His gaze fell on the cadets, young, wind-tossed, faces pale and wide-eyed beneath the rising stormlight.
“Report to the Scorchfield by dawn!” he called. “Thorne, gather your squad. This is what we have been training for all these nights. We will join up with Brynnek and Rory’s patrol. I need your team back here at dawn for combat training for the first-years.”
The courtyard erupted into motion once more.
Thaelyn followed her squad through the arches that led toward the lower training grounds, legs heavy, pulse unsteady. Ahead, the Scorchfield’s half-dome of glass gleamed faintly in the fading light. Beyond it, the roar of dragons echoed from the flight terraces.
She felt hollowed out, not from exhaustion, but from the ache of something left unfinished.
Vaeryn caught up to her, eyes grim. “They’re saying the Darkwinds are spreading along the border outposts. Three riders down.”
“Already?” Iri asked, breathless. “How did they breach the wards?”
“No one knows,” Vaeryn said. “Some say they weren’t breached, they wereinvited.”
Thaelyn slowed. “What does that mean?”
Vaeryn looked at her, then away. “It means someone’s guiding them.”
The words hung like ice in the air. Thaelyn froze, eyes darting toward the storm-dark sky above the Scorchfield dome. Somewhere in the sky, she saw a red cast of light. She thought she saw movement unfurling, darker than shadows.
Chapter
Fourteen
Thaelyn hadn’t slept, and the night had been a storm that refused to pass, filled with the distant screams of wind and the echo of horns from the southern range. The Academy felt hollow, its usual hum replaced by silence that clung to the halls like fog. Even the dragons’ roars had faded to uneasy quiet. Somewhere beyond the mountains, battle had already been joined.
A knock broke the stillness. Iri pushed through the door, her braid loose, eyes red from sleepless worry. “They’re back,” she whispered.
Thaelyn was already on her feet.
The dragon fields reeked of smoke and scorched rain. Blackened grass stretched for yards where the heat of landing wings had burned it raw. Soldiers hurried between tents, carrying crates of medicine and bundles of blood-stained bandages.
Thaelyn stopped at the edge of the causeway.
Vornokh loomed across the courtyard, his obsidian scales dulled by ash. Steam coiled from his nostrils as he crouched low to let Thorne dismount. Commander Dareth slid from his dragon’s shoulder beside him, his leathers torn, a deep cut along his temple bleeding into the storm.
The sight of them, so controlled, so unbreakable, stripped bare by battle, sent a tremor through her chest.
General Solas stood waiting near the command tents, voice low and sharp. “Report.”
Commander Dareth straightened, wiping rain and blood from his brow. “We reached the Southern Outpost at dawn. The barricades were gone. Every wardstone drained.”
“Drained?” Solas repeated.
“Emptied,” Thorne said quietly. His voice was hoarse. “The magic was pulled from the stones like marrow from bone.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered officers.
“Creatures moved through the fog before sunrise,” Thorne continued. “Not wraiths. Not beasts. Shadows thatfedon light. They tore through the first watch and vanished when the dragons descended.”
“They left this behind.” Commander Dareth dropped something onto the wet ground, a sliver of black crystal, jagged and glimmering faintly with violet fire. It hissed where the rain touched it.
Professor Velnari approached General Solas from behind. Her eyes widened. “That’s Riftstone.”
“Impossible,” Solas said. “The Veil’s been sealed since the last Aether War.”
“Then something is breaking it open again,” Velnari murmured. “Something is using the border storms as a passage.” Her gaze flicked toward Thaelyn before she could look away.
