DRAKENFELL — EAST WALL — FOUR HOURS PRIOR
The dragons were ready. The Draken Forces were ready. The only thing not ready was Gavriel's magic, which was about to become everyone's problem.
Two hundred and twelve members of the Draken Forces stood in formation along the east wall. Full combat armor. Blades drawn. Faces carrying the particular expression of warriors whose king had said "zero casualties" and whose king did not make statements he considered aspirational.
Below them, on the field, their dragons waited in mirrored formation. Scaled bodies lined up in rows so straight they could have been measured with a ruler, each one radiating the low, steady heat of a predator whose body was running pre-combat calculations without being asked.
Gavriel's green magic still wrapped every single one of them in emerald light. The dragons looked like a goddamn holiday display and the Draken Forces looked like an army that had been dipped in a highlighter.
