Calix
TWO
They passed through the Commons, where evening merchants were closing their stalls and families hurried home with the quick, nervous movements of people living under siege.
Children who should have been playing in the thermal pools stayed close to their parents, and the usual evening laughter that once echoed through the streets had been replaced by hushed conversations and worried glances.
Ryx was quiet for several steps, his scarred hands clasped behind his back. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I might have reached out to someone about our situation. Someone who helped me years back with... my mate issues."
"You know her methods—"
"What can a paranormal matchmaker possibly do about an impossible medical crisis?" Calix's voice carried the exhaustion of a man who'd explored every option and watched his people die anyway. "This isn't about finding love, Ryx. This is about saving lives."
"Gerri has connections across multiple worlds. Resources we don't have access to." Ryx's tone remained steady despite the skepticism radiating from his king. "I told her if she heard of anyone who could help, to reach out to you."
Calix resumed walking, his stride eating up the distance toward Ashspire, his estate, with renewed aggression. "Well, she hasn't yet. So even the universe's most successful matchmaker is at a loss."
They continued through the Hearthring district, where the medical facilities glowed with constant activity.
Healers moved between buildings with the grim efficiency of battlefield medics, their faces drawn with fatigue and growing desperation.
The Academy of Flame stood mostly empty—parents too afraid to send their children for training when the cause of Ash Fever was still unknown.
The sight of it all—his territory transformed into a place of fear instead of the thriving community he'd spent fifteen years building—sent another wave of rage through Calix's system.
His dragon pressed forward, demanding action, demanding he do something to fix this catastrophe that threatened everything he'd sworn to protect.
As they crested the hill leading toward Ashspire, the massive Caldran dominated the horizon like a sleeping giant.
The ancient volcano's presence had defined Ashvorn for millennia, its geothermal energy powering their cities and providing the thermal currents that made dragon flight effortless.
Tonight, its dark silhouette against the twin moons felt less like protection and more like a reminder of forces beyond his control.
Eleven generations of Silvanus kings had ruled from the shadow of that volcano. Eleven generations had kept Ashvorn safe, prosperous, and united. And now, on his watch, an invisible enemy was destroying everything his bloodline had built.
"I'll run the usual border patrol," Ryx said as they reached the point where their paths diverged. His face showed the strain of watching his closest friend carry the weight of an entire territory's survival. "Check in tomorrow morning?"
Calix nodded curtly, already turning toward the pyrestone gates of his estate. The mile-long walk from Ashvorn's center to Ashspire had become his daily ritual—time to think, to process, to remember why failure wasn't an option. Tonight, it had felt more like a march toward judgment.
Ashspire rose before him in elegant defiance of the chaos consuming his territory.
Built from the same dark volcanic stone as the rest of Ashvorn, the estate absorbed and radiated heat in a way that made it feel alive.
Even from the courtyard, he could see the Undying Flame burning steadily on the Vael Terrace—that sacred fire that had blazed without interruption for eleven generations, the symbol of everything he'd vowed to protect.
The front door's heavy lock soon yielded to his key with a solid click that echoed through the grand foyer as he opened the door and stepped inside.
Marble floors stretched away into shadows, and the vaulted ceilings that had once felt majestic now seemed to emphasize how thoroughly alone he was.
Fifteen years of solitude had taught him to stop noticing the emptiness, but tonight it pressed against him like a physical weight.
Sarah's betrayal had ended his last attempt at companionship—finding her in another man's arms days before he'd planned to offer his mate mark.
The council had been pressuring him to find a partner ever since, citing the need for stability and succession.
But Calix had learned that trusting the wrong person hurt, and trusting the right person offered no guarantees.
The Ash Fever outbreak had given him the perfect excuse to ignore their matrimonial suggestions.
He didn't have time for political pairings or careful courtship rituals.
He had a territory to save, and every day that passed without answers meant more funerals, more families destroyed, more evidence that he was failing at the one thing that mattered most.
Protection.
The word that had defined his entire reign, carved into his soul by losses that had taught him control was the only reliable defense against chaos.
But Ash Fever couldn't be controlled. It couldn't be anticipated or managed or contained by sheer force of will. It simply consumed, indifferent to his authority or his desperation.
Standing in his empty foyer, surrounded by the weight of eleven generations of successful leadership, Calix felt the terrible truth settling in his chest like molten stone. Sometimes being king meant watching your people die and being powerless to stop it.
The Undying Flame flickered in the distance, and for the first time in fifteen years of rule, Calix wondered if he was strong enough to keep it burning.
The marble steps of the grand staircase stretched ahead of Calix, each footfall echoing through the vaulted space of Ashspire.
His hand trailed along the pyrestone banister—warm to the touch from the estate's natural heating—as exhaustion settled into his bones like lead.
The weight of another failed council meeting, another day without answers, pressed against his shoulders with familiar cruelty.
The sharp chime of his communicator suddenly shattered the silence.
Calix paused mid-step, his green eyes flashing with irritation. The device's insistent buzz demanded attention he didn't want to give, but duty had trained him to answer regardless of his mood. He pulled the slim device from his jacket pocket, his thumb swiping across the surface.
"King Calix speaking."
"Well, hello there, Your Majesty!" The voice that greeted him carried warmth and cheer so abundant it felt like sunshine after months of storm clouds.
"This is Gerri Wilder. I got your contact information from your second-in-command, Ryx.
Lovely man, that one. Absolutely devoted to you, though I suspect you already know that. "
Calix's grip tightened on the communicator as he resumed climbing, each step deliberate. The woman's tone held an undercurrent of mischief that set his teeth on edge—too bright, too confident, too much like someone who believed the universe bent to her will rather than the other way around.
"Yes, I was informed you might be calling," he said, his voice carrying the controlled authority that had become second nature. "That is, if you found a solution to our problem here in Ashvorn."
"Oh, honey, I think I found the perfect solution to your problems." Her laugh tinkled through the speaker like wind chimes, and something in her tone suggested she meant far more than just the medical crisis consuming his territory.
Calix reached the second-floor landing, his patience wearing thin as another day of failure caught up with him. He had no energy for games or riddles when his people were dying. "Explain."
"Well, I found a scientist here on Earth who's quite brilliant, and she seems to be working with a similar illness to your Ash Fever.
Quite an uncanny coincidence, really. But sometimes the universe does the strangest things that lead to the most unexpected situations. Divine timing, I like to call it."
His jaw clenched as he continued up the final flight toward his private quarters. Divine timing. As if the universe gave a damn about timing when dragons were burning alive from the inside out, when families were burying their loved ones, when his entire territory lived in fear.
"What is her name and what exactly can she do?" The words came out sharper than intended, but Calix had lost the ability to soften his edges months ago.
"Well, her name is Arvid—I didn't catch her last name, but like I said, she's a brilliant scientist. Former military, if you can believe that. Tough as nails and twice as smart. And I think she can help you figure out this outbreak of yours, dear."
Former military. Something in Calix's chest shifted at those words, a recognition he couldn't name. Someone who understood duty, sacrifice, the weight of impossible choices.
"When can she get here?" The question escaped before he could examine why he suddenly felt something dangerously close to hope.
"Oh, she already agreed to be there tomorrow morning." Gerri's voice practically sparkled with satisfaction. "So, I'll bring her through the wormhole and meet you at your estate. Say, ten o'clock? That work for you, Your Majesty?"
Tomorrow. The speed of it should have alarmed him—no preparation time, no background checks, no opportunity to establish protocols. Instead, something deep in his chest loosened. Help was coming. Actual, qualified help.
"Very well. I will see you then."
"Wonderful! Oh, and Calix?" Her tone shifted, becoming almost maternal despite her obvious delight. "Trust me on this one, dear. Sometimes the best solutions come in the most unexpected packages."
The call ended with a soft click, leaving Calix staring at the dark screen as he reached the top floor of Ashspire.
His private quarters occupied the entire level—bedroom, sitting area, office, and bathroom spreading across the space with understated luxury that came from generations of royal occupancy.
Tall windows dominated the far wall, offering an unobstructed view of Ashvorn below and the massive silhouette of the Caldran volcano beyond.
He moved to those windows now, his reflection ghostlike in the glass as he looked out over his territory.
The city spread beneath him in familiar patterns of light and shadow, but tonight even the warm glow from pyrestone buildings felt muted.
Somewhere down there, in the medical facilities of the Hearthring district, Dorn and his team were fighting another losing battle against an enemy they couldn't understand.
His dragon pressed against his skin with sudden, fierce urgency. The great beast had been restless for months, agitated by the crisis, but this felt different. Electric. As if some fundamental shift in the world's balance was approaching.
Soon, the dragon seemed to whisper, though Calix couldn't make sense of the word.
Of course soon, he reasoned. A potential solution to the outbreak. Someone with the expertise they desperately needed. His dragon's restlessness was probably just a response to the possibility of finally having answers, finally being able to protect his people the way a king should.
But the dragon pushed harder. Ours.
Calix's hands clenched into fists. Not this.
Not now. He'd spent fifteen years managing those instincts, pushing down the primal drive that demanded he find his fated mate.
He'd built a life around duty and sacrifice, accepting that some hungers would remain forever unfulfilled because his people's needs came first.
Romance was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Love was a weakness that could compromise his judgment.
And a fated mate? That was an unwelcome improbability that would unravel everything he'd built and everything he'd become.
The kind of all-consuming bond that could make a king forget his responsibilities, the way his father had sometimes forgotten the world existed when he looked at Calix's mother.
He turned from the window and stalked toward his bathroom, needing the shock of cold water to clear his head.
The space was carved from the same pyrestone as the rest of Ashspire, all clean lines and natural warmth, but tonight it felt like a prison.
Everything felt like a prison when his mind started wandering down paths he'd forbidden himself to explore.
The massive shower occupied one corner, large enough for his tall frame with multiple heads that could deliver everything from gentle mist to punishing pressure.
He stripped off his clothes with efficient movements, letting them fall where they would, then stepped under the spray and turned the temperature as cold as the system would allow.
The shock of it hit him like a physical blow, driving the breath from his lungs and the heat from his skin. This was what he needed—clarity, focus, the ability to think past the restless energy that had been building all evening.
Tomorrow would bring a scientist. A professional consultation. A chance to finally understand what was killing his people. Nothing more.
But even as the cold water pounded against his shoulders, his dragon remained stubbornly, impossibly certain that everything was about to change.