Chapter 17
The wind beneath Sirrax's wings felt like freedom itself.
I closed my eyes and let the sensation wash over me—the familiar rhythm of his flight, the bond between us singing with contentment, the vast sky stretching endlessly in all directions. For the first time in what felt like months, I felt truly myself again. Whole. Complete.
It had been so long since I'd been able to fly like this, just me and Sirrax cutting through the air with nothing but open sky ahead of us.
The weeks of separation, of not knowing if my mates were alive or dead, of feeling like half of my soul had been torn away—all of it seemed distant now.
They were safe. We were together. And despite everything that had happened, despite all the impossible odds we'd faced, we'd somehow found our way back to each other.
I believed what I'd told Marcus before we left. If we could survive everything that had tried to tear us apart, if we could all be standing together in that courtyard despite the forces aligned against us, then anything was possible. Even hope.
The despair that had been eating away at me for so long, leaving me feeling hollow and lost, had finally lifted. With my mates back, with the bond between us restored, I felt powerful again. Like I could face whatever was coming and find a way through it.
Sirrax rumbled beneath me, his pleasure at being airborne again flowing through our connection. He'd missed this too—the freedom of flight, the joy of being together without walls or guards or the constant tension of uncertainty.
It feels good to fly with you again, his voice whispered through my mind, warm with contentment.
It feels like coming home, I replied, leaning forward to rest my hand against his neck.
To our left, Tarshi kept pace with us, the dark blue dragon's scales gleaming in the morning light.
Despite his playful nature, he flew with steady precision.
Taveth sat on his twin brother's back in brooding silence, his pale eyes scanning the landscape below with the practiced attention of a scout, his expression as serious and watchful as always.
The contrast between the twin brothers was stark—Tarshi's underlying enthusiasm for flight held in check by Taveth's sombre focus on the mission ahead. Even in this moment of relative peace, Taveth remained alert and guarded, the weight of his responsibilities never fully leaving his shoulders.
The mission itself was straightforward—fly south toward the border, gather intelligence on Imperial movements, and return with whatever information we could find.
The council needed to know how close the Empire's forces were, how quickly they were advancing, what kind of resistance they might be planning to encounter.
But for now, in this moment, I let myself simply enjoy the sensation of being exactly where I belonged.
The bond with my mates hummed in the back of my mind like a constant song, reassuring me that they were safe and waiting for my return.
Sirrax's strength beneath me, his joy in flight, reminded me of who I was when I wasn't afraid or grieving or lost.
This was what I'd been missing. This sense of completeness, of purpose, of being more than the sum of my parts. With my mates beside me and Sirrax beneath me, I felt capable of anything.
The landscape below us was beautiful in the crisp morning air—rolling hills covered in early snow, forests of evergreens that stretched toward distant mountains, streams that caught the sunlight like ribbons of silver.
It was peaceful, serene, the kind of vista that made it easy to forget there was a war brewing.
Which was why the smoke on the horizon hit me like a physical blow.
At first, I thought it might be cooking fires from a village, the normal signs of life and activity. But as we drew closer, the smoke grew thicker, darker, carrying an acrid smell that made Sirrax's nostrils flare with distress.
Something's wrong, he said, his earlier contentment vanishing.
I could see it now—not the thin wisps of hearth smoke, but the thick, billowing clouds that spoke of destruction. Lots of it. Fresh destruction, from the way the smoke was still rising.
"Taveth," I called, gesturing toward the source of the smoke.
He followed my gaze and his expression went grim. Without words, we adjusted our course toward the disturbance, though something in my chest was already beginning to clench with dread.
The village—or what had been a village—came into view as we crested a ridge. My heart stopped.
Everything was gone. Houses reduced to smouldering rubble, streets littered with debris and worse things I didn't want to look at too closely. The snow that had been falling steadily all morning was mixing with ash, creating a grey slush that coated everything in a layer of desolation.
But it was the silence that truly drove home the horror of what we were seeing. No voices calling for help, no sounds of survivors searching through the wreckage, no signs of life at all. Just the crackling of dying fires and the whisper of wind through destroyed buildings.
"Gods," Taveth breathed from behind me, and I could hear something breaking in his voice.
Sirrax circled lower, his distress flooding through our bond as he took in the devastation below. This wasn't the work of ordinary soldiers with swords and torches. This level of destruction, the way buildings had been reduced to scattered stone and ash, spoke of something far more devastating.
Dragon fire.
The realization hit me like ice water in my veins. Imperial dragons had done this, their riders using collars to force them to burn their own people's homes, to turn their natural gifts into weapons of terror.
I can smell them, Sirrax said, his mental voice tight with anguish. My kin were here. They were forced to do this.
The guilt that washed over me was almost overwhelming.
These weren't my dragons, weren't my responsibility, but seeing what they'd been forced to do felt like a personal violation.
Sirrax had been enslaved once, controlled by a collar, made to fight and kill against his will.
The dragons that had done this were suffering the same fate, used as instruments of destruction with no choice in the matter.
We landed at the edge of what had been the village centre, our dragons settling uneasily on ground that was still warm from the fires.
The devastation was even worse up close—bodies scattered among the rubble, belongings that would never be claimed again, the remnants of lives that had been snuffed out without warning.
Taveth dismounted and moved through the wreckage with a strange, mechanical precision. His shadows were writhing around him like living things, responding to emotions I could feel building through our bond—rage, grief, and something darker that made me deeply uneasy.
"I know this place," he said quietly, kneeling beside the remains of what had been a house. "I know these people. Knew them."
He picked up something from the rubble—a child's wooden toy, carved in the shape of a dragon. The irony of it was cruel beyond words.
Behind him, Tarshi shifted into his human form, naked but unaffected by the cold.
He slid his hand on his brother’s shoulder, saying nothing, just offering support.
Taveth tensed for a moment, then relaxed, and the motion made my heart ache.
How long had Taveth been so alone, with no affection, no human touch?
I knew Aytara had raised him, and she certainly looked at him with genuine affection, but I didn’t see her pulling him into her arms to comfort him, even as a child.
Maybe that was why he demanded so much from me, every night, every morning, making love to me for hours until I begged him to stop.
I had thought it was simple desire, but perhaps it was more than that.
Perhaps my strange, dark man simply needed to feel touch.
The snow continued to fall, fat flakes that melted as soon as they hit the still-warm ash. The contrast between the pristine white and the grey devastation created a scene that would be burned into my memory forever.
"How recently?" Tarshi asked.
"Hours," Taveth replied, his voice hollow. "The embers are still warm, the tracks in the snow are fresh. We missed them by hours."
The implication of that settled over us like a weight. The Imperial forces weren't just advancing—they were racing ahead of schedule, striking faster and harder than anyone had anticipated. If they could reach this village, less than a day's flight from the hidden city, then nowhere was truly safe.
I walked carefully through the destruction, trying not to look too closely at the bodies while still taking in the scope of what had happened.
This wasn't a military target, it wasn't a strategic location.
This was a farming community, people who had probably never held weapons more dangerous than kitchen knives.
But they were Talfen, and that was enough.
"They took some," Taveth said suddenly, his voice carrying a new edge. "Young ones who showed signs of shifting ability. They always do."
The casual way he said it, as if this was a routine occurrence, made my stomach turn. How many villages like this had there been? How many more would there be?
It was then that Sirrax's head snapped up, his attention focused on something in the distance. We're not alone, he warned.
The other dragons had heard it too—the sound of wings, multiple sets, approaching fast from the south. Tarshi was already shifting into dragon form again, his face grim with determination.
"Imperial patrol," he said. "They must have seen our smoke trail."
We mounted quickly, Sirrax launching himself into the air with powerful strokes that scattered ash and debris below us. But even as we climbed, I could see them—five dragons in tight formation, their riders urging them forward with the relentless efficiency of a hunting pack.