Mattin didn’t move. He stood frozen at the epicenter, his eyes wide, hands slowly lifting in surrender.
“You have to understand, Epsom,” Mattin said, his voice trembling as the dragon’s neck arched low, fire beginning to churn beneath his copper-flecked scales. “I did this for the realm. We need this alliance.”
Epsom didn’t growl.
Herumbled.Deep and sharp, his neck glowing brighter as heat coiled beneath the surface. His eyes locked on Mattin with something ancient in them—rage, yes, but something colder too.
Disbelief.
“No,” Mattin whispered, stumbling a step back. “You can’t. I’m your rider.”
There was silence.
Unnatural, suffocating silence.
Everyone stilled. We stared, breath caught, hearts pounding, as something passed between them. I couldn’t hear it, but I felt it. A telepathic conversation layered in pain.
Mattin’s lips parted.
“I took a small dose of Dragonsbane,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Just enough so you couldn’t track me, but I never betrayed you. I swear it, I?—”
More silence.
Then Epsom’s jaws parted.
And the world turned gold.
Fire erupted from his throat in a torrent of searing flame, engulfing the space Mattin had once stood. The heat hit us asecond later, an explosion of blistering air and smoke that sent every rider diving for cover.
Squads scattered, shields raised, some barely avoiding the outer edge of the blaze as it tore across the stone like a storm given life.
I hit the ground beside Kaelith’s claw, breath stolen by the force of it.
When the fire cleared, the ground was scorched black.
And Mattin was gone.
Only ash remained, drifting, silent, and final.
Epsom let out a low, broken rumble… and took to the sky without a word.
No one followed.
No one spoke.
The fracture had become a crevice.And there would be no stitching it closed.
I rose slowly, brushing ash from my sleeves, my heart still thundering from the firestorm that had just carved a scar into the Ascension Grounds. The scent of scorched stone and betrayal clung thick to the air.
As the smoke drifted upward, my gaze followed it, drawn like a thread, to the royal balcony that jutted from the east tower.
And there they were.
Theron had his arms folded behind his back as if he were already crowned, his chin tilted just enough to radiate condescension. He didn’t flinch at the sight of the flames or the destruction below. If anything, he looked pleased,as though this, too, had played into his plan.
Inderia stood beside him with her hand resting lightly on his arm, delicate fingers curled like a snake’s tail. She looked radiant, her gown shimmering pale-gold in the sunlight, her expression serene. But her eyes, gods, those eyes were sharp with satisfaction. Cold. Calculating. Smug.
They weren’t watching a tragedy.
