Page 88 of Black Wing and Shadows
Murmurs swelled.
“That’s impossible,” Jeremy muttered.
From across the hall, Asmoth’s voice cut through, dripping with disdain. “If they fell, it’s because they were careless. No human outmatches a shifter, let alone the others.”
The air tensed.
Melamora’s gaze snapped to him. “Carelessness? These were seasoned warriors. One rode into two wars before you were even born.” Her voicehardened, slicing the silence. “Never confuse arrogance for strength. It is the fastest way to die.”
The cadets shifted uneasily.
I stared at the mark glowing on the map. Lakish Outpost. My stomach twisted, the nightmare’s whispers echoing through my bones.Stronger. Faster. Hungrier.Was that what they were making? Was that what killed eight veterans in a single night?
And why did it feel like my father already knew?
Melamora let the silence stretch until the whispers died down. Then she turned sharply. “We will not simply mourn. We will learn. Tell me—why was Lakish Outpost vulnerable?”
Hands hesitated in the air. Finally, a Historian cadet spoke. “It’s on the western ridge. Limited visibility if the enemy came from the sea.”
“Correct,” Melamora said. “But visibility alone does not explain eight seasoned warriors dead. Pascal?”
Pascal’s boots echoed as he crossed the front tier. His gaze swept the cadets, hard enough to cut. “They were flanked. Simple as that. Riders can’t fight if their fliers are crippled first. Humans aren’t fools—they targeted the beasts, not the warriors. Always remember—take down the wings, and the Rider falls. The same goes for Drusearons.”
Uneasy murmurs spread.
Professor Fogg cleared his throat. “Reports suggest coordinated volleys. Arrows laced with a substance that burned through scale and hide. Likely alchemical in nature. Not like fire-oil but refined. The humans adapt faster than you give them credit for.”
A cadet from the Infantry rows raised his hand. “Then what should have been done differently?”
“Good question,” Melamora said. “What do you think?”
“More scouts in the air,” Laderra said.
Pascal barked a short laugh. “Scouts don’t matter if you don’t know what you’re looking for. The bastards hid their ships under heavy cloud banks. By the time the Drusearons scented them, it was too late.”
“Then the answer is retaliation. Strike the coast, burn their fleets before they launch,” Michalova said.
“Revenge without strategy is suicide,” Melamora snapped. “You cannot burn every ship. And for everyone destroyed, two more will be built.”
Fogg raised a finger, his tone calmer. “A layered defense is the only viable answer. Ground wards to shield the outposts, fliers rotating in tighter intervals, Infantry ready to intercept once the enemy makes landfall. We must treat them as an organized army, not as pests.”
Pascal folded his arms. “And never underestimate desperation. Humans fight like cornered dogs. That makes them twice as dangerous.”
I sat rigid, heart pounding against my ribs. The nightmare whispers crawled back—stronger, faster, hungrier.If this was desperation, why did it feel like something worse was coming?
***
We all piled into the sparing gym with Professor Gile, in which we had the largest mix of branches together. Everyone was still calling out grudges, which took up the first part. If you didn’t get called out, you were matched up randomly with another cadet. Everyone sparred at least once during class. A lot of anger was released in here.
“No surprise… Elslurs calls Blackcreek,” Gile said.
This mother fucker. He already stabbed me once, beat me on the match another time. Determination hit me, I had to win. There wasn’t an option, humbling this cocky bastard was what he needed. I let the anger surged through my body, I checked all my daggers in place.
We both stepped onto the mat, Zane and my platoon posted at the edge, eyes locked on us. Noise swirled from the other bouts—blades clashing, cadets grunting, instructors shouting corrections—but the circle around us felt too sharp, too bright.
Asmoth grinned, rolling his shoulders as if he had already won. “Third time’s the charm, Blackcreek. Or third time’s the shame.”
“Go!”
