Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
K orham’s Temple in the Hollow was ancient. A place untouched by time, where the trees grew taller than the castle spires, their twisted limbs stretching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. But that was how the God of War liked it.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, decayed leaves, and something older—something watching. Mist clung to the gnarled roots, swirling in slow, deliberate tendrils, as though the Hollow itself was breathing.
We had ridden hard to get here, the journey through the dense forest brutal on horseback.
The undergrowth had been merciless, snagging at my boots, the uneven terrain jarring with every gallop.
My thighs burned from the effort, and even though we had dismounted an hour ago, my hands still curled tight around the reins, muscles stiff with tension.
The air felt different here. Heavier. Pressing against my skin, humming with something unseen. Magic.
The chamber itself was carved into the hillside, a hidden wound beneath the thick canopy of oaks.
Its entrance yawned wide, dark and jagged, its stone edges slick with moss.
It looked like a beast’s mouth, waiting to devour us whole.
The deeper we went, the more the world outside faded—swallowed by flickering torchlight and the lingering scent of burnt herbs and old power.
The ritual room was circular, the walls covered in ancient runes that pulsed faintly beneath the torchlight, their symbols shifting as if alive.
The ceiling arched high overhead, ribbed with thick roots that had broken through the stone over centuries, curling like veins of some slumbering beast. The temperature was suffocating, the weight of expectation pressing against my chest.
At the center of the chamber stood the brazier. A wide basin of blackened iron, cold and waiting.
“Riven, you go first,” the major motioned to the brazier atop the altar.
She stepped forward without hesitation, the soft scuff of her boots against the stone the only sound in the stillness. Her red hair was pulled back into a tight knot, her expression unreadable, jaw set with determination.
Major Kaler nodded, the gesture barely perceptible. Riven lifted her hands, closing her eyes, and exhaled slowly. Reaching.
The moment she called on the magic, the air changed.
A sharp hum filled the chamber, a ripple of unseen energy, making the runes flicker brighter for half a breath. The brazier flared to life—golden flames roaring upward, licking at the stale air, casting sharp, flickering shadows against the walls.
It was effortless. Controlled.
The mark of a rider whose dragon wanted her.
The fire reflected in Riven’s sharp eyes as she lowered her hands, a flicker of satisfaction curving at the corner of her lips. Not a single hesitation. No falter.
A sharp pang twisted in my stomach.
Major Kaler turned to me. “Your turn.”
The words cut through the thick silence, and my pulse roared in my ears.
I stepped forward, my boots heavy against the stone, the heat from Riven’s fire still licking at my skin. The brazier’s metal rim was warm beneath my fingertips, waiting. Expectant.
I inhaled, steadying myself.
Then reached for the bond.
It burned.
A jagged lance of pain tore through my skull, white-hot and blinding. I stumbled, barely catching myself. My dragon shoved back, resisting me.
A wall slammed down between us, the rejection so sharp it felt like claws raking through my mind.
No.
The word wasn’t spoken, but I felt it. A force slamming into my chest, a refusal that reverberated through every nerve in my body.
I clenched my teeth, forcing past the pain. The bond was there—frayed, broken, but it existed. And I would take what I needed.
I pushed harder.
The brazier erupted.
But the flames weren’t golden. They weren’t steady. They raged—wild, unstable, twisting in unnatural hues. White-hot, then blue, then darker. Shadows curled at the edges, licking at the air like something alive, something wrong.
The ground trembled beneath me.
A gasp tore from my lips as the magic twisted, unraveling in my grasp, turning against me. The fire lashed outward?—
Pain.
It slammed into me, searing across my skin, a shock of agony that stole my breath, sent me to my knees. Someone shouted—Zander? One of my squad? I couldn’t tell. My vision blurred as darkness clawed at the edges of my consciousness.
The magic backfired, ripping through me, sinking into my veins like lightning made of fire. My body betrayed me.
I hit the ground hard.
Then—nothing.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
Then breathe.
A slow inhale, air rushing into my lungs.
The pain that should have shattered me, that should have left me burned and broken, was already fading.
Sharp-edged whispers surrounded me.
I blinked, my vision sharpening as the haze lifted. The flames were gone. Only smoke remained, curling in slow tendrils toward the ceiling. My hands trembled as I pushed myself upright.
I should be burned. I should be wrecked.
Instead—I was whole.
The raw wounds had sealed, the scorched skin had knitted back together perfectly. Too perfectly.
A sick, cold weight curled in my stomach.
They saw.
Not just my failure. Not just my dragon’s rejection.
They saw me.
Saw my body heal itself. Saw the wounds vanish as if they had never existed.
Saw that I was something else entirely.
Zander stepped forward. His boots echoed against the stone. He crouched in front of me, too close, his voice low, edged with something unreadable.
“You’re healed.”
I swallowed hard as I sat up.
He didn’t say it like an observation. He said it like a revelation.
Because we both knew—this wasn’t the kind of healing a rider was supposed to have.
The chamber was still, the air thick with something I couldn’t name. A shift. A reckoning.
My secret was out.
I barely registered the moment my eyes started drooping, my body caught between exhaustion and pain. My body swayed, but before I could collapse, a firm grip caught my arm—steady, unyielding.
Zander.
He stepped closer, his broad frame blocking me from the rest of the prospects, shielding me like a barrier of leather and steel. His stance was unmovable, his posture effortless in its authority.
“Riven, take Ashe to the healers and return to your room,” he ordered, his voice low but edged with something unreadable.
Riven was at my side immediately, slipping an arm under mine to support me, but I barely felt her. My gaze remained locked on Zander’s back, the realization sinking like a pebble to the bottom of a lake.
He hadn’t outed me.
Only Riven and possibly Jax had seen what he had—the wounds that had closed too fast, the bruises that faded as quickly as they had formed. But Zander had seen too.
And yet, he hadn’t said a damn thing.
Had he... protected me? Why?
This was Zander Rayne. Prince. Heir to nothing but his own reputation. A man who had done nothing but look down on me since the moment I arrived.
So why protect my secret?
Riven helped me up and guided me away, before I stumbled. She muttered a curse under her breath and pulled my jacket around me, the fabric still warm.
I swallowed hard, silently thankful that Major Kaler had made us take them off before the trial. At least my torn, bloody shirt wouldn’t give anything away.
We exited the ancient structure, the moon bright as we stepped into the forest. Our horses were tied to posts outside the temple, and Riven wasted no time getting me onto one, though every movement sent sharp flares of pain through my body.
The external wounds had vanished, but the gouges in my mind remained.
Every jolt of the horse was a fresh reminder of the way the trial had gone, the way Zander had watched, how close I’d come to losing more than just a trial.
Riven rode beside me, her expression unreadable as we made the short but grueling ride back to our barracks.
By the time we arrived, I could barely climb down from the saddle.
Riven didn’t even give me the option of pretending I was fine—she practically dragged me inside and eased me down onto my bed.
“So,” she said, staring at me with newfound understanding, “you have a healing ability.”
I nodded, clutching the covers to me like they were armor.
“When did you notice?” she pressed, her voice gentler now.
I hesitated, then exhaled. “I was ten,” I murmured. “Cut myself while learning to cook. It healed before my eyes. Dalila saw and told me to hide it. She made me promise I would.”
“But Cyran found out?” Riven pushed.
“Yeah,” I admitted, staring at the ceiling. “After he and Dalila were together, when we lived with him. But he said the same thing she did. Hide it. So the royals wouldn’t exploit me.”
Riven let out a slow breath, picking absently at the covers on my bed. “I’d like to say they were exaggerating, but… here we are.”
I hesitated before reaching out and touching her hand. “You seemed happy when you rode your dragon,” I said, needing to change the subject.
Riven’s smile was radiant, softening the exhaustion lining her features.
“I am,” she admitted, the glow of something unshakable in her voice. “I had no idea what it would be like. Zola is everything I never knew I needed. She hasn’t fully accepted me, but I know we’ll get there in time.”
I watched her, something like envy and admiration mixing in my chest.
“I wish I instilled the trust that Cordelle does,” she added, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket.
“You will,” I murmured, my voice a quiet promise.
Because I wanted to believe it. For both of us.
Jax sauntered over to where Riven and I were seated on my bunk, looking far too amused for someone who had been thrown around like a rag doll by Zander earlier.
“You and I will have a chat later, Ashe,” he said, arms crossed, but his tone wasn’t scolding—more thoughtful, like he was processing something he wasn’t ready to say yet. “But for now, Zander says it’s lights out. He wants you in the ring at first light.”