The deck creaked beneath Rhys Azer’s boots as he moved across the length of the dragon hunter ship, Iron Maw. The vessel groaned like a living beast—iron-ribbed, reinforced with the bones of fallen dragons, and stained dark with years of war and fire. They were anchored in a still bay, surrounded by thick, unnatural fog that hugged the sea like a shroud.

Cages lined the lower deck, some trembling with fear or fury. Newly captured dragons—chained, sedated, growling low in their throats. Rhys walked between them, arms folded, his expression unreadable as he inspected their condition. One had a broken horn, another still dripped fresh blood. Good stock, most of them. The buyers would be pleased.

“Watch the sedative levels,” he barked at a nearby crewman, who gave a quick nod and scurried off with a vial in hand.

Then—above deck—a shout split the stillness.

“Contact! Port side! Something’s coming through the fog!”

Rhys snapped his head up, instincts flaring. The wind shifted, and something in his gut twisted. It was too quiet. No birds. No sea breeze. Just the roll of the fog… and then—

BOOM!

A plasma blast tore through the air like a comet, slamming into the ship’s stern. Fire erupted in a flash of blue-white light, sending wood, iron, and men flying into the sea. Rhys ducked, rolling behind a coil of chains as another blast crashed into the upper deck, splintering the lookout post into flaming wreckage.

Screams rang out. The ship tilted violently as crew scrambled to load ballistae, pulling up shields and scattering to defensive stations.

“What the hell is that?!” someone yelled.

But Rhys already knew.

Through the fog, a white blur cut through the sky—fast, elegant, deadly. A Light Fury. And on its back—

A rider.

He narrowed his eyes, even as another plasma shot streaked toward the bow and detonated with blinding force. Smoke and flame flooded the deck.

“Rider!” Rhys snarled, vaulting up toward the helm. “We’ve got a bloody rider attacking the ship!”

He grabbed a harpoon launcher, shoulders tense, scanning the fog for a second glimpse. Whoever they were, they weren’t just here to make noise. No, this was a surgical strike—fast, precise, and personal.

And judging by the aim?

They knew exactly which ship to hit.