ONE #3
I take a long breath, holding it for a heartbeat before letting it go. I already knew that, because this was inevitable.
“What do you see?” Calryx turns my own question back on me.
I glance at Thane. At the set of his shoulders. The tension in his jaw. At the way he rides like he’s already preparing for the fight ahead.
“I see a war—a different one—that hasn’t started yet.”
“Then be ready.” Calryx’s voice hums through my mind. “Because humans manipulate and negotiate and trick. That is the way of their politics.”
I lift my head, my gaze locking onto Xaroth. Thane’s dragon is a shadow against the sun, his great black wings carving through the sky, the deep, rippling power of him undeniable. He circles, always watching, always waiting, always bound to the man who rides beside me.
As we ride through the city gates, the dragons break formation.
They disappear beyond the rooftops, their massive forms shrinking as they reach the highest ledges of the Great Keep.
Even from the ground, I can hear the low rumble of their landing, the deep huffs of their breath, the shifting of their massive bodies settling onto their perches.
They are not hidden. They are witnesses.
And Volcaris feels their gazes.
But it’s not the city or the circling dragons that make me pull my horse to slow its pace. It’s the people. They are waiting. Watching. Lined along the main road, packed shoulder to shoulder, their faces unreadable. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. And they are staring at me.
For a long, aching moment no one moves or speaks. The only sounds are the shifting hooves of our company, the distant clang of a forge hammer in the lower district, the wind curling between the towering structures.
Then, a voice, barely a whisper, just within earshot. “That’s her?”
Another, low, uncertain. “She doesn’t look like much.”
A woman’s voice, older, rougher. “She’s just a girl.”
My stomach clenches. Because this is what I feared. That they would see me and only find doubt. That I am not what they expected. That I am not enough.
For a moment, I want to turn to him. To ask Thane what to do, to ask him if this is normal, if this is something I should be afraid of.
But he stays silent. He does not urge his horse forward, does not meet my gaze, does not offer me reassurance.
Because this is my moment and he knows I have to face it alone.
So I fill my lungs with air to steady myself, and grip the reins tighter.
I am The Spiritborn. I am meant to be here. Even if I don’t feel ready.
The Ember Throne looms ahead, its towering walls covered in banners of crimson and gold, symbols of power and lineage. But something feels wrong.
I scan the buildings, my stomach tightening, my pulse pounding. Then I see it. Not the sigil of the Fire Warlord. Not any ruling house. My mark.
Mine.
The symbol of the Prophecy. The mark of The Spiritborn.
At its heart, the sigil is a perfect circle, representing harmony, destiny, and the unbreakable cycle of life and magics. Inside the circle, four distinct symbols intertwine, each seamlessly blending into the next, locked in a never-ending cycle of motion and balance.
Fire: A twisting flame, curling upward like a living thing, its edges sharp and wild, untamed yet purposeful.
Water: A rolling wave, fluid and continuous, its motion captured in elegant arcs.
Air: A spiral of wind, delicate yet sharp, its flow unpredictable, curling outward like the breath of a storm.
Earth: A jagged mountain, steady and unshaken, carved with deep, deliberate lines. The foundation, the immovable, the strength that endures.
The symbols weave into one another, interconnected, indivisible. Fire feeds air, air moves water, water shapes earth, and earth anchors fire.
I am floored. A new understanding takes root.
This is real. This is happening. The realm is no longer waiting for a legend.
The realm is looking at me.
A woman near the front presses a hand to her chest, eyes wide. A man beside her leans in, murmuring something I can’t hear. The crowd shifts. The whispering spreads, like a slow-moving fire, creeping through the streets. I catch bits of the voices.
“It’s her.”
“They say she bonded with a dragon.”
“ . . . wields all four elements.”
More voices, rising just a little louder now. And then, a single voice, clear, steady, unwavering.
“The Spiritborn has arrived.”
A ripple moves through the crowd, like a tide shifting. And just like that, the silence breaks.
A cheer erupts, uncertain at first, then growing, rolling through the streets like a fire catching in dry grass. People raise their fists, calling my name.
And I—I don’t know what to feel. Because it is still terrifying. It is still unknown.
The sigil is everywhere.
Embroidered on banners stretching across the high stone arches of Volcaris, stitched in gold and crimson, colors of prophecy.
Etched into the armor of soldiers standing at attention, their expressions unreadable as they watch me pass.
Stamped onto parchments held by city officials, the emblem already sealing decrees in my name.
I see it on the walls of the Ember Throne, hanging alongside the sigils of ruling houses.
A mark of belonging. A mark of power. A mark I never asked for. A mark that means everything.
It settles onto my shoulders like a heavy cloak.
The whispers have shifted into something louder. Something unstoppable. A name, carried through the crowd, echoing against the towering stone buildings of the capital.
“The Spiritborn.”
The crowd roars the title I have become. The walls of Volcaris rise around me, banners bearing my sigil snapping in the wind. The capital is no longer waiting for a legend. They are looking at me.
For the first time, I feel it. Not just the weight of what I am, but the pull of what I could become.
I sit straighter in the saddle, my chin lifting. I have trained with the strongest soldiers in the realm, battled for survival, jumped off a cliff to bond with a dragon.
But inside I’m unraveling. This is not just about fighting. This is about leading. This is about being seen. And gods, it terrifies me because I know what they are looking for.
Hope. Strength. Someone to follow. And I do not know if I am ready.
Thane moves beside me. His presence is steady, his horse matching pace with mine, his hand tightening briefly around the reins before he shifts, his voice just for me.
“You’re doing better than you think.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. His words reassure me. He isn’t giving me orders. He isn’t telling me to be strong. He is just here. Just standing beside me.
I turn my head towards him, and I don’t see hesitation in his eyes. No distance. No walls. Because we are done pretending. Because this is not just about prophecy or fate. We have chosen each other.
His eyes meet mine, and there it is. Warmth. Belief.
Not in the prophecy. Not in The Spiritborn.
In me.
I feel my pulse steady. And gods, what he can do to me is terrifying, but it is also something else. Something new. Something safe.
As we pass under a great stone arch, as the roar of the crowd still echoes around us, Thane leans in, just slightly, just enough that no one but me can hear.
“You belong here.” A beat. “Not because of prophecy. Because you stayed.”
My breath comes easier as a new feeling begins to stir in my gut—something other than fear.
Possibility.