5. Chapter 5
AMARIA
I climbed up Umbra's side—already getting disturbingly good at scaling a living furnace—and settled behind Dreadscale.
"Caden, behind me. Eryndor—" I didn't look at him. Couldn't. "Behind Caden."
My brother pulled himself up with careful movements. He found his seat and white-knuckled the spine-ridge in front of him. I made a note to ask later if he'd ever seen a dragon before today. Probably not. Probably adding "surprise dragon ride" to the list of traumas I'd already started compiling.
Eryndor came next. Of course he swung up like he'd been doing this his whole life. Of course he looked graceful and sexy doing it. Bastard.
Serenya and Maxx scrambled into place at the rear. The dog was... somewhere. Tucked into Serenya's robes, probably regretting every life choice that had led it to us.
"Everyone hold on," Dreadscale said.
"To what?" Maxx demanded.
Then my Marks came to life.
A hook behind my sternum yanking backward. My Marks straining toward Eryndor like they'd forgotten there was a whole person between us.
I lurched.
Caden yelped as my shoulder slammed into his back.
"Amaria—"
I couldn't stop. My body wasn't listening. The Marks wanted what they wanted and I was just the vessel they dragged along.
"Get off—" Caden tried to push me forward but Eryndor was lurching forward too, his weight crushing into Caden’s back, turning him into a Mark sandwich.
"I can't—" Eryndor's voice came out strained. "The bond—"
"You're squashing me—"
"Move, move—" Maxx was scrambling, trying to find a more comfortable spot. His elbow caught Serenya in the side.
"Ow—"
"Sorry—"
The Marks screamed. Closer. They wanted closer.
"ENOUGH."
Dreadscale's voice cut through the chaos.
"Eryndor. To the back. Now."
Eryndor was already scrambling back. Over Caden, over Maxx—
"That's my hand—"
"Sorry—"
—over Serenya, until he reached Umbra's haunches. Eight feet of dragon between us.
The pull eased. Slightly. Not enough.
My Marks still strained and I could feel him back there like a fire inviting me in.
"Still too close." The words ground out of me.
Dreadscale turned his head. Looked at me. Looked at the distance between me and Eryndor.
"Then you come forward."
I climbed over Dreadscale's legs—he lifted them slightly to let me pass—until I was pressed against Umbra's neck, right behind her skull. As far forward as I could go without sitting on her head.
The Marks quieted. Finally. A dull ache instead of a scream. I exhaled.
"Better?" Eryndor called from the back.
"Better."
A pause.
"This is ridiculous," Maxx said. "You're on opposite ends of a dragon. You're literally as far apart as two people can be while sharing a reptile."
"She's not a reptile," Dreadscale said.
"She's a little bit reptile."
Umbra's head twitched. A rumble rolled through her chest.
"She says she's insulted," Dreadscale said.
"She did not."
"She also says you're heavy."
"Now I know you're lying."
I pressed my forehead against Umbra's scales and closed my eyes. Behind me, the others settled into their places.
Umbra launched into the sky.
The dog was the first one to lose its mind.
It had been trembling against Serenya's chest since we lifted off, little body vibrating like a plucked string. But somewhere over the first ridge of mountains, the little beast summoned its courage. Its ears perked. Its nose twitched.
Then it started squirming.
"No—hold still—" Serenya tightened her grip, but the thing was determined. It wriggled free of her arms and hit Umbra's scales with a scrabble of tiny claws.
"Grab it!" Maxx lunged and missed.
The dog bolted.
It scrambled along Umbra's spine like it had been born for dragon-climbing, its torn velvet cape streaming behind it.
"What is it doing?" Caden twisted to watch. "Is it—is it going toward her head?"
"UMbrA." Dreadscale's voice boomed. "Hold."
The dragon's wingbeat stuttered. She leveled out, head steadying, as the tiny furry idiot continued its ascent.
We all watched in horrified fascination as the dog crested Umbra's skull, picked its way between the massive horns, and planted itself directly on her snout.
It turned to face the wind.
Cape flapping.
Ears streaming back.
And barked.
"Oh gods," Maxx breathed. "It thinks it's a dragon."
Umbra's eye rolled forward—a massive amber orb trying to focus on the tiny creature perched on her nose. Her nostril flared. A puff of steam curled around the dog's hindquarters.
It didn't flinch. Just kept barking at the clouds.
"Should we..." I started.
"Leave it." Dreadscale's voice was flat, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "She won't let it fall."
As if to prove his point, Umbra's head tilted slightly as the dog bounced toward a passing butterfly. A subtle correction.
The dog missed the butterfly, sneezed, and bounced back to center.
"Is she..." Serenya leaned forward, squinting. "Is she helping Menace?"
Dreadscale didn't answer. But he glanced at Umbra and a silent understanding passed between them—dragon and rider.
Umbra snorted. More steam. The dog yapped at it delightedly.
"She says it's undignified," Dreadscale finally said.
"And yet," Maxx gestured at the dragon's very careful head movements, "she's babysitting."
"She says if you mention it again, she'll roll."
Maxx shut up.
The dog, apparently satisfied that it had conquered the sky, turned three circles on Umbra's snout and curled into a ball. Its cape settled over it like a tiny, tattered blanket. Within seconds, it was snoring.
A dog. Asleep on a dragon's nose. Flying through the clouds.
I laughed. Caden was staring at the dog with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not amusement, exactly.
"It just... trusts her," he said quietly. "Doesn't even question it."
"It's too stupid to question it," Maxx offered.
"Maybe." Caden's eyes stayed fixed on the sleeping shape.
An hour into the flight, Maxx tried to make conversation with Caden.
"So." He shifted on Umbra's scales, attempting to look casual and mostly looking like a male trying not to fall off a dragon. "Caden. Brother of Amaria. Former... uh..."
"Living weapon of the Crown?" Caden supplied.
"I was going to say 'mysterious figure,' but sure, let's go with the trauma."
Silence.
Maxx tried again. "You know, I've always wanted a sibling. Someone to blame things on. 'Who ate the last tart? Must have been my brother.' Very convenient."
More silence.
"I had a brother," Caden said. "Once. Before."
Maxx's face did something complicated. "Ah. I didn't—"
"It was a joke."
Maxx blinked. "What?"
"A joke. I was trying to..." Caden's brow furrowed. "That was funny, wasn't it? The misdirection? You expected trauma, I provided more trauma, but then revealed it was false, creating—"
"Oh gods, you're explaining it."
"Was it not—"
"No, it was—" Maxx ran a hand over his face. "It was funny. It was. You just—you can't explain the joke after, it kills the—you know what, never mind." A grin cracked through his grimace. "That was terrible. I'm so proud of you."
Caden blinked. "Proud?"
"Your first bad joke. It's like watching a baby deer take its first steps. Wobbly. Uncertain. Deeply uncomfortable for everyone watching."
"I don't think deer—"
"Just accept the compliment."
Caden’s expression softened.
Behind me, I felt Eryndor's attention. Caught the edge of his gaze before he looked away.
The laughter died when we crossed the border into the grey.
It crept up on us slowly at first. A village that looked faded. Trees that had lost their color. A river that ran black instead of blue.
Then we crested a ridge, and the world ended.
"Gods," Serenya breathed.
The void spread beneath us like a wound in reality.
Grey and silver and nothing, stretching from horizon to horizon.
Where there should have been forests, there were skeletal shapes—trees frozen mid-collapse, their forms preserved but their substance erased.
Where there should have been villages, there were outlines. Foundations. The memory of walls.
And at the center, visible even from this height—the rupture.
It pulsed. A tear in the fabric of everything, edges flickering between black and blinding white. The Veil damage I'd seen before. But worse now. Larger.
And layered over it, feeding into it—the void I'd created.
My void.
I stared at it—the thing I'd made, the thing that was eating the world one village at a time—and felt the truth dig in.
This wasn't a wound that could be stitched. This was a hole that needed filling. And there were only two things in the world shaped to fit it.
I looked at Eryndor. Found him already looking at me.
We weren’t warriors anymore. We weren’t even weapons. I was a plug for a hole in the universe. And once I was pushed in, I wasn't coming back out.
We weren't the heroes of this story. Heroes survived. Heroes got statues and feast days and songs sung in their honor.
We were the fuel. The sacrifice the prophecy had been demanding all along.
The only question was whether we'd walk into the fire willingly—or be dragged.
"It's grown." Serenya's voice was steady. "Since we left. It's consumed at least three more villages. Maybe four."
"The rate is accelerating," Dreadscale said. "The Veil cannot hold much longer."
Below us, the grey was eating the world bite by bite. A silent, creeping rot that devoured trees and turned rivers to dust. I did this.
"How long?" I asked. "Before it consumes everything?"
Dreadscale paused. The air between us pulsed with the slow, deep beat of Umbra's wings.
"Months," he finally said. "Perhaps less. The damage compounds. Each crack weakens the whole. Eventually—"
"Eventually the Veil collapses entirely," Serenya finished. "And everything on both sides of it ceases to exist."
The dog snored on Umbra's nose, oblivious.