But the Celestial Star was an orb of light, and now she stands before me in the form of a girl. A sense of foreboding fills me as I take in the sadness on the dragons’ faces and the way Graviter told me his wasn’t the only sacrifice made for me.
A wash of new sadness fills Torva’s expression as she continues. “She chose to burn out her light to save you. It was the only way to pull you out of the darkness. She has become mortal and will perish soon.”
I shake my head, a cry of denial rising to my lips.
No.
It’s too much.
I fight the sob filling my throat and the pain filling my heart.
First, Erik chose to burn out his deep light so he could forge me a hammer. Then Graviter gave me his eternal flame. And now I’m told the Celestial Star fell to the ash to pull me from the darkness.
It’s too much.
Graviter Rex swings back to me and his eyes are suddenly filled with fury. “Sacrifices have been made, Asha Silverspun, and they won’t be the last.”
His voice is a command that I can’t deny. “It’s time to forge your medallion.”
Chapter 41
“We will be your witnesses,” the dragon king says.
With that, he steps back from the rock that has become my anvil. He joins the other dragons, who all settle down under the moon to wait.
Erik remains in the distance with Galeia while Cailey steps to Graviter’s side, reminding me of the way she floated at his shoulder when Erik made my hammer.
“I don’t have tongs,” I whisper, even though it feels like such an insignificant hurdle after everything that has been given to me.
“You don’t need them,” Graviter rumbles. “The eternal flame will not burn the one to whom it is given. You alone can plunge your hand into this fire and remain unharmed.”
I’m relieved to hear this. Brushing my fingertips across the tops of the scales, I take in the different textures and colors, even thicknesses. Torva’s scale is smooth. Graviter’s is rough. Lily’s is flexible. Vargo’s is opaque.
They have given me different strengths, but also different perspectives, the collective gifts of a dragon family.
At one end, I place fury, and at the other, I place peace. I line them all up side by side, each one as important as the other. Each one influencing the other. All of them are parts of a whole.
Then I scoop them up in my right hand, gratified when they slot neatly against each other in my palm.
I pause before I would extend my hand into the fire.
All I have is the echo of my mother’s long-ago commands as she ordered her students to plunge their strips of metal into the fire and then beat them. She would order the students to heat and forge until they were collapsing from exhaustion, creating their medallions with cruelty.Forcruelty.
It can’t be her voice that I follow.
It has to be my own.
To do this, I need to listen to my own heart and accept all of its needs as well as its flaws.
“Heat,” I whisper.
Slowly, I extend my hand into the fire, aware of its warmth and the impact it has on the scales.
Each one begins to glow, the same way dull iron will blaze a lustrous amber when heated correctly, except that these scales were already luminescent.
Now, their beauty is both terrifying and astonishing.
I count my heartbeats, feeling calmer…
