Page 215 of Fallen Nocturne

The ravine empties.

People pour up the slopes, scrambling over each other in their desperation to escape. Fae warriors who stood proud moments ago now flee like rats. Elven soldiers abandon their posts. Orcs, dwarves, and everyone else runs.

I’m frozen in place, unable to look away.

Coral’s power builds. The light burns brighter and the air around her shimmers with heat. My instinct tells me to run, hide, and get as far away as possible. But I don’t move.

Because Rhianelle is down there.

“Coral,” Rhianelle’s voice cuts through the chaos, soft and gentle. “Coral, stop.”

The wyvern’s glowing eyes flick to her, still wide, her pupils blown dark.

“It’s okay,” Rhianelle says. She’s limping toward Coral now. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m safe. You protected me. You did so well. But you need to stop now. Please. Please stop.”

Her hand reaches out and touches Coral’s snout. The wyvern flinches. But the glow is slowly fading. The power recedes, pulling back into whatever deep well it came from.

Coral’s eyes return to normal and her scales stop glowing. She makes a sound, small and confused as if she doesn’t quite understand what just happened.

Rhianelle wraps her arms around the wyvern’s neck. She presses her face against the pale scales.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “Such a good girl. You’re okay. We’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

Coral chirps and nuzzles back. The moment of devastating power is gone. She’s just a young wyvern again.

But everyone saw.

Everyone knows now what she’s capable of.

Finnbheara stands on the other side of the circle, his sword hanging loose in his hand. His face is pale and shocked.

“You need to die,” Finnbheara says, his voice flat and empty. “I see that now. You and your wyvern both.”

He raises his sword again and starts walking toward Rhianelle.

Rhianelle doesn’t move. I don’t think she can. She’s exhausted and spent. Her leg is barely healed. She just stands there, holding Coral.

Coral lowers her head and paws at the scorched earth. Dust rises around her claws as she scrapes again, harder this time, like a bull preparing to charge. A low growl rolls from her chest.

Finnbheara freezes mid-step. His gaze shifts from Rhianelle to the small wyvern standing between them.

“Isn’t it about time we stop this?” Landon calls from the edge of the circle.

Finnbheara turns toward him. Rhianelle lifts her head and the soldiers who have not yet fled fall silent. Every face in the ravine turns to Landon.

“What?” Landon asks.

“All of this. Don’t you think it’s time we stopped?” He tilts his head toward the ravine around them, the scorched earth and the fleeing crowds.

“The fight isn’t over,” Finnbheara says. “One of us has to die. Those are the rules. The ancient laws. You said so yourself.”

“I did,” Landon agrees. “But I’m asking you now, as your friend. Is this really what you want? Is this really how you want this to end?”

“I want justice,” he says. “For my father. For my people. For—”

“Your father is alive,” Landon interrupts. “And your people... Finn, look around. Your people are terrified. They just watched a wyvern nearly incinerate them all. They’re not thinking about justice anymore. They’re thinking about survival.”

“Then all the more reason to end the threat,” Finnbheara argues. “To kill her and her wyvern.”