Vaeryn, breathless from the overtaking, whispered, “Great Gods above, that’s — ”
“Nyxariel,” murmured Dragonmaster Kaorili, “The Ancient Queen,” his voice choked with reverence.
Thaelyn stood, trembling, hair matted with blood, eyes wild with light.
Nyxariel’s enormous form landed before Thaelyn, talons sinkinginto the stone. The earth bowed. Her gaze met Thaelyn’s, opalite and endless.
The dragon lowered her head, breath rolling out in a gust that smelled of rain and power. The wind coiled around Thaelyn like a lover’s arm. Then came a voice, soft, but powerful like thunder, deep as eternity.
“Stormborn. You are seen.”
Thaelyn cried out. Her back arched as something ancient erupted within. Pain ripped through Thaelyn’s body as glyphs ignited beneath her skin, silver and violet sigils racing up her body. Her scream echoed with the storm’s voice, her veins lit with living light. The sigils spiraled along her arms, coiled at her throat, crawled across her back in sacred patterns. The air swept around her. Power did not flow, it claimed.
Nyxariel let out a loud, keening rumble that shook the walls. Above, the dragons answered in unison. But none louder than Vornokh. His cry echoed like a horn of war and mourning.
Thorne crawled to his knees, felt a surge tear through the bond he didn’t know existed. Agony seared through his chest, Thaelyn’s pain mirrored in his own. His own magic rose unbidden, shadows curling over his hands, his skin burning with fire and dark light.“Vornokh, help me.”
“Endure,” the dragon growled. “You are part of this now.”
The Scorchfield shuddered under the force. Then, in one deafening instant, there was silence.
Thaelyn stood in the eye of the ruin, haloed in light and wind, beneath the bowed head of Nyxariel.
Thorne pushed himself upright, staggering. His eyes found Thaelyn’s across the wreckage. In that moment, the air between them was true. It was too much raw magic that he absorbed. He collapsed, slumping to the stone.
Thaelyn stood beneath the broken sky, beneath the wings of a goddess who had waited lifetimes. The bond forged in a moment, and yet it had always existed. A tether of memory. Of legacy. Of blood and storm. The storm crowned Thaelyn. Nyxariel lifted herwings, vast and absolute, and the world breathed in her shadow. The Kaelthir was complete. The other dragons bowed.
Far above it all, on the shattered balcony, Kaen watched the chaos unfold, his cloak unmoving, his smile small and cruel.
“The Queen of Storms awakens,” Kaen murmured. “Let the games begin.”
Chapter
Sixteen
When Thaelyn woke, the world was quiet. Too quiet. The air smelled faintly of rain and char. She blinked into dim light, the infirmary’s ceiling a vaulted arch of carved stone and spellglass. Veins of faint blue magic pulsed along its ribs, containment wards meant to suppress volatile energy.
Her ribs ached with each breath, the pain sharp but real, proof she was still alive.
A soft hum stirred the air beside her. “Don’t move,” said a low voice.
Thaelyn turned her head slightly. Professor Caelira knelt beside the bed, her hands pressed to Thaelyn’s ribs. The faint glow of healing magic shimmered between them. Caelira’s usually composed expression was lined with exhaustion; sweat darkened her red hair at the temples.
“You cracked two ribs, bruised half your side, and burned through what little balance your body could hold,” the professor murmured. “If Velnari hadn’t stabilized you, the Aether would have finished what the fall started.”
Thaelyn tried to speak, but her throat rasped dry. “The… the dragon?—”
“Nyxariel,” Caelira said softly. “She’s still here. She hasn’t left the Scorchfield since she came down from the storm. The others bow to her. Even the sky holds its breath.”
A shadow passed over the door. Commander Dareth steppedinside, black cloak still damp from the rain outside. His face was expressionless, but the set of his jaw betrayed tension. Behind him followed Professor Velnari, every inch the storm she commanded, and the Archivist, Vaelen Solen, his robes ink-dark and lined with faint runes that whispered when he moved.
Vaelen’s eyes, silver as old glass, flicked toward Thaelyn. “She’s awake and alive.”
Velnari crossed her arms. “Barely, and still humming with power that doesn’t belong in mortal veins.”
Thaelyn flinched at that.
Commander Dareth shot her a look that softened only slightly. “You’ve caused quite the stir, Cadet Marren.”
