Cursed Crown

The wind howled past Elara's ears as she soared above the vast stretch of land, Shadow's powerful wings cutting through the sky with effortless grace. The crisp mountain air bit at her exposed skin, but she hardly noticed, too focused on the world below. Strands of her dark hair whipped free from her braid, lashing across her face, yet she made no move to fix them. Instead, she breathed deeply, tasting the sharp bite of winter mingling with something far more acrid-the faint, lingering scent of burning villages carried on the wind.

Her hands tightened on the reins, her heart heavy. Even from here, she could see remnants of destruction left in the wake of war-smoke curling from distant ruins, the skeletal remains of what were once homes. It was a bitter reminder of why they were here, why they had no choice but to fight.

Ahead, the jagged peaks of the mountains loomed, their snow-dusted slopes cutting through the horizon like the fangs of some ancient beast. That was where they would set up camp.

She leaned forward, pressing a gloved hand against Shadow's warm, deep grey scales. "Take us down," she murmured.

Shadow rumbled in response, shifting his massive wings and angling them downward. The rush of descent sent a thrill through her, though she was too preoccupied with what awaited them on the ground to enjoy it.

Below, the rest of the dragon riders followed her lead, their beasts descending like silent shadows against the darkening sky. The moment Shadow's talons met the frozen earth, a burst of displaced snow and loose debris spiraled into the air, swirling like embers caught in an updraft. The powerful gust stirred the horses that had ridden below, their nervous whinnies cutting through the crisp evening air. Soldiers moved quickly to calm them, voices hushed but firm as they patted the animals and pulled them away from the dragons' landing zone.

Without hesitation, the troops began setting up camp. Tents were swiftly erected in the shelter of the mountain's base, their fabric barely rustling in the frigid breeze. Fires were started but kept low-only embers for now-to avoid drawing unwanted attention. The soldiers worked efficiently, their movements precise, their silence heavy with understanding. There was no laughter, no idle chatter. They all knew what awaited them beyond this night.

Elara remained still for a moment, her hand resting against Shadow's flank. The warmth of his scales was grounding, solid beneath her touch, a stark contrast to the cold creeping into her bones.

This was it. The moment before the storm.

A sense of purpose filled her, pushing away the last traces of doubt. She had a duty, and she would see it through.

Taking a steadying breath, she swung down from Shadow's back, her boots crunching against the frozen ground. The weight of responsibility settled over her shoulders like a cloak, but she bore it without faltering.

Elara strode across the camp, weaving through the soldiers making final preparations, until she reached the cluster of knights gathered around a makeshift wooden table. A large terrain map lay stretched across its surface, secured at the corners with daggers plunged into the wood. Various markers had been placed over the parchment-small figurines representing their troops, their dragons, and the known positions of the approaching elven army.

The knights-battle-worn and sharp-eyed-spoke in hushed tones, their expressions grim as they debated strategy. Sir Alaric, ever the tactician, traced a gauntleted finger over the map, marking out the known routes the elves would take.

"They'll be expecting a direct engagement," he muttered. "They know we're here, and they know we'll have dragons. But they also know we're outnumbered."

Sir Seraphim leaned over the table, his brow furrowed. "They'll move fast, using their superior numbers to break through our lines before we can use our dragons effectively."