Chapter 45 Vaylen
Vaylen
The scene of mother and daughter dragons confronting each other shrinks behind us as Zephyros carries us toward the gathering of neutral dragons and riders who chose to stand apart from the fight.
None followed Vestra, but neither did they join us.
I can feel the tension radiating from Rhealyn beside me as we get nearer, her spine rigid with apprehension.
As we hover above the assembled riders, I squeeze her hand once, then we step off Zephyros's back. A moment later, we Drop and land in perfect synchronicity before the silent crowd.
Their faces reflect a mixture of awe and dread. No one speaks. No one moves. They just stare at us, these once-familiar faces now looking at us like we're strangers. Or gods. Some glance at their fallen comrades in the distance, perhaps wondering if the same fate awaits them.
Rhealyn's hand finds mine again, our fingers interlacing. We stand united, waiting.
Dakar finally steps forward, breaking the suffocating silence. His eyes travel from top to bottom before he cracks a half-smile.
"Well, shit," he drawls, crossing his arms. "Guess I should've placed my bets on you two instead of the wyrm-shit gamblin' tables at Emberton. Coulda been rich by now."
Relief washes over Rhealyn at Dakar's words, her emotions matching mine. Some of the crushing weight lifts from the air around us.
Commander Voltguard steps forward next, her shoulders hunched with exhaustion. Deep lines crease her face, making her look twice her age. Her eyes track to the horizon where the massive forms of Heratrix and Vestra continue their confrontation.
"Two female dragons." Her voice cracks with disbelief. "It was too much to fathom, too big a lie for me to dismiss." She turns her gaze questioning toward us. "I'm still not sure I understand what's happening."
"There is much to explain, Commander," I say, keeping my voice steady. "But know that you stand on the right side of this fight."
Behind her, Phoebe, Nate, and Adelaide step closer, offering Rhealyn tentative, shaky smiles.
More relief crashes through her, and gratitude that her friends weren't among those who followed Vestra, the ones whose dragons she was forced to unmake and now lie a league away, believing Rhealyn is evil incarnate.
Their fear of us is still palpable, but at least these people—our people—are trying to understand rather than condemn.
Rhealyn's eye meet mine as we turn back toward the horizon. The massive dragons hover above the battlefield, their wings creating thunder with each beat. Everyone falls silent as we watch the confrontation that will determine all our fates.
Suddenly, Vestra's scales ripple like moths turning toward light. The iridescent rainbow colors that marked her as Heratrix drain away, revealing obsidian scales black as midnight. A collective gasp rises from the crowd behind us.
"What does that mean?" Phoebe steps forward, her voice trembling. "Who is that black dragon?"
I keep my eyes fixed on the confrontation as I answer. "Her name is Vestra. Heratrix and Fragor's daughter who usurped her mother's place a millennium ago."
"Whoa," Nate whispers.
"This isn't their first battle," I continue. "Last time, Heratrix cursed Vestra to slumber while Vestra transformed all female dragons into what we know as Screechclaws."
Murmurs of shock go over the crowd.
Rhealyn inhales deeply, her dread intertwining with mine.
We both know the cruelty Vestra is capable of.
I experienced it as she unraveled me with glee in her eyes.
But Heratrix is made from something different.
She's made of love and patience and respect for life, the attributes that made her a benevolent goddess.
Even now, facing her corrupted daughter, she's reluctant to destroy what she once created with such hope.
"Pray for Heratrix to win," I tell them grimly. "Her daughter knows only dominion and suffering. If Vestra prevails, Embernia will fall into darkness beyond imagining."