Do we go into the lakes?Ebron asks.
I guess so.
Ebron leads the way to the side of the lava pool, three of his mates close behind, each pausing to sniff the air before slinking closer. Rosanthra hangs back a moment, nudging Sevrin’s shoulder, and I swear she’s making sure he’s all right before moving on. But Ebron doesn’t go in. He seems to still be processing the sight before him. I guess he’s seen just about everything in the world. Just not this.
“Does this place have a name?” I ask, not expecting an answer.
Sevrin gives it anyway. “The Old Pools. Nothing on the continent like them. Do you like it?”
“It’s incredible,” I say, and I mean it.
He walks to the edge of the main pool. The others join him, and we stand there, five people trying to change the fate of dragon kind. Us, on enemy lands. Sevrin, home.
Sevrin crouches, picks up a rock, and tosses it into the lava. It sizzles, floats a second, then bursts into blue flame.
“Show-off,” Lucien mutters, but he’s grinning.
The female dragons drop from the sky and gather around the lakes, all of them staring at the pool as if waiting for a sign. There’s tension in the air. A kind of hunger. I’m not sure if it’s theirs or ours.
Alaric nudges Sevrin. “Should they go for it?”
Sevrin looks at me, then at the dragons, then at the churning lava. “It’s what we came to do.”
The dragons don’t need to hear anything else. One by one, the dragons wade into the lava. It’s not quick or graceful; there’s resistance, a struggle, as if every instinct is telling them not to go. But Ebron plunges ahead, and when the molten rock washes over his claws, he shudders, then roars—a sound that splits the clouds above.
Sylvara follows, then Verdraxa, then Nythera. Rosanthra hesitates, just long enough to meet Sevrin’s eyes, then leaps after the others. The dozen wild females hang back, but the magnetic pull of Ebron is too strong, and they follow, yelping and bellowing as the lava closes over them.
I watch, heart thudding, as the surface of the pool is broken by wings and spines, then goes still. The heat grows more intense, but not in a painful way. It feels like a fever breaking, like the world is holding its breath.
We wait. Nobody speaks.
Alaric fidgets, then asks, “How long do they stay in there?”
“However long it takes,” Sevrin says.
Gareth grins. “That’s not very specific.”
Sevrin shrugs. “It’s more magical than logical.”
I almost ask him how he knows this will work, but the look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t, not really. He’s gambling everything. So are we.
We sit together, on a chunk of glassy rock, watching the pool. It’s beautiful and terrifying, and I think for a second about all the moments that led to this one. All the things that had to happen to lead all of us together, to saving the dragons.
Alaric leans closer to me, his hair already curling from the heat. “You think they’ll be all right?”
“They’re dragons,” I say. “If anything can survive this, it’s them.”
Gareth picks up a chunk of black rock, tosses it to Alaric. “You ever seen anything this… strange?”
Lucien sniffs it, then licks it—of course he does—and makes a face. “Tastes like burnt sugar.”
After that, no one speaks. The silence is almost pleasant, until Alaric glances at Sevrin, eyes sharp. “So how did you learn about this place again?”
Sevrin releases a slow breath. “Found some old books. Tomes, really. They’d been mostly forgotten with time, but I was looking for something to save my people, and I knew the past had to hold the answers.”
Alaric presses, “To save your people?”
Sevrin looks at the lava, then at me. There’s a vulnerability in him that’s rare, precious, almost. “It’s not just the dragons that need saving,” he says, voice low. “Our people. The Hollowborn. We’re dying, too.”
