned at the thought of battle—she wasn't a soldier, wasn't trained for this—but the fire in her chest, the one tied to Ashka, flared with a fury that wasn't entirely her own. "Then fight," she said, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her gut. "I'm not dying up here—not today."
Talon twisted to look at her, his gray eyes narrowing, but there was no mockery in them this time—only a grim determination that matched her own. "Keep your head down and your hammer ready," he said, drawing his sword with a metallic rasp. "This isn't gonna be pretty."
Above them, the first of Veyl's riders loosed a fireball, a blazing comet streaking through the sky toward them. Ashka banked sharply, her wings tilting as she dodged the attack, the heat of the flames searing the air just inches from Kara's face. Her stomach lurched, but she gritted her teeth, her focus narrowing to the enemy ahead. She wasn't a rider, wasn't a knight—but she was a Veyne, and Veynes didn't break. Whatever came next, she'd face it head-on, hammer in hand.