8. CHAPTER 8
ZANE
PAIN.
AGONY.
SADNESS.
An overwhelming nausea and pain coursed through my body, overtaking everything within me. My knees weakened under me, heart beating faster each second, it was like she was siphoning from me .
I felt a wave of emotions that didn't exactly belong to me, which I recognized as my Anam Cara.
I was aware that her platoon was heading toward the mountain pass of terrors.
When I experienced it two years earlier, I barely made it out alive.
An arrow struck my right wing, almost causing me to fall off the cliff.
While having wings was usually an advantage, Drusearons were forbidden to use theirs during basic training—not that we could.
I still felt the silver string that linked us.
She was alive. I couldn’t help her, and that devastated me.
My fist locked tight, my fingernails dug into my palms. Wings twitching to open.
Every part of me wanted to fly up there.
If I leapt now, if I gave in, they’d ban me from ever staying here during leave.
But I couldn’t do that, or I risked getting kicked off campus.
Hell, there could be worse punishment for involving myself in the pass challenge.
But gods, it would be worth it if I could reach her.
If I could bleed for her instead. I couldn’t leave her.
I just found her. She was my Anam Cara. I never understood what my aunt meant about our connection until I experienced it myself .
Six years ago, I saw her for the first time but didn't feel it. She didn’t know I was there, nor did she see me.
I was about to approach her, but a grey, dappled dragon lifted her into the air.
She raised her arms as the dragon swooped down with its sharp talons.
My stomach dropped into my chest. I initially thought she faced danger.
Instead, she let out a joyful yell as the dragon tossed her playfully into the air and swooped underneath, gently settling her onto the saddle.
Her laughter and delighted shouts filled the air, swelling my heart.
Within moments, she disappeared into the sky.
I returned to that spot many times over the following months, but I never saw her again.
Nine months later, my two uncles were killed in an attack, and I felt confused and angry. I was furious at everything and everyone. It changed our family’s dynamic and brought on responsibilities I didn't want.
The last two years at this place were marked by the necessary growth. Focus was placed inward, and anger eased through sparring sessions. Genuine friendships were formed, and sincerity was finally experienced. In my village, friendships were found, but motives often remained hidden.
Her unexpected appearance really disrupted my plans for this place.
I’d intended to graduate, return, and find her again—determine whose dragon it was to track her down.
It was obvious it wasn’t hers, since she was too young to be bonded, implying it was one of her parents.
Here, I learned that dragons can be selective about their bonds, though occasionally they form smaller bonds with their Rider's children.
I sensed her approaching, feeling intense pain ripple through my body.
The agony overwhelmed me, inducing nausea as if I myself endured the torment.
I stepped outside and pressed my back against the cold, rough stone of the college wall.
I observed movement descending the mountain pass, the tension mounting as her presence drew near.
“What are you doing out here, Cadet Braegon?” Professor Pascal asked in a low voice.
“Just watching the new cadets complete the mountain of hell…” I said, completely lying .
He glanced at me sharply, raising an eyebrow as if he sensed there was more to the story.
I had known Pascal since childhood, long before he became an instructor here.
He had been stationed at Winterhand Stronghold and shared a bond of brotherhood with my father.
Among the professors here, he was one of the few who truly knew who I was.
“Don’t get yourself in trouble, please,” he pleaded to me.
“I won’t—”
“Instructor Pascal, we need your assistance, NOW!” one of the cadets yelled.
Auriella was on one of their backs, and my heart sank into my stomach.
I straightened against the cold, rough wall.
I fought every urge in my body. My bones begged me to run to her.
No one truly understood what she meant to me, definitely not her.
My stomach didn’t just twist—it collapsed.
My ribs felt as if they collapsed inward, my lungs burning for air that wouldn’t come.
I pressed myself back to the wall, nails biting into stone, fighting the animal urge to rip her from Pascal’s arms and take her myself.
She looked like she was knocking on death’s door.
Fae usually outlived humans, but we were not immortal.
The silver thread in my mind, which I believed connected us, felt faint—like it was slipping away.
I closed my eyes, delved deep inside, and thought of that shimmering strand, pulling it back to me.
She couldn’t fucking die.
We had hardly begun our journey yet. My aunt was rarely wrong, and she said we would share a fantastic connection and love story.
Pascal hurried to them, grabbing her. In an instant, he shot up into the sky.
He would take her to the infirmary, and of course, there were no damn menders on staff during the summer.
That seemed ridiculous considering there were just as many deaths and injuries.
The ward that suppressed magic was only for the college itself, unless you had runes or was a professor.
Once you crossed the river, magic was available.
Most of the cadets didn't realize that—hell, most of them didn’t even know how to wield magic properly yet.
Thankfully, my wings didn't require magic .
I launched into the sky and flew directly to the infirmary moments after Pascal did. I landed in the watchtower, nodded my head at the alert cadets standing guard, and made my way inside. Only a few dedicated Healers stayed during the summer, and some experienced instructor-Healers were present.
The busy unit buzzed with cadets and seasoned Healers moving rapidly around.
In the center, a rectangular area held the busy discussions of Healers monitoring their patients.
I leaned against the cold counter outside the room where they had taken Auriella.
Four Healers worked inside, efficiently cutting off her uniform and assessing her condition.
Pascal looked at the desk, made eye contact with me, furrowed his brows, and expressed stern disapproval.
He scrutinized her closely before confidently walking toward me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He seethed at me in a quiet voice.
I leaned in close to him and whispered, “Anam Cara.”
He pulled away from me, turning his head completely toward me, his eyes looked like they were about to fall out of their sockets. “What the fuck do you mean?” He had never used that tone before, making me drop my eyes to the ground.
“You know what I mean… and she doesn’t know yet.”
“Fuck… Do you know who—”
“You need to get in here. I need some extra hands,” one of the Healers yelled.
Pascal rushed in, clamping both hands over the wound as blood poured through his fingers. I dropped to the floor, stripped bare of any strength I thought I had. My composure shattered.
Please, Marzana—don’t take her. Please, Betha—stay with her, breathe life into her. I had never begged the gods for anything. Now I pleaded like a broken man, promising them blood, wings, my very life if they would just leave her with me. Pitiful, but I would kneel forever if it kept her breathing.
Blood was pouring out of her leg, arm, and back.
They were pulling pieces of wood out of the wounds and tossing them on the floor.
So much fucking blood. The silver strand flickered.
My body leaned forward before my mind caught up, the pull of her blood calling to something in me I had buried.
I clenched my fists until nails drew blood in my palms. If I gave in, if I touched that power, they’d know what I was.
I couldn’t. Not here. Not with her. My anger surged, desperate to tap into it.
There wasn’t a mender anyway, so it wouldn’t do her any good right now.
Gods, I thought they might lose her. This was not our story. They kept adding gauze to her back, pulling out the arrow fragments and reopening the wound. My heart pounded faster than ever before. It felt like it broke into two.
Hours later, they finally stabilized her.
She remained unconscious but continued to breathe steadily.
With each passing hour, the silver strand felt stronger in my grasp.
I was unaware of her awareness, yet I could feel her presence, smell her scent.
When she arrived weeks ago, a tingling sensation had rippled through me.
I thought my twin sister Aeliana was here.
I glanced around the courtyard but didn’t see her.
That was when I spotted her—the face my aunt had sketched for me.
She appeared older than I remembered from six years ago, but unmistakably her.
I stared at her, watching her chest rise and fall. Her face was pale, and even though she was resting, dark circles appeared under her eyes.
One of the Healer professors knocked twice, then walked in and gave me a slight smile.
“How is she?”
“You tell me, you’re the Healer…”
“She is resting and healing. Only time will tell.”
“Can’t we get a mender here?” I grumbled at her.
“By the time they would get our message, she will be awake and making progress.”
“I could fly and retrieve one—”
“No. She will be fine, trust the process.”
I just rolled my eyes at her because, trust what fucking process?
The one where she looked like she kissed Marzana’s door?
We had menders in other forts, and I could fly.
The tone in which she said no suggested there was more to it.
She checked her bandages and temperature.
She adjusted the fluid bag that ran into her vein.
She gave me a sorrowful look and left the room.
She joined the group of professors who were engaged in a deep conversation behind the counter.
I tried to listen, but I heard nothing, which was unusual because I had excellent hearing.
This wasn’t the first time I witnessed a meeting while sitting in this chair, watching Auriella breathe.
Several professors from the college met here a few times a day, speaking softly.
I pretended not to pay attention, but I was very aware of what they were doing, just as I was observing her.
Three days had gone by, and I hadn’t left her side except to use the restroom.
Her chest rose and fell steadily. Sometimes, she would twitch as if her dreams were tormenting her.
I would put my hand on hers, and she would settle back into sleep.
I didn’t touch her otherwise, not without her consent.
It took her a minute to open her eyes and adjust to the room.
Her usual emerald eyes had changed to a more bluish shade.
They were wide open when she saw me sitting at her bedside.