Far away, within the ravaged mountain valley, the battle had raged for half an hour.
Rhaegar's forces had suffered grievous losses, their numbers reduced by more than half—but the enemy, too, lay broken across the blood-soaked ground.
Then, from the distance came the thunder of hooves.
Rhaegar's heart tightened as he looked up.
A new force charged into view—and at its head rode a woman clad in crimson, her presence blazing like fire against the chaos of war.
Isabella Tanmin.
She led her men straight into the fray, cutting through the enemy ranks with fierce precision. In an instant, the tide of battle turned.
Rhaegar frowned, cutting down an opponent before calling out, "Why are you here?"
Isabella felled another with a single stroke, flashing him a quick, arrogant grin.
"Caelith sent word," she said. "She said you were in danger. I happened to be outside the city, so I came. And it looks like I've made the right decision."
Rhaegar stilled for the briefest moment.
