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Over a decade before Gazala Ahmadi joined Task Force 141, she was just a normal Elven girl in her little village. Her small family consisted of her two brothers, her mother, and her father. She was raised to hold herself to a high standard, to let no man control her, even if that was common practice in their country.
To put it simply, her life was quiet and filled with happy moments and training from her mother to hone her magic. That was until the extremists came a week before her sixth birthday. Gazala awoke in the middle of the night to the sounds of screams of both people and dragon among the ear-piercing gunfire. She was too young at the time to truly understand what was happening to her home as her father pushed her and her oldest brother out the back door, telling them to run.
Her big brother picked her up and ran as fast as he could, taking to the hills north of their village. Gazala clung tightly to her brother, her face hidden against his neck, as he ran until they reached the forest and set her on her bare feet.
“Alvi, what’s happening? Why did Father make us run?” Gazala was inconsolable, tears flooding her honey-brown eyes.
“Bad men came into our home, we can’t go back. The two of us are all we have now.” Alvaro hugged his baby sister close, letting the poor girl cry herself to sleep as he silently cried himself.
The two young Elves wandered the forest for days, completely lost among the massive trees. Until nearly four days later, when a group of people on horses found them by a lake. Gazala hid behind Alvaro, gripping his tunic with trembling hands as one of the people dismounted their horse and came closer. The woman spoke softly to them, offering to take them in and keep them safe. Eventually, the young Elves had agreed, and the riders took them to their stronghold deep in the mountains. They joined the Khawla’s Warriors Liberation Force not long after they arrived.
Alvaro had instantly refused to be separated from Gazala, fighting anyone who tried. And one of the leaders, a woman who went by ‘The Queen’, had seen one of those fights and stated the siblings were under her protection, not to be harmed or separated; a decree that was supported by her husband, The King.
Nearly two years later, not long after Gazala’s eighth birthday, she and Alvaro found a pair of wyvern hybrid sisters while riding in a moonlit field. Each sister chose an Elf and was given a name. Gazala named hers Samara, while Alvaro gave his the name Isra.
And by the time Gazala was twelve, she had racked up her fair share of bodies and scars. Earning the names Azrael, Lady Reaper, and Lady of Death after a small group of terrorists had foolishly kidnapped her, resulting in their end. One man, out of twenty, had survived the wrath of the demon who had freed her, ending up with a bounty on her head, and Gazala hiding her face. After she’d escaped, a demon-wolf manifested one night while she wandered the countryside trying to find Samara and stayed with her consistently. keeping her warm and safe when she slept.
When she was fifteen, Alvaro was killed, Isra dying with him, and Azrael lost the only blood family she had left. After their deaths, she hardly spoke to anyone—save for her dragon and wolf— continuing to kill terrorists, just with far more brutality than she had before. But for the entire year after Alvaro and Isra’s deaths, she felt lost, like she was missing something.
“You better be right about this, Kate.” Captain John Price grumbled as he walked at Kate Laswell’s side through a remote village in Iraq, his dragon—Umbra—soared high above, watching over them.
“The intel was from a reliable source, John.” Kate almost chuckled, but she knew he was looking out for her, his draconic instincts coming out a bit, “Through here.”
Price silently followed the woman into one of the houses near the edge of the village. There was a small family inside; the woman quickly took Price and Laswell to her husband in a separate room. Laswell waited for the woman to close the door before she spoke.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet, Ahmed.”
“I do not have much time, and I can not help you, but I do know who can.” Ahmed spoke in almost perfect English.
“Who, Ahmed?” Laswell pushed.
“The King. He leads the Khawla’s Warriors Liberation Force, but nobody meets him until Lady Reaper allows it. And there is no guarantee she will meet with outsiders.” Ahmed said cautiously.
“How do we set up a meeting with this Lady Reaper?” Price asked the man.
“You don’t, the Warriors will come to you.” Ahmed refused to say more and urged Laswell and Price to leave.
“Well, that was helpful.” Price sarcastically muttered as Ahmed’s wife closed the door, hearing the sound of hooves hitting dirt getting closer.
The Dragon-Shifter spun around toward the noise, seeing three horses heading right for him and Laswell. He pulled the Human closer as the horses skidded to a stop a few feet away. The center rider separated from the others as he turned his horse to face the Human and Dragon-Shifter.
“The Lady of Death wants a meeting. Go to the old mosque to the south, one hour.” Clearly not waiting for a response from the two, the riders took off back the way they came.
“You were saying, John?” Price could hear the smirk in Laswell’s voice.
The Captain didn’t even bother to say anything to the woman, leading her back to their vehicle and getting into the driver’s seat. Driving away from the village and following the road south, they easily found the mosque after about a forty-minute drive. Even from the road, they could see about ten people and twelve horses in front of the rundown building.
Price parked the car by the broken gate and got out, waiting for Laswell before they made their way toward the group. One of the men was the same man who spoke to them before—evident by the scarf he had wrapped around his head—and he stood in front of the doors to the mosque. A rifle hung from a strap across his chest; everyone around him had a similar setup.
The Captain watched the Khawla’s Warriors closely as he and Laswell advanced toward the old mosque. They stopped at the bottom of the stairs as the man held up a hand. Behind him, one of the doors slowly swung open, and an Elven woman in a demonic skull mask stepped out with a massive wolf following her. Every single Warrior in the courtyard stood straight as the woman continued down the stairs, stopping three steps above Price and Laswell.
“What brings you here?” The Elf asked in Arabic.
“We have a target in the area. A contact believes you could help us get him.” Price answered the woman, whom he suspected was this Lady of Death.
“Who is your target?” She inquired from the Brit.
“Omar Ali. You know him?”
“Yes. He has been an annoyance for months. If you are after him, we will help.” Lady Reaper nodded to one of her men, “If you have any gear in your vehicle, I would suggest grabbing it. That thing cannot go where we are going.”
The man Lady Reaper had nodded to was leading two horses toward them as she spoke. Suddenly, Price was glad that all the gear he needed was in the bag on his back, so abandoning the car wouldn’t be a big deal. Another man led a big black Arabian to Lady Reaper’s side, bowing his head as she pulled herself into the saddle. Everyone else quickly followed her lead, Price and Laswell included.
Lady Reaper led them through the countryside until they reached a camp that had taken over a crumbling village. The camp was clearly a temporary setup, with cloth canopies stretched to cover the caved-in roofs and blown-out walls. A large herd of horses grazed in the field just outside the village; the Warriors dismounted and left their horses with the herd while Lady Reaper led Price and Laswell through the village.
They weaved through the camp until they reached one of the few still mostly intact buildings. Lady Reaper muttered something to the guards before pushing aside the tapestry covering the doorway. She and her wolf went inside, and one of the guards stopped Price and Laswell from following her.
“Let them in.” A voice called out from inside after a minute.
The same guard who initially stopped them waved them in, pulling the tapestry aside. Inside was sparsely decorated, just a table low to the ground with a handful of pillows surrounding it. Lady Reaper and her wolf stood behind an older man who sat on a cushion opposite the door.
“Sit, we have much to discuss.” The man motioned to the cushions on the other side of the table.
“Azrael tells me that we share a target, Omar Ali.” He said in perfect English as Laswell sat down, Price opting to stay standing.
“He has been ambushing supply shipments for months, supplies meant for citizens. My people finally green-lit an operation to hunt him down.” The Human explained.
“And you want my help to do so.”
“In my experience, having local assistance greatly increases our chances of success.”
The King hummed, looking at Azrael behind him, seeming to have a silent conversation before the Elf nodded.
“Azrael will help you hunt this Omar Ali.” He stated, leaving little room for any argument, “Take them on your hunt.”
“Yes, my King.” Azrael bowed her head and left, motioning for Price and Laswell to follow.
She led them out of the village, farther into the field than the horses wandered. Once far enough from the herd, the Elf made a noise akin to a bird call. Within seconds, a roar answered her call, and a shadow passed over the field before a strange wyvern landed a few feet away. The creature side-eyed Laswell and Price as she lowered her head for Azrael to pet her feathered forehead.
“Call your dragon.” She looked right at Price as she said it.
“What makes you think I have a dragon?” His eyes narrowed, his dragon rumbling through their bond.
“You reek of draconic magic. And there are only two reasons for that.” Azrael huffed as her wyvern nudged her chest. “And my sister told me there was another wyvern following us.”
Price hummed, rumbling loud and clear and getting an even louder rumble in response. A massive shadow passed over them before another, bigger wyvern landed behind Price and Laswell. The Brit turned and scratched his wyvern’s chin, making the massive creature purr. And when he looked back at Azrael, the Elf had a starstruck look in her eyes as she stared at the black wyvern.
“She’s beautiful.” She whispered.
“Her name’s Umbra, what about yours?”
“Samara.”
About an hour later, they were soaring low over the Iraqi mountains, Laswell sitting behind Price’s saddle. Samara flew ahead of Umbra, leading them further into the countryside until she suddenly dived. Umbra quickly followed the young wyvern, her talons brushing the treetops. After another pivot, Samara landed on the top of a mountain, her talons digging into the stone as Umbra landed next to her and did the same.
“My scouts say he was last seen in there.” Azrael said, pointing at the compound in the valley ahead of them.
“Anything recent?” Price asked.
“The most recent sighting was three days ago. I’ve had people watching the compound ever since.” The Elf reported.
“They still watching?” Price questioned.
“Yes.” Azrael nodded, “They will watch until I tell them otherwise.”
“Good. We’ll strike at night, do surveillance until then.”
“There’s a cave nearby. It’s too small for the dragons, but it will give us a good vantage point.” Samara took off again as Azrael patted her neck.
Umbra followed her to the cave Azrael was talking about, landing on the ledge to let her cargo off before she and Samara climbed up to the ridge. They watched the compound for over five hours, getting occasional updates from Azrael’s scouts —mostly about patrols they noticed. And once the sun had set, Samara and Umbra climbed back down to pick them up, leaving Laswell behind to provide overwatch.
The wyverns dived into the valley, landing a few hundred feet away from the compound; taking off again once Azrael, her wolf, and Price were on the ground. Telila, Azrael’s wolf, took the lead as they crept through the tall grass. She quickly found a hole in the wire fence, slipping through and looking around as the other two followed her.
They moved like ghosts through the compound, taking down every patrol they encountered and hiding the bodies before moving on. It didn’t take them long to find Omar Ali, sitting in one of the only solid buildings, completely unaware that he was being hunted; at least until Azrael and Price made their presence known.
He tried to run, obviously, with what remained of his men trying to cover his escape. But Azrael sent Telila after him while she and Price dealt with his men. They were crossing an open area when the Captain pushed Azrael behind cover as she heard shots, and the man growled. Her head snapped around, seeing blood pouring out of a gunshot wound in his arm.
“Hang on.” Azrael muttered, shouldering her rifle and putting her hand over the wound.
Her hand started to glow faintly, a pleasant cold hitting Price’s skin before the wound started to mend itself. After a beat, Azrael moved her hand, the only sign that the Captain had been shot being the blood that soaked his sleeve.
“Let’s move.” He ordered, pushing off the wall and following Azrael to Telila, who had tackled Omar near some vehicles, one of which had its driver’s door open.
“Achchhee ladakee, Telila.” Azrael praised the wolf as Price grabbed the man.
“Release me, you filthy American.” Omar swore, fighting Price’s solid grip.
“Not American.” The Captain huffed as Azrael knocked the man out with a wave of her hand, “Nice trick.”
Azrael shrugged, calling for Samara as she headed through the gate. Both she and Umbra landed nearby, Telila jumping on Samara’s back when the wyvern lowered her shoulder. Azrael followed the wolf’s lead, swinging into her saddle as Price did the same. Umbra picked up Omar in her talons as they took off, swinging by to grab Laswell before heading back to the Khawla’s Warriors camp.
They reached the camp by sunrise, the guards meeting them when they landed. Umbra didn’t let them take Omar until Price told her to give him up, for now. The King let Laswell use his ‘tent’ to contact her people and set up a prisoner transfer for that afternoon. Until then, Azrael and Price got some rest.
Later, Azrael and her girls hung back as Price handed Omar over to a squad of American Marines. The Brit could practically smell the Elf’s disdain for the Americans; Samara had absolutely refused to get anywhere near the base, landing in the hills nearby that gave her a perfect view. After the exchange, Price and Umbra flew back to meet Azrael.
“Not a fan of Americans?” He asked when Umbra landed.
“They have caused too many problems for my people.” Azrael huffed, petting Samara’s neck.
“Understandable.” Price hummed, “But you agreed to work with Laswell; she’s American.”
“She had you to vouch for her, and she showed more respect than any American I’ve met.” The Elf chuckled as Telila headbutted her back.
“Who taught you to shoot like that?” Price asked after a minute of just the breathing of their wyverns.
“My brother, he taught me everything I know.” Azrael sighed as she pet Telila’s big head and Samara looked back at her.
“Where is your brother?”
“Dead. Last year.”
“Sorry. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t. Samara’s sister died with him, too. I still hear her screams some nights.” Telila whined as she nudged Azrael’s head.
Price couldn’t think of anything to say in response, letting the silence stretch until Laswell hiked up the hill to them. Umbra lowered her head to greet the woman, letting the Human pet her snout. After a while, Laswell somehow managed to convince Azrael to go to England with Price.