For a moment, nobody speaks. We just… exist. In this impossible place that shouldn’t be real.
“What is this?” Kaia finally asks. Her voice echoes slightly in the vast space. “How can any of this exist?”
“It shouldn’t,” Malrik says quietly. “But it’s beautiful. I thought they were myth. Something my mother made up to make me feel better when my father traveled.”
“Clearly not,” Torric mutters.
We all seem to focus on the dark tunnels. They’re spaced evenly around the cavern walls. Waiting for something. Waiting for someone.
“Should we…?” Kaia gestures vaguely.
“Carefully,” Kieran says, rising from Callum’s side. His voice is rough. “We don’t know what else might be—”
He stops mid-sentence.
His head turns toward one of the dark tunnels. Slowly. Like something is pulling him.
Kieran moves before any of us can react.
He drifts toward the tunnel on the far side of the cavern, his steps slow and measured, like he’s walking through a dream. Like he can’t stop even if he wanted to.
“Kieran?” Kaia calls.
He doesn’t answer.
The moment he crosses the threshold, gold light floods the passage.
Dragons.
Etched into every surface, circling carved mountains, breathing fire that streaks through the wood like living flame. The craftsmanship is breathtaking — individual scales showing, wings spread wide, eyes that seem to track you as you move.
Kieran stops in the center of the hall. His whole body goes rigid.
Kaia is already moving. She crosses the cavern quickly, shadows trailing behind her, and stops at the entrance to his hall. She doesn’t step inside — doesn’t intrude on whatever this is — but she’s close enough that he knows she’s there. We all follow, hanging back.
“Kieran,” she says softly. “What do you see?”
His voice comes out broken. “The dragon riders. My mother used to tell me stories about them. I thought…” He presses hispalm flat against the wall. The dragons glow brighter under his touch. “I thought she was making them up. Fairy tales to help me sleep.”
He traces one of the carvings — a massive dragon in flight, wings spread wide, scales etched in golden light. And on its back…
A figure with wings of her own. A Valkyrie.
Kieran goes very still.
“They were real,” Kaia breathes, stepping closer. She sees it too.
“They were real.” His voice is barely a whisper. “And they… we…” He can’t finish. His hand trembles against the wall.
Kaia stares at the carving. At the Valkyrie astride the dragon. At the ancient partnership etched into the wood.
Her shadows curl around her ankles, restless.
Neither of them says what we’re all thinking. But the implication hangs in the air like smoke.
Kieran isn’t meant to carry a rider.
He’s meant to carryher.
