Chapter 4 #2
“Speak, Reefsong,” I say. “This is no time to hold back observations.”
She squares her shoulders. “High Prime, I noticed there were no children among the dead. Not one. I checked every dwelling still standing, every collapsed structure where bodies could be seen.”
“We observed the same,” I confirm, disappointed that she has nothing new to share. “No women either, from what I could determine.”
The Skyriders exchange glances, the implications settling between us like a physical weight. Pyrewing’s face darkens, but for once, he keeps his thoughts to himself.
“What do you think it means, High Prime?” Reefsong asks, her gaze direct and unflinching now.
I consider my words carefully, aware that my interpretation could shape theirs. “The Screechclaws have never shown such preference before. They kill indiscriminately, or so all our intelligence has indicated for centuries.”
“Perhaps they’ve changed their tactics,” Cliffbecker suggests, his tone subdued.
“Or perhaps,” I say, looking back toward the mountain that swallowed Rhealyn, “this attack wasn’t solely their doing.
The man who emerged from the mountain and took…
Skyrider Wyndward, we’ve never seen magic like his.
What if the Screechclaws were merely the vanguard for something else?
Something that wanted the women and children of this village for its own purposes? ”
The silence that follows speaks volumes. None of us wishes to consider what those purposes might be.
“That theory doesn’t hold,” Emberstone says, her voice cutting through my speculation. She gestures to herself and Reefsong. “They didn’t take us.”
“Yes. I thought of that,” I say. “In truth, what happened here is anyone’s guess. We have so little to go by.” I look at the sword in Dakar’s hand, our only concrete piece of evidence.
“What now?” Emberstone asks.
I survey my riders, their expectant faces awaiting my command.
The answer is obvious. Painfully so. Protocol demands we return to Cinderhold immediately to report to Commander Voltguard.
A mysterious figure with unprecedented power has emerged, Screechclaws have altered their attack patterns, and we’ve lost a Skyrider.
No, she’s not lost. Taken. Right before my eyes.
Oh, Rhealyn.
Despite our relationship being forbidden, I had dared to dream.
The way she made me feel alive... I’d been willing to risk everything.
I’ve never been in love, never allowed myself that vulnerability.
Yet with her, I stood at the precipice of that feeling, terrified and exhilarated at the same time.
But then her admission of killing Cindergrasp, her confession about being a Weaver. All of it should make my decision easier. She lied. She deceived me. She broke sacred laws.
And yet...
“High Prime?” Emberstone insists, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “What are your orders?”
The weight of command sits heavy on my shoulders. Seven riders look to me for direction, for certainty. Duty calls me back to Cinderhold, to report everything I’ve learned. But leaving means abandoning Rhealyn.
“I need a moment to consider our course,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Scout the perimeter once more. Ensure we’ve missed nothing. I’ll survey the mountain.”
Without waiting for acknowledgment, I turn and walk away.
I approach the spot where she vanished, my steps measured despite the urgency pounding in my chest. In daylight, the ground bears dim signs of yesterday’s impossible event.
The earth is scorched, a mark that radiates outward from where the mountainside split open.
Smaller fissures spider across the rock face, healed but still visible like newly formed scars.
This is where I failed her, where our fingertips touched before she slipped beyond my reach.
I press my palm against the stone, feeling nothing but cold, unyielding rock. No trace remains of the power that surged here. No hint of a passage within.
“Rhealyn,” I whisper, the name a prayer upon my lips.
My riders can’t see me like this, so desperate and undone. A leader must embody strength, especially in a crisis. Yet standing here, alone with my regrets, I’m merely a man who watched someone he cares for vanish.
I close my eyes, steadying my breathing as I was taught long ago at the Aerie Academy. Control. Discipline. These virtues have always guided me. They should guide me now because I can’t fail her again.
When I open my eyes again, I’m resolute, focused, the High Prime once more. I will find her.
This place keeps its secrets for now, but not forever. Nothing does.
With each step back to camp, the wind whispers doubts in my ears. Duty weighs on me like those peaks weigh on the land, yet so does the memory of her fierce, courageous gaze. I steel myself. This place owes me answers, and I will return for them.
I’ve barely made it back to camp when Dakar steps into my path, his dark eyes narrowed with concern.
“You ain’t yourself, mate.” He scratches his stubbled jaw, studying me too intently. “What’s eatin’ at you about this girl?”
“I’m perfectly fine,” I reply, squaring my shoulders.
“Wyrm-shit.” Dakar lowers his voice, glancing around to ensure we’re not overheard. “I know you. Been flyin’ together too long. There’s somethin’ between you and that Skysinger that’s got you tied up in knots.”
I clench my jaw. Even acknowledging such feelings would be a betrayal of my position.
“You know you can trust me,” Dakar says.
I say nothing, staring at the scorched earth.
“Look,” Dakar steps closer, “we’ve lost riders before. Good ones. Never seen you this torn up.”
“Not here.” I glance toward the others. This conversation requires privacy, and perhaps more honesty than I’m prepared to offer.
“Fair enough,” Dakar says with a shrug.
A moment later, I stand before my riders. Their faces are etched with questions and judgment. Their dragons rest nearby, scales gleaming in the morning light. This moment demands clarity from me, not the storm of conflict raging within.
“We return to Cinderhold immediately,” I announce, my voice carrying across our makeshift camp. “Commander Voltguard must be informed of everything we’ve witnessed here.”
Emberstone nods in approval while Dakar frowns.
“After delivering our report, we will abide by whatever course the Commander and Council of Primes determine is wisest.” The words taste bitter, but duty demands nothing less. “This threat extends beyond this contingent alone.”
Goddess! Can I truly leave? My gaze traces the jagged outline of the range. There might be other entrances, cave systems I need to explore. These mountains harbor passages. I saw them marked on several maps as we planned our excursion here.
A voice inside me whispers that I could request a small contingent stay behind. Just a few riders and I could search while the others return with news to Cinderhold.
But that would be folly.
My responsibility extends beyond one missing Skysinger—even one as exceptional as Rhealyn.
The others look to me for leadership, for protection.
Whatever emerged from that mountain could threaten not just Rhealyn but all of Embernia.
Besides, a small contingent would be no better than ants searching the vast range.
“Ready yourselves. We fly within the hour,” I say, letting reason prevail over my heart’s desperate plea to find her.
I’ve made my decision. I know the Commander will dispatch a full search team once we report what happened here, a force far more capable than our small group. This is the rational path forward. This is what Rhealyn needs, not my reckless impulses.
As the others prepare to depart, I watch Zephyros perched atop the rocky outcropping. He hasn’t moved. His massive form sits unnaturally still, like a sentinel carved from pure moonlight.
When everyone is ready, I give the order. “Mount up.”
I command the nearby air currents to form a Vortex Lift. The winds obey, spiraling beneath me and propelling me upward to my dragon’s head. Fragor rumbles beneath my boots, his scales vibrating as he senses my troubled mind. The others mount in my wake and position themselves.
We start north toward Cinderhold. My gaze remains fixed on Zephyros as we move away from the village. We clear the ridge and fly over it, but the dragon stays put!
This is unprecedented. A riderless dragon should be preparing to return with the rest, not maintaining a solitary vigil. I’ve witnessed the loss of Skyriders before… the dragons always retreat to seek solace in their kin. Always.
I whirl Fragor around, facing Zephyros directly. Gathering the wind between us, I shape it into a conduit for my voice.
“Zephyros,” I call, the currents carrying my words across the distance. “We must return to Cinderhold. You can’t stay here alone.”
The great beast doesn’t even acknowledge me. His eyes remain fixed on the mountain, unblinking, as though he can see through the stone itself.
Fragor shifts beneath me. He sends me a feeling of joy that brings to mind Rhealyn’s smile, which I saw many times as she trained alongside Phoebe, learning all of her maneuvers. Why is Fragor doing this? Is that what Zephyros sees? The possibility strikes me like lightning.
“Can you feel her?” I ask Zephyros.
He doesn’t even twitch a scale in acknowledgment of my presence.
There’s nothing I can do to compel Zephyros to follow us. Dragons answer to no human save their chosen riders. But his refusal to abandon this place kindles something within me.
Hope.
“High Prime,” Dakar calls from above. “It don’t look like he’ll leave without her.”
“It’s the bond between them,” I reply.
But what do I know of their connection? Her bond with Zephyros is obviously different from mine with Fragor. She’s a Weaver, able to hear his thoughts. I can’t even begin to imagine all the conversations they must have shared.
“Maybe it means she’s alive,” Dakar says, and I know what he’s doing.
He can tell I need hope, and I’m grateful to him for adding fuel to the ember already alight in my chest.
I nod. “To Cinderhold.”
As we move to higher air currents in perfect formation, I cast one last look at Zephyros. His stillness speaks volumes about his dedication to Rhealyn. If I’m honest with myself, I envy the simplicity of his loyalty… uncomplicated by duty, rank, or even his vow to protect Embernia.
Despite the turmoil inside me, knowing Zephyros keeps vigil brings me a strange comfort. He’ll sense her presence, should she emerge, far better than any search party. For now, my duty calls me to Cinderhold, even if part of me remains behind—just as Zephyros does—watching, waiting, hoping.