Chapter 44 Rhea #2
I lean forward as we bank hard around the aerial battle, watching Heratrix and Vaylen spiral downward with the attacking dragons in pursuit. Perfect. The maneuver creates exactly what we need, a straggler at the rear of the formation.
—There, I point. The metal elemental.
—I see him. Zephyros's thoughts vibrate with cold fury. Hold tight.
We dive with breathtaking speed, air screaming past my face as we close the distance.
The dragon's tail lashes through clouds beneath us, its rider focused entirely on Heratrix ahead.
Only when we're practically on top of them does the rider sense our approach.
The dragon banks sharply, nearly throwing its rider as it whips around to face us.
My stomach drops when I recognize his face.
Robert Silverin.
The same Robert who shared meals with me at the Academy and helped me perfect my dagger throws when I kept getting them wrong. Our eyes lock across the sky. Recognition flashes in his eyes, followed by hatred that twists his features into something barely human.
"Traitor!" he screams.
I hesitate, my resolve faltering. "Robert, please—"
Metal gleams in his hands. Before I can finish, dozens of spiked balls rise from his saddles and hurtle toward us, their sharp edges glinting in the harsh sunlight like miniature death stars.
My instincts kick in before conscious thought can form.
I reach for the coiled energy within me, feeling the metal element rise to meet my call—familiar as my wind power yet still new to my touch.
With a flick of my wrist and a pulse of power that travels from my chest to my fingertips, I redirect the deadly projectiles.
They veer away from our path, spinning harmlessly to the side like leaves caught in a crosswind.
"You could be fighting with us." Robert's voice cracks with betrayal. "Instead you sided with monsters."
I could try to explain, but I don't have time for this.
I'm here to help Heratrix, so I reach for my power again, feeling it surge through my fingertips.
The tetrad bond pulses with energy as I latch onto his dragon's wing.
Once more, I visualize the minute connections between the particles that comprise it, the elemental bonds that hold matter together.
And I unravel them.
The dragon roars as his wing dissolves, its body tipping to one side, the remaining wing flapping uselessly.
"No!" Robert screams, his horror-struck face sears into my memory, a burning brand I'll carry forever.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, though he can't possibly hear me.
Dragon and rider plummet, spinning wildly with nothing to stabilize their fall. The bronze dragon's roar of terror is almost human in its desperation.
I turn away, scanning for our next target as Zephyros banks sharply toward another dragon, a crimson male with fire blazing from his nostrils.
Behind us, Robert and his dragon continue their fatal descent.
Without looking back, I extend my hand and summon a massive current of air beneath them.
I feel the resistance through my fingers as the cushion forms, slowing their fall just enough.
They'll live, and if they repent, they may fly again. I hope.
—Let's go, I tell Zephyros, focusing on the yellow dragon ahead. The battle's chaos swallows us as we dive back into the fray, leaving Robert behind us.
Some decisions leave scars. This one will be among the deepest. No matter what I do next. But I vowed to end this, so I'll use any means to accomplish it.
I feel no joy as I sweep through the sky with Zephyros, targeting each dragon and rider locked in combat with Heratrix.
This terrible power flows through me like poison—necessary but corrupting.
Each time I reach into another being and unravel their essence, I feel a piece of my own humanity unravel with it.
—It must be done, Zephyros reminds me, his thoughts grim as death. Then Heratrix can fix it.
A crimson fire-dragon is next. I recognize its rider—Emberstone, a Prime I once respected. Now she hurls fireballs at Heratrix's flank.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, the words becoming my dark prayer.
I reach out with my consciousness, finding the elemental bonds in the dragon's right wing.
The membrane dissolves into luminous ash, scattering across the wind.
Dragon and rider spiral downward, their screams joining the cacophony of battle.
Another current of air rises beneath them, just enough to ensure they survive the fall.
We bank sharply toward a water dragon, its scales gleaming like frozen tears. Its rider—an older woman I've never met—meets my eyes with pure hatred.
"Traitor!" she screams, echoing Robert's accusation.
Ice spears form around her, aimed directly at my heart. I deflect them with a sweep of my hand, trying to feel nothing as I dissolve her dragon's wing.
Another fall. Another air cushion. Another soul who will forever curse my name.
We move methodically through the battle. An earth dragon loses his right wing, its roars piercing my ears as it plummets. A lightning dragon's electricity sparks uselessly as it plummets.
One by one, they fall.
One by one, I save them from death while—for all I know—condemning them to a flightless future.
Omari is among them. When I meet her eyes, I see only resignation. She knows what's coming. Perhaps she even understands why.
"They said you were a monster," she calls as we approach. "I didn't believe them."
I hold her gaze as I reach for her dragon's wing, unwinding it particle by particle. "Now you know better," I say, watching her scream as I do the unthinkable.
They spiral down and join the others in their controlled descent.
Time blurs as Zephyros and I continue our grim work. My power flows without effort now, practice making me efficient at this terrible task. With each dragon we ground, Vestra's rage grows more palpable, her massive form twisting in fury as her allies disappear from the sky.
When the last of her dragon supporters is gone, leaving just the five of us—Zephyros and me, Heratrix and Vaylen, facing Vestra alone—I feel bare inside.
What have I become? The question echoes in the empty spaces where my conscience used to be.
—You had to, little one, Zephyros says, his voice gentle despite the violence we've delivered. This is not necessarily their final fate.
—Yes, but do they know that? No answer from Zephyros. And even if Heratrix makes them whole again, it's still wrong.
—We did what we had to.
The thought gives me no solace.
—Peace, child, Heratrix says. I will help them.
I nod, grateful, though my guilt remains just the same.
Vestra hovers before us, the sun behind her. Without Tahr to ride her, she seems even more monstrous, a corruption of what dragons should be. Her scales gleam with false iridescence, a mocking imitation of her mother's true beauty.
"It's as it should be now," I call across the sky. "Mother and daughter."
Vaylen acquiesces, and as Zephyros glides beneath Heratrix, he Drops and lands beside me, his hand finding mine instantly.
"This is right," he says.
We leave mother and daughter to their reckoning, banking away on Zephyros's powerful wings. Fear tightens my chest as we retreat, considering what happened the last time they fought. Yet allowing this confrontation feels like the only right course. No one else should die for what Vestra started.
—This is how it must be, Heratrix says, her certainty washing over me like a purifying ocean wave.