Before
The Between hasn’t closed yet, but it will soon.
By sunrise, the gateway that has connected us to the mortal realm for millennia will seal, severing us from the land we’ve always known as home.
It’s the only way to stop the war. It’s the only way to save this land. It means the death of every Royal—our lives, the cost the Breath demands in exchange for completing the sealing—but it will save the rest of us, and it will save the humans and keep their earth from unraveling.
Every soft slap of my sandals on the cold stone is another second ticking down to the inevitable. I can feel The Between tightening. Folding its edges around the mortal plane and severing us from the land we’ve always known.
Our home.
It throbs like a heartbeat in my soul. A prayer from The Breath itself—the living magic that connects all things—whispering its last plea into the Void.
And my people are ready to answer that call.
We are ready to give up everything in the hopes that our sacrifice may one day mean something. That in saving The Breath now, those left might one day save the world and defeat the Shadow—the ones who should have been our brethren but chose to make themselves our enemy.
Droplets of water float up from the ash-blackened cavern walls as I hurry past. I try to keep calm as I retrace the path I’ve walked a hundred times over a hundred years.
I hope no one has noticed my absence, but I’m not fool enough to count on it. My parents will be searching for me soon, wanting to spend our final night together. They wouldn’t understand. They never have. I’m different from the other Royals of our element.
They’ll get it when they discover my note. They’ll have to.
They will be a part of a similar sacrifice, albeit on a much grander scale, that will happen with the rising of the sun, after all.
I round a corner, and the moisture running down the rock instantly freezes into sheets of ice as my magic lashes out. I take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of petrichor and fire and trying to get my heart rate under control.
I can’t risk alarming them. Not when I’m so close.
Up ahead, flames roar. A great shadow shifts, creating a terrifying silhouette on the rock wall.
He would have known I was coming the moment I set foot on the stairs leading down to the intricate cave system under the castle.
His senses are far sharper than mine, and our bond was always so much stronger on his end.
I quicken my pace, gathering the folds of my flowing blue gown in trembling fingers, before breaking into a full run. Now that I am so close, I can’t wait.
A low rumble that sounds like a thousand collapsing trees rises before shifting into a high-pitched trill of welcome as I enter the vast chamber beneath the heart of the mountain.
There, in the glow of the flame, he waits.
One massive, blue, serpentine eye flicks open lazily to acknowledge me. Despite the melancholy of the evening and the dread in my heart, I feel an answering smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I reach out, hand trembling with adrenaline, and press my palm to the smooth warmth of his scales.
”Vharon,” I breathe, and his name escapes as a melody. A bittersweet song that washes over us both.
He chuffs, and I laugh as he nudges me with his huge snout, forcing me back a step. He settles back down, and I follow his gaze toward the circular pool surrounding the large central island.
His mate, Nyraxis, pulls her immense, snow-white body out of the water. Shimmering droplets turn into vapor midair, the heat within her so great it dries her from the inside out in moments.
She’s larger than her male counterpart, as most females of their species are. I tuck myself behind Vharon as she takes a single thunderous leap, gliding across the water to land on the stone behind us.
Her scales shimmer, catching the fire and torchlight and scattering their reflection like a thousand stars across the stone walls. When she moves, the usually still water trembles.
I turn with her, never giving her my back, as she slinks behind me. Her warm breath washes over me, fanning my dark hair away from my face.
She isn’t mine. I’m not bonded to her. Being bonded to her mate, however, has earned me a rare and precious mercy—her tolerance. She doesn’t incinerate me the way she would if anyone else dared to enter her den.
When I realize she’s only inspecting my presence, I turn back to Vharon, and a sorrow so deep it may as well be a gaping wound fills my limbs. It’s soul-deep. An ache that will follow me into eternity.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to Vharon’s warm scales. “I am so, so sorry, my friend.”
Tears drop down my face soundlessly, sizzling and vanishing the moment they touch his scales.
One last goodbye. One last moment with my closest friend.
I inhale his scent of brimstone and hickory, the familiarity of it seeping into my bones and giving me strength.
Wiping my eyes, I take a deep breath and spin to face the female.
Nyraxis butts up against me. This will be the hardest part. Most riders don’t believe that dragons understand us beyond instinct, but I know better. I’ve flown with Vharon for centuries, in both peacetime and battle, and our bond has grown far beyond commands and instinct.
This is the gamble, though. The part of my plan that could fail spectacularly if she decides I’m a threat to her hatchling, rather than its only hope for survival.
“You know what’s coming,” I murmur. My voice is steady despite my shaking hands. “You know what we’re about to do. When the sun rises, The Between will seal.”
She narrows her eyes, smoke curling from her nostrils.
“Your hatchling has a chance. Let me help,” I plead. “It’s the only way.”
Vharon nudges her neck gently, and for a long, heavy moment, Nyraxis holds my gaze.
Then, right when I start to worry she’s going to ignore me—or worse, incinerate me— she releases a low chuff and glances away.
My shoulders relax, and tension spills from my limbs. It’s the closest thing to assent I will receive.
She pushes me forward, toward the platform where her daughter sleeps.
I face Vharon. “A little help?”
He lowers his head, and I climb up along the ridges of bone and scale. We’ve done this a thousand times, but knowing this will be the last makes my chest ache.
Vharon is one of the oldest of our Hoard.
Ancient, even by dragon standards. His leathery hide is so thick it looks carved from stone.
His wingspan is so vast they stretch the entire width of the cavern when expanded.
He extends them now, and the sound of displaced air cracks through the space like thunder.
Instead of launching us skyward, he uncoils his neck like a river of sapphire and extends it across the water, before resting on the stone.
I could use my magic to part the pool, but I need to conserve every drop of power for what’s coming next.
I climb down, dropping gently to the platform of crystallized volcanic ash.
And there she is.
Vharax.
Shimmering white scales like her mother’s, with iridescent blue veining along her side, wings, and head. The magic of both bloodlines splashed across her sleeping body. She trills in her sleep, pulling an unexpected smile to my lips.
She is the smallest of the hoard, still an adolescent, curled in a tight coil of fire.
Her breaths rise and fall in a relaxed rhythm.
When she stirs, she’s barely as large as a hunting hound, but her presence is electric, power swimming in her eyes.
She will one day fill the skies, her body large enough to blot out the sun.
And she will. I’ll make sure of it.
Her egg hatched early. I’d been there when she clawed her way into the world, smaller than we hoped, but brimming with magic.
She would bond a rider, but only one whose own magic was strong enough to tie their soul to hers.
Someone strong enough to wield the legacy of both her parents.
Shortly after her birth, the others whispered that it would be another two-hundred years before a rider worthy of her would be born.
They muttered that she would wait in vain.
A waste, some said.
But I knew better. I had taken one look at her the morning after we’d been told of the prophecy, and knew what had to be done.
Weeks ago, while the older generations met in secret council and debated the merits of the prophecy, I did my own research. There was never any doubt which way the Councilors would choose. We are a sacred people, and if this struggle goes on much longer, none of us will survive it.
The world will not survive it.
So I prepared. Scoured library after library until I found my answer.
I can do it. I have to.
“Vharax,” I breathe. A name that holds the weight of everything we are about to lose, as well as everything I hope and pray she will one day help rebuild.
Spinning back around, I fling my arms around Vharon’s huge neck. A low, mournful trill thrums from deep in his throat, and he nudges me toward his daughter.
Nyraxis lumbers forward and positions her body in front of the only entrance to this part of the cavern. She’s guarding me. Shielding what I’m about to do.
I meet her gaze and give her a grateful nod.
Behind me, I feel Vharon slinking back to join her, and I let calm envelope me. I’m safe.
“Rhakar,” I command, as I step closer to the languid hatchling. Stay.
Dragons are notoriously fearsome beings. They aren’t meant to be pets. They are ancient, sovereign creatures—as old as our world and fierce as the fire that births them.
They bond with us only rarely, and only by choice.
Their choice, not ours.
No tricks or spells can convince them to do something they don’t want to, though many have tried.
Many have burned for their hubris.
Among the Royal Elementals—the only group of us with the level of magic required to hold a bond to a dragon—not all of us are chosen. Only one in four is deemed worthy.
I’d been lucky. Vharon bonded me centuries ago.