“Wasn’t that dragon already awake earlier?” “No, apparently, Darian couldn’t wake him up…” “Well, he’s definitely awake now. Any Wilds in the Beast Wave left?” “Only those in the Pit.” “So… what do we do with them?” They barricaded the tunnels and surrounded the Pit, three Sky Fortresses and the military-grade Red Fang hovering above with every cannon and ballista pointed downward. Having the enemy trapped in a pit, surrounded on all sides, with air superiority and the ultimate high ground all at once, this Beast Wave was turning out to be much easier to handle than expected. Remian, Markus, and Carrie peered down at the trapped Wilds from above. Remian called out, “Everybody get clear, at least three hundred meters away!” They moved while Remian closed his eyes and concentrated. He calmed himself, calmed his mind, gathered his strength and evened out his breathing. “I am calm. The skies are blue. The grass is green. I am at pe

While Mindy and Remian were flying off to start trading, while George was taking charge of Kara-Goth and the rest of Shadowflash Fief, Darian was learning an ultimate technique. Or at least, Doom said it was an ultimate technique. That’s what he called it. Darian wasn’t so sure. But whatever it was, it was definitely powerful. The first thing Doom had Darian learn was the Dragon Silhouette. He said, “You need to be able to survive out here on your own! I’m not going to run around rescuing you all day!” “Is it that hard to survive around here?” Darian asked, looking around Dragon Lake. “You’re in the middle of six Dragon clans with hundreds of members between them, any of whom might feel like snapping you up as a snack. You tell me.” Darian quit the very thought of protesting. “What’s a Dragon Silhouette?” “You know how Ha’res-dras sometimes appears bigger than he really is? He doesn’t actually get bigger. That’s his Silhouette.

Days since last Beast Tide: 21. Current Kill Count: 672 (21 since yesterday). During Darian's first weekend. *** George stared at the map on the table in front of him, rubbing tired eyes. In his hand was breakfast, an Ashdale style plate of hash browns, eggs, and sausages. The images and icons in front of him seemed to swim for a moment. George shut his eyes tight for a bit, and wondered if perhaps maybe, just maybe, he should have slept in this morning. "Not today." He decided, gathering his guts and his willpower. "Tomorrow. Today, we need to face another Beast Wave." What should they do? Should they evacuate the mines, or just keep them running? Except maybe for the copper mine at Deadly Sands. And maybe the silver mine at the far southern end of the Misty Heights. Maybe even the Misty Steel mine at the source of the Three Forks River, at the heart of the Misty Mountains. Right. Misty Steel. That was a water elemental metal, similar

George prepared to face the Beast Wave and discussed the issue with Aren. They only had one Sky Fortress with which to face the incoming Beast Wave this time, and George sent it out to evacuate the Deadly Sands mine. “But what about the Wilds already at the bottom of the Pit?” Aren asked. “We need an airship to get them out unless you want to open the tunnel that we sealed up from the Pit side…” “Leave them there. We still haven’t had any word from Remian about his negotiations and that Lion Lord’s cousin. At this point, we don’t even know if the Lion Lord would be coming up with the next wave to rescue the captives.” “And if he does?” “Then he can join them down there.” George straightened. “How many mercenaries have joined the defenses?” “Including the Iron Legion guys? Twenty-five.” “That’s barely two squads.” George frowned. “Let’s have them reinforce the front gates. We better make sure they have heavy armor comparable to the FDF’s.” “We can just lend them armor if need be

The antlers met his armor with a stunning impact. “Aargh…” George coughed. He braced, while at the same time grasping those antlers, trying to push them away from his chest, suddenly fearful that they might pierce his armor and his lungs. The world tilted; no, not really, but George was suddenly looking down at the battle from above. He was lifted high above the stag’s head; suddenly, the stag’s back was right in front of him, an easy target for a glaive-wielder stuck atop the stag’s antlers. George gasped, one-handedly wielding the glaive while the other grasped the antlers, still trying to push them away. He aimed; he struck, a direct spear-like thrust straight down the back of the stag that had him caught in its antlers. The stag roared, thrashing. George yowled, dropping his glaive in the pain, now devoting both hands to getting the antlers unstuck from his armor. He was swung to the left, to the right, then he was flying, rolling across the groun