Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
The sound reached me first, a wet, gurgling choke that cut through the hum of collapsing stone and the distant roar of dragons. My skin prickled as I turned, every muscle tight. Slowly, I walked back toward the crumpled form of my grandfather.
The spear I had bent against him was gone, dissolved into nothing as if it had never existed, but the wound it left remained.
Black blood pooled beneath him, thick and foul, oozing in slow streams from the gaping hole in his chest. It stained the stone in a spreading, glistening shadow that looked too much like corruption leaking out of him.
Veralin’s body twitched, fingers clawing weakly against the ground as if trying to grasp power that had already abandoned him. His crimson eyes, still glowing, though dulled, snapped up to meet mine. Hatred burned in them, hot and merciless, even as his breath rattled wetly in his lungs.
“You think you have won,” he hissed, blood bubbling at his lips. His voice was broken, guttural. “But my revenge is yet to come.”
I crouched, keeping a safe distance, but unwilling to look away. “What do you mean?” I demanded. “Tell me.”
He gave a ghastly laugh, choked and cut short by another wet cough that splattered black blood across his chin. “Even in death, granddaughter… I endure. You cannot stop what is already set in motion.”
My fists curled at my sides. Don’t let him rattle you. “What did you do? What’s coming?”
His lips twisted into something almost like a grin, but it faltered as his chest spasmed. “You will see…” His eyes narrowed, glinting with a last shard of spite. “You will watch everything you love burn.”
My stomach turned cold, but I pressed forward, desperate. “Tell me how. What have you unleashed?”
But he only coughed again, a low wheeze dragging from deep in his chest, the sound ragged and wet. It went on too long, a horrible rattle that clawed at my ears. I knew that sound. I had heard it before on battlefields, in the last moments of soldiers who never made it back.
My throat tightened. A death rattle.
His body stilled, one last shudder passing through him before his head tilted to the side. His crimson eyes, once burning with endless cruelty, glazed over. Sightless. Empty.
I kneeled there for a breath, staring at the lifeless body of the man who had haunted my bloodline, who had tried to twist me into a weapon, who had enslaved a kingdom and called it order.
Then Kaelith’s voice thundered through my mind, strong and certain. It is done.
The words echoed like a bell struck in the marrow of my bones, final and absolute.
I closed my eyes, exhaling a shuddering breath. It is done…
But his last words still coiled like venom in my chest, gnawing at me with questions I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers to.
The clash of steel and roar of dragons faded into something I had never thought I would hear on the Blood Isle—cheers.
The sound rang out across the broken courtyard, rising from the throats of the white-haired fae who had come like salvation from the shadows.
Their leader, tall and austere in his battle-etched armor, strode forward.
His voice carried like a clarion call, unshaken despite the surrounding ruin.
“The isle is free!” he shouted.
The words reverberated across shattered stone and broken sky, echoing into the cavern below where the imprisoned dragons stirred restlessly.
His soldiers erupted into cheers again, their braids whipping in the wind as they raised their swords high.
For the first time in centuries, their voices rang out unbound upon this cursed land.
Behind me, the heavy thuds of wings signaled familiar arrivals.
Thrall Squad’s dragons descended one by one, landing with battered grace.
Their scales were torn, wings ragged, bodies streaked with blood that was both theirs and not.
My chest tightened as the squad ran to them, seeing how close the fight had come to breaking them.
Kieren let out a low, pained rumble as he folded his wings tight to his sides.
A deep claw mark carved across his emerald flank, raw and still oozing.
Tae was at his dragon’s side in an instant, his usually flippant smile replaced with focus.
He tore open his pack and pulled free a jar of ointment, his hands steady as he spread the thick salve over the wound.
“Easy, Kieren,” he murmured, voice uncharacteristically soft.
The dragon’s scales shivered under his touch, but the tension in Kieren’s massive body eased by degrees as the ointment worked its magic.
Tae’s jaw clenched as he worked, his golden hair falling forward as sweat and blood streaked across his face.
For once, he didn’t notice the eyes on him, just his dragon.
Nearby, Jax and Ferrula inspected Narvea’s wing, while Naia pressed her palms against Temil’s side, assessing the damage.
It was chaos—controlled chaos, but still a battlefield aftermath. My throat tightened. They had given everything.
I forced myself to step away, to leave them to their riders’ care, and rejoined the Light Fae leader. He stood at the edge of the stone stairway, his pale eyes fixed on the cavern below. The black dragons shifted in their cages, restless, growling with frustration and confusion.
“What now?” I asked, standing beside him, my voice still rough from smoke and battle.
He didn’t turn to me, not at first. His gaze was too heavy, too ancient. “The prophecy has almost been fulfilled.”
Almost. The word curdled in my stomach. “Almost?”
This time he turned, his long braids brushing against battered armor as he shifted to face me. His eyes flickered to the chest, the artifact pulsing with the same strange magic that had nearly consumed us.
“It must be placed in a magical cell,” he said solemnly. “It is the only way to protect the dragons of color. I am unsure if it can be destroyed.”
I glanced back at the chest, its black surface gleaming even in the weak light that filtered through the broken cloud above us. A chill ran down my spine. It still feels alive.
“But Veralin thought…” I began.
The fae cut me off with a slow nod. “He didn’t know the origin of the artifact. He believed it was his creation, his triumph. But he was wrong.” His jaw tightened. “He had no idea that it was made from dragon scale.”
My breath caught. “But… it’s black?”
“Yes,” he said, voice low, each word heavy. “Made from the hide of the first dragon forced into confinement by a fae. Long before this war. Long before Veralin’s birth. It is older than even my people’s rebellion. The first betrayal.”
My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. “And you’re saying it can’t be destroyed?”
He shook his head, his braids swaying. “Not by any means we possess. It was forged in cruelty, steeped in magic that feeds on enslavement itself. We can contain it, shield it from being used again. But…” His gaze lingered on the chest, his expression grim.
“We will have to find a more secure holding site for it.”
The cheers of his people still rang in the distance. Yet standing there, staring at that artifact, I couldn’t shake the feeling that though Veralin was dead, the war was far from over.
The Light Fae commander lifted his hands, fingers splayed, and the air shimmered between them.
Power gathered, not tainted like Veralin’s dark sorcery, but fluid and alive.
A deep hum rolled through the ruined courtyard as light coalesced, condensing until it solidified into a sphere the color of the clearest sea.
Its surface rippled like water, yet gleamed like cut crystal, an orb that pulsed with steady, soothing magic.
He drew a breath, then hurled it toward the chest. The aqua sphere struck its black surface, and instead of shattering, it stretched outward, encasing the artifact like a second skin. Bands of light wrapped tight until the chest was no longer visible, sealed within a glowing cocoon of blue crystal.
The ground beneath us stilled. The tremors that had been shaking the isle ceased in an instant, as though the land itself had been holding its breath and finally exhaled. The air lightened, the oppressive weight Veralin had draped across this place ebbing away.
That item is dangerous to the dragons, Kaelith hissed in my mind, her voice edged with warning. It must be kept by us, not them.
I turned to the Light Fae commander, my heart still pounding from Kaelith’s urgency. “Kaelith says this artifact is too dangerous. It has to remain with us—with the dragons. Not even the Light Fae should guard it.”
The commander regarded me with his ancient, pale eyes, the glow of the sealed chest reflecting off the steel of his armor. For a long heartbeat, he was silent. Then he inclined his head, a gesture of both deference and gravity.
“It is yours,” he said at last, his voice low but carrying across the courtyard. “There is nothing we will not do to rebuild your confidence. Not after what was taken from you. If the dragons wish it so, then so it shall be.”
Zander strode toward us, his expression a mix of wariness and exhaustion, though his spine was as straight as ever.
He had been speaking quietly with one of the white-haired warriors, their heads bent close as though sharing something important.
When he reached my side, his gaze flicked briefly to me before settling on the commander.
“Is everything alright?” I asked.
His eyes slid toward the man. “He is Alahathrial’s cousin. I have…” His jaw tightened. “Family here.”
The fae commander—Leyriam—tilted his head as if weighing those words. His pale eyes widened when Zander extended his arm.
“I am King Zander Rayne,” Zander said, his voice carrying with quiet authority.
Leyriam’s breath caught, his features registering recognition and then awe.
Slowly, almost reverently, he grasped Zander’s forearm in the warriors’ shake.
“My name is Leyriam. It is fortunate to have a king who will fight for his people.” His voice softened.
“But I am not surprised. A son of Alahathrial could be no other. He gave up everything to ensure both our peoples survived.”
Zander’s jaw flexed, the slightest flicker of emotion crossing his face. He nodded curtly, but I saw the storm of questions in his eyes. About Alahathrial. About the father who had chosen duty over everything else.
I stepped closer, brushing my fingers against his wrist before I turned to Leyriam. “We need to find out what happened in Warriath.” My voice was steadier than I felt, but the urgency pressed on my chest.
Leyriam’s gaze swept over the ruined courtyard, lingering on the shattered remnants of Veralin’s domain. His pale braid shifted against his armor as the wind stirred, but his expression was steady, voice carrying a weight that made my chest tighten.
“The war in your homeland is over,” he said, his tone edged with quiet finality. “Once the Blood Fae abandoned them, the human rebels stood no chance against the dragons of color. That too was foretold in the prophecy.” His words hung in the air, strange, almost too good to be believed.
My heart jolted. Could it truly be? Images of Warriath, its walls, its people, its soldiers, flashed in my mind. For so long it had been nothing but fire and ash, war drums and fear. I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
Slowly, I turned to Zander. He stood tall despite the exhaustion pulling at his shoulders, Dark Fire still shimmering along his hands as if his magic hadn’t yet settled. His eyes, bright and unyielding, searched the horizon as though he were already weighing possibilities beyond this moment.
“What do you want to do next?” I asked him softly, my voice almost breaking against the enormity of what we’d endured—what still waited ahead.
His gaze flicked to me then, storm-dark and unreadable, as if the question reached deeper than either of us could admit.