They launched.
Two hundred dragons rose from the field in staggered waves, green light trailing from their wings like banners made of emerald fire. Stealth was dead. Stealth had been murdered by a Gamma whose magic had opinions about visibility and whose opinions were non-negotiable. What replaced stealth was spectacle, and spectacle had its own tactical value because an enemy that was staring at a wall of green light was an enemy whose focus had been disrupted.
The first arrows flew at the same moment the fleet made contact.
Green magic surrounded the arrows the instant they left the bows. Every shaft, every head, every feather wrapped in Gavriel's Fae energy without his conscious input, the magic treating every projectile launched by a Drakenfell warrior as something that belonged to it and demanded protection.
The arrows hit Dark Fae riders.
