The room is still.
Then, quietly, Valen asks, “Would it have changed anything if you knew?”
I look down at my plate, the weight of silence pressing in around me. I can feel their eyes on me—all of them waiting. Lyra’s hand finds my shoulder, a gentle squeeze, steadying.Reminding me I’m not alone.
I peek at Thane. He’s still watching me, but not with expectation. There’s a softness in his expression now.
Understanding.
I lift my gaze to Valen. “No,” I say, my voice steady now. “It wouldn’t have.”
And I mean it.
Valen nods. A smile pulls gently at the corners of his mouth. His silver-blue eyes gleam with something close to pride.
Not in what Iam. But in what I’ve chosen. And for the first time all evening, I feel like I’ve stepped fully into the room.
Into this place.
This circle.
This path.
TATTOOS
SIX
Only those bound to dragons bear an elemental mark upon their back. A rider does not command the element by will alone, but through the bond—when dragon and rider are joined in purpose, and the element flows between them, strengthening what is latent in the rider. The mark comes after, a sign of the connection made. It has always been so, until now.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Now that we’re officially staying, Lyra and I have been assigned to the barracks with the other warriors. No special treatment. No private rooms. Just rows of bunkbeds, boots lined beneath them.
They give us standard gear—several pairs of trousers and tunics, a belt, and boots tough enough to survive the training grounds. Everything smells faintly of smoke and soapstone, like it has been washed but has lived through too much to ever be truly clean again.
Even as the Spiritborn, I’m not exempt. Thane made that clear. I’ll still train harder, get more eyes on me. I’m expected to become something more. And ready or not, I’m already part of this war.
We find a corner table in the mess hall, bowls of porridge steaming in front of us.
“Eat,” Lyra says, pointing her spoon at me like a weapon. “It’s your first real training day. You’ll need fuel.”
“Yes, mother,” I mutter.
She grins. “Don’t ‘mother’ me. You’re the one who has to wield four elements. I’m just here to make sure you don’t forget how to breathe.”
Before I can fire back a retort, a woman approaches our table with two men trailing her. All three are carrying trays piled high with breakfast foods.
“Hi! Can we join you?”
Lyra smiles and says, “Sure,” then spoons more porridge into her mouth.
The woman grins and slides onto the bench next to me. Her skin is rich brown, her braids pulled back in clean, neat rows. Her eyes—warm, curious—flick between Lyra and me like she’s already clocking everything.
Two men follow and take the bench across from us, both smiling like they’ve decided we’ll be fun to sit with.
“I’m Taila,” she says, then gestures to the others. “That’s Darius. And Fenric.”
