Serenya stood like a pillar of shadow and light until her body collapsed forward. Magic burst from her like a storm released, her final spell casting Vornokh beyond the Veil in a sweep of fire and sorrow, far from the war, from the death she foresaw.
And then, nothing.The wind fell still. The vision stopped.
They were back in Thorne’s dorm, and the air was trembling with silence. Thaelyn’s breath caught in her throat. Her chest was tight as if she had screamed and forgotten how. Her eyes brimmed with tears, hot against her cheeks. The sigil on her back pulsed once more and went still.
“Serenya died,” she whispered, voice broken. “Sheknewshe would. She broke the bond anyway.”
Thorne didn’t speak for a long moment. His hand was pressed against the stone floor, his jaw tight with restrained rage. “She gave everything,” he said at last, voice hoarse. “Vornokh was alone, for so long.”
From deep within the bond, Vornokh’s growl emerged, raw and torn. “I searched. I called. I raged. But the bond was gone. I didn’t know she’d broken it to save me.”
Thaelyn turned toward Thorne, her voice barely audible. “That’s why they’re pulling us closer. Why we feel the dragons’ bond.”
Thorne looked up. His eyes met hers, storm meeting ember.
“As their new riders, we’re the echo of their old.”
As Thorne spoke the words, the ancient runes carved high above the arched window of the dorm began to glow, a shimmer of violet light stretching from corner to corner. No longer dormant and hidden. The inscription revealed itself in silver fire:
When the flame is sundered and the storm reborn,
One must fall for the bond to be sworn.
The fated shall carry the pain of the past,
Until the moon bleeds, and time ends at last.
They stared in silence. Thaelyn reached for him. Her fingers found his, calloused, warm, and trembling. No words passedbetween them. They simply sat there on the stone floor, hand in hand, the ghosts of two ancient riders echoing through their blood.
Thorne whispered, “We will to figure this out together. I need to start you on some advanced training, flying lessons, and controlling your Aether. After that, I need to see my mother for answers. Maybe she can tell us more about her visions. Will you come with me when I leave?”
Thaelyn nodded yes.
Far above the Asgar Training Academy, beyond cloud and time, the moon began to stir.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
The morning bled pale across the mountain, a thin seam of light stitched between peaks where the sky had been torn open days before. Thaelyn stepped on the field without breaking stride. Her new leathers were stiff where mending had been woven into them, and her gloves hid the memory of burns. She had woken to the low thunder in her skull that meant Nyxariel lingered at the edge of thought, watchful as a horizon.
Thorne was already in the ring. He stood in the center, hands clasped behind him. The blade at his back was not drawn. The choice stung more than a threat would have. It told her he did not need steel to break her balance. It told her he believed she had not yet earned the weight of the weapon she could craft with her hands.
“You are late,” he said.
“By a breath,” she answered, lifting her chin. “You can keep it if you wish.”
A shadow of something like humor marked his mouth, gone as quickly as it came. “Do not be generous with the only thing you cannot recover.”
He tossed her a staff. The wood was plain, oiled, and heavier than it looked. Her fingers adjusted without thinking, finding the center, testing the give. A blacksmith knows how a weight answers when asked. A blacksmith knows the song hidden in the grain.
“We will begin at the beginning,” Thorne said. “No magic. No sigils. Just you and whatyou can hold.”
“I can hold more than wood.”
“Prove it,” he said, and moved.
He did not rush. He did not lunge. He flowed, precise as a blade measured for balance on the palm. The first sweep of his staff clipped her ankle and sent her staggering. She recovered and struck back, all shoulder and instinct, the rod singing a low note as it cut the air. He turned her momentum aside with a slight motion that infuriated her, like watching a door close in her face. He pressed and redirected, taught and unyielding, until the first thin sheen of sweat crawled down her spine and her breath came in hard.
