And yet all I can feel is the hammer of my heart and the warmth of his palm. The world is infinite. But right now, this—this moment, this quiet, this touch—is everything.
Thane exhales, then—reluctantly—lets go of my hand. “You should rest,” he murmurs.
Yes—another long day of training, magics, study. And it is late.
Still, I linger. Just a moment longer, unwilling to break the space between us.
“Goodnight, Thane.”
His gaze lingers. A pause—heavy with something unspoken.
Then—”Goodnight, Amara.”
I turn, stepping toward the tower door. The warmth of the night wraps around me, only adding to the lingering heat beneath my skin—the way I still feel him where he touched me.
SUMMER SOLSTICE
SIXTEEN
My rough translation from the Old Tongue, of ‘The Dragon’s Call’:
‘Your dragon’s blessing—
a call that stirs in your sleep.
Enveloped in an instant,
a deep and wordless knowing.
Bond-magics reach for your soul.
You fuse in spirit,
inseparable, whole.
The pull is fierce.
It will not be denied.
A trust-fall waits—
the choice not yet claimed.’
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
The outpost is alight with celebration. Lanterns of every hue drift above the courtyard, their glow casting flickering patterns on the stone walls. The scent of herb-roasted meats and honey-spiced fruits drifts through the air, mingling with summer blooms. Music—wild, rhythmic, intoxicating—drums through the evening.
The beat thrums beneath my feet, pulsing through stone and skin.
It’s been a few days since I stood on that tower with Thane. Since his hand held mine in the dark. We have trained together, spoken, like nothing happened.
Tonight is the Summer Solstice—the longest day of the year. The pinnacle of elemental power. A night of revelry, gratitude, surrender to the rhythms of nature. Second only to the Winter Solstice, it is the outpost’s grandest celebration.
“The Solstice marks the balance,” Valen told me earlier in the day. “A turning point. Fire reaches its peak, but from this moment, the days will begin to wane, surrendering back to shadow and cold. It’s a reminder—no Element reigns forever.”
At the outpost, the festival honors fire’s zenith—its power, its warmth, its persistence. At sundown, Fire Clan riders gather in the main courtyard, their arms raised skyward as they call forth their magics. Flames dance in their palms, spiraling into brilliant arcs, forming constellations of fire before burning out into embers that rain like falling stars.
