Chapter 41 Rhea
Rhea
The flight east feels like resurrection. Wind pummels my skin as Zephyros glides through currents only dragons understand. My goggles dig into my flesh, but I don’t care—not when the world stretches beneath us, limitless and wild.
—This is where I belong.
—Enjoying yourself? Zephyros’s voice rumbles through my mind, amused and proud.
—Oh, yes. I spread my arms wide, letting the air rush between my fingers. After mucking stables and delivering supplies, this is bliss.
Below us, the verdant forests of Embernia rush past. Vaylen leads the group, which consists of Omari Reefsong, Henry Cliffbecker, James Ironscale, Joseph Longstream, and fucking Silas. They are a Skybolt, Skydune, Skyforge, Skytide and a Skyblaze respectively.
Zephyros banks sharply right, catching an updraft.
—Let’s hope we encounter some harpy scum. I am in the mood to tear something apart, he says.
I laugh, feeling the same savage hunger unfurling in my chest. —Bloodthirsty today, aren’t we?
—Always, he replies. It has been too long since we have properly fought together. Your claws have grown dull with all this waiting and worrying.
He’s right. Between recovering memories, avoiding Cragmere’s lingering hatred, the King’s schemes, and navigating whatever this is with Vaylen, I’ve forgotten what it means to simply be a Skysinger.
—Then let’s hope they find us, I whisper, scanning the horizon for any sign of our enemies. I could use the distraction.
Omari leans forward on her lightning dragon, a graceful harmony of rider and beast. James guides his metal dragon with barely perceptible movements, while even Silas—wyrm’s rot take him—handles his fire dragon with a confidence that is ninety-nine percent arrogance.
My mates have all grown during my lost year. They fly with practiced ease, their movements so instinctive they’re practically extensions of their dragons. Jealousy curls in my gut like acrid smoke.
“Keep formation, Wyndward,” Vaylen calls out, his voice carrying on the wind.
I make a correction, rolling my shoulder instead. Thankfully, the wound throbs only slightly now. If only Sandtide and her medics could heal whatever’s broken in my mind as easily as she mended my flesh.
—You seem troubled, Zephyros observes.
—Just thinking about tonight. Do you really believe you can break through whatever’s blocking my memories?
His confidence ripples through our bond. —I will. He sounds determined this time, and it gives me hope, which I’m sure is what he wants.
We cross the invisible line dividing Embernia from enemy territory, and I nearly gasp.
The Academy texts described the Blighted Arcs, but words fail to capture the stark reality.
One moment we’re flying above forests teeming with natural life.
The next, it’s like someone sliced the world in half with a sword.
The land turns skeletal beneath us. Trees stand as blackened husks, their bare branches reaching skyward like desperate, pleading hands.
The ground itself appears scorched, cracked and barren where nothing grows.
Even the air feels different, thinner, carrying a metallic tang that burns my nostrils, a scent of ancient, twisted magic.
“This can’t be natural,” I murmur.
—It is not, Zephyros says, though his tone sounds as if he’s not so sure his recollection is correct. I think… I think his land was once as green as Embernia.
—You think?
He slightly shakes his head, which forces my Tethers to readjust —Something feels wrong right inside my head since you were in there.
—Did I do something wrong?
—No. I am sure it will pass.
I lean forward, studying the twisted landscape. Rivers run murky and sulfurous, cutting through terrain that resembles an open wound more than earth. No wonder the Screechclaws are so vicious if this is what they call home. Nothing grows here.
—If our land looked like this, I’d want to take someone else’s too, I admit.
—Look there, Zephyros says suddenly, his voice sharp with focus. His consciousness directs mine to a patch of withered trees near a sluggish, muddy river.
I squint against the sun. At first, I see nothing but shadows and dead foliage, then… movement. Subtle and calculated.
—I see them, I whisper, my pulse quickening. The Screechclaws are crawling low toward our border, their gray-blue skin blending perfectly with the ashen landscape as they move between skeletal trees. Clever bitches.
Fragor and Vaylen fly at the front, and I guide Zephyros into their line of sight. Vaylen looks my way, questioning. I flatten my hand, palm down, then point below with two fingers, making the circling motion we learned at the Academy. Enemies spotted, multiple targets, ground level.
His expression shifts to focused alertness. He nods once, then raises his fist to signal the others. My blood sings with anticipation.
—Ready for this? I ask Zephyros.
His answering growl vibrates through my entire body. —Always, little one.
Vaylen’s closed fist drops sharply, the signal to attack.
My stomach lurches as Zephyros tucks his wings and plummets downward.
The ground rushes up with terrifying speed, but fear turns to exhilaration as I lean forward, my body becoming one with his.
Wind whips my face raw, and I bare my teeth in a feral grin, Tethers tight.
—Let’s show them!
The moment the Screechclaws realize we’ve spotted them, they burst from their hiding places. What looked like a small scouting party explodes into a swarm of at least two dozen harpies, their wings unfurling as they screech toward us.
“Dragon’s breath,” I hiss. “It’s a trap!”
Zephyros banks hard right as three Screechclaws launch themselves at us, curved blades glinting dully in the sunlight.
I pull from deep within, summoning the wind that lives in my veins, the power that Zephyros helps intensify.
Energy surges through me, intoxicating and fierce.
I thrust my hands forward, sending a concentrated Wind Blast spinning into the nearest harpy.
It catches her wing, twisting feathers and sinew until something snaps.
Her shriek pierces the air as she spirals downward.
To my right, Omari runs down her dragon’s neck, electricity crackling between her fingertips. Lightning arcs from her hands, splitting into jagged tendrils that strike two Screechclaws simultaneously. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air.
“Behind you!” I shout as another harpy dives at Omari’s back.
Before she can turn, a metal spear pierces the creature’s chest. James Ironscale nods at her, his normally quiet demeanor transformed in battle. His dragon is outfitted with more than the saddlebags other Skyriders have. He carries enough sharp weapons to skewer an entire horde of these bitches.
Three Screechclaws converge on Vaylen, who meets them with ruthless efficiency.
His wind forms invisible spears that slice through wings and limbs.
Fragor roars, the sound reverberating across the battlefield.
I can barely deploy one Wind Spear at a time and he does multiple ones. I have to practice that.
The air around his outstretched hands shimmers and distorts with elemental energy.
With a savage twist of his wrists, invisible currents coalesce into multiple Wind Spears—razor-sharp vortices that howl with fury as they materialize.
The weaponized air streaks forward, each spear leaving a visible trail of mist in its wake.
They slice through harpy wings, severing sinew and bone in explosions of blood and feathers.
One spear impales a Screechclaw through her chest, the cyclonic force shredding her from the inside out before bursting from her back in a violent eruption.
Fragor roars, the sound reverberating across the battlefield, his eyes blazing with predatory satisfaction as their enemies fall.
As another group attacks Vaylen, he signs toward Longstream, his palm up to indicate Water Wall.
Longstream understands immediately. His hands sweep upward, drawing moisture from the air into a dense barrier.
Vaylen adds wind, spinning it into the water.
The combined cyclone catches two Screechclaws, drowning them midflight.
Even Silas shows his worth, flames erupting from his fingertips to create a burning perimeter that herds a group of harpies toward Cliffbecker’s stone spikes.
I’m soaring through the open air evading a trio of Screechclaws when a horrific screech rips through the battle noise. I turn just in time to see a massive Screechclaw slam into Silas with devastating force.
“Fuck!” The word tears from my throat as Silas tumbles backward off Ignemara’s head. His Tethers snap like thread, fire flickering out in an instant.
My heart lurches as he plummets. Enemy or not, he’s still one of us.
—Zephyros! Move!
We dive sharply, wind shrieking past my ears. The distance between us and Silas’s falling body seems impossible to close. Ignemara roars, flames spewing from his maw as she tries to maneuver beneath him, but three Screechclaws block their path, slashing with their blackened blades.
I reach desperately with my power and try to create a vortex to slow his descent, but he goes past a mound that obstructs my view. I hear a crash as I cross the mound. He’s falling through skeletal branches and finally disappears into the barren landscape below.
Oh, Goddess! There’s no way he survived that.
I’m about to go after him, when from below, a harpy slams into Zephyros’s wing, her blade scraping the membrane.
Pain flashes through our bond. Fury ignites inside me, and I run down Zephyros’s neck to his back.
Suddenly, the harpy swoops upward, coming for me and closing the distance before I can use my wind power to keep her away.
“You want to play?” I snarl, grabbing her arm as she tries to stab me. “Let’s play.”
I pull wind into my palm and slam it directly into her chest. Her ribcage collapses with a sickening crunch.