“What?” she whispered.
Vaelen’s voice was soft. “It means your name, your true name, is Thaelyn Taranveil Aeromir. You are not only the last heir of a noble dragon house, Taranveil, but you are also of royal blood for the Aeromir line. And probably the Queen of Aeromir.”
She shook her head slowly, as if the motion could scatter the truth.
“No. That can’t be,” she echoed. “Of the lost city?” She shook her head again. “That’s not possible. Aeromir is a myth. A tale to scare children.”
Vaelen interrupted gently. “It’s true, and your bloodline ruled it. Aeromir is real. It was hidden behind the Veil during the Aether Rebellion. And it vanished when your grandfather, King Caer Aeromir, sacrificed himself to unleash the final Aether storm and seal the gates. He cloaked the city from the world.”
Thaelyn’s throat constricted.
“My grandfather…” she breathed.
“Yes. The Storm King. He led the last defense when the council turned on those who wielded Aether. That makes you the last living heir to the hidden city of Aeromir.”
Thaelyn stood, the chair scraping against the stone floor. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t my mom, Maeriel, tell me? Why keep it secret?”
“Because there was a price on your life from the moment you were born,” Vaelen said grimly. “There are people who hunt Aether bloodlines and won’t rest until the last thread is cut. Ifanyone knew what you carried, they might try to control you, or worse, use you.”
Thaelyn took a shaky step back, clutching the edge of the desk. Her vision swam with fragments of memory, Maeriel’s quiet sorrow, her warnings not to draw too much attention, her insistence that Thaelyn never show her strength unless forced.
All of it, all of it had been a shield.
“And the name Taranveil?” she asked.
“It was erased from the records. Purged along with every house that defied the Elemental Council and sought to wield Aether without permission. But some of us remembered.”
Vaelen opened the small wooden box, revealing a ring set with a stone the color of stormlight, violet swirled with silver. The metal was silver-black, etched with swirling marks that moved faintly when she looked at them too long. At the center, a stone glowed, a deep violet shade tinged with stormlight.
“Your mother wore this,” he said. “It was passed down through the royal line. When you touch it, the sigil will reveal itself.”
Thaelyn reached for it with trembling fingers. The moment her skin touched the metal, a whisper of power surged through her. The ring glowed faintly, and the winged storm-crown flared to life beneath the surface of the stone. The ring was unlike any she’d ever seen.
Vaelen stepped back, reverent. “The blood remembers. Even if you do not.”
Thaelyn closed her fist around the ring and pressed it to her chest.
“You must prepare,” he said. “There is a war coming. One that will test more than your power. You are the bearer of a legacy they tried to erase. The storm has waited for you. And now, it begins to rise.”
She turned her face away, blinking hard.
“Does Thorne know?”
Vaelen smiled faintly. “Not yet. But he will. His fate has always been tied to yours. Two legacies. One bond, and the dragons remember what the world has forgotten.”
She stood, the ring pulsing on her finger. “There’s a prophecy, isn’t there?”
Vaelen’s lips thinned. “There is.”
“But you won’t tell me all of it.”
“Not yet,” he said. “Some truths come with a weight you are not yet ready to bear.”
She didn’t argue. Not yet.
The words settled deep in her chest like the echo of distant thunder. It felt like a name awakening. Not a word. Atruth.
“You knew,” she said. “You knew before I did.” She sat back, her breath catching. Images danced in her mind: the feel of storms gathering when she was angry, the way her hands crackled with power when no element had yet claimed her, the whisper of Nyxariel in her mind.
