Chapter 5 #2
“It’s fine,” I say, looking back toward the forest. Maybe if I don’t look at him, he will leave sooner. “Warm, quiet. It serves its purpose.” I don’t elaborate—I don’t want to.
But Thane doesn’t move, as if waiting for something more.
“Good. That’s good,” Thane exhales, shifting his weight slightly. “I know this place can be . . . overwhelming at first. It takes time to adjust.” He pauses, watching me carefully, then adds, “If you need anything, you can ask me.”
I don’t have a response so I keep my eyes on the trees. He glances toward the horizon, then back at me. After a moment, he speaks again.
“Xaroth wasn’t easy to bond with,” he admits, his gaze flicking to the sky. “He was wild. Unpredictable.”
His tone is light, but there’s something behind it—something unspoken. He shifts his stance, crossing his arms.
“Dragons don’t just accept anyone. They choose. And once they do, it’s for life—the life of the rider, that is, since Dragons live for so much longer . . . ” He glances at me then, studying my reaction. “He taught me more about myself than any battle or teacher ever could.”
Something stirs in me—a flicker of curiosity. I finally meet his gaze.
“How did you do it?” The words slip out before I can stop them. “How did you earn his trust?”
Thane raises an eyebrow, then smirks—just slightly. “I didn’t.” A beat. “Not at first.”
He crosses his arms, gaze following a distant cloud. “He chose me—but that didn’t mean he trusted me. He tested me. Pushed every limit I had. Tried to break me more times than I care to count.”
I can’t help it—a small smile tugs at my lips, almost a laugh.
The image of Thane, this stoic, composed Warlord, struggling to earn his dragon’s trust is . . . unexpectedly human. It makes him feel less like some untouchable figure ruling the realm—and more like someone just trying to figure it out. Like the rest of us.
I tilt my head, drawn in now. “So how does it happen? That trust?”
His voice lowers, the amusement fading. “It wasn’t about earning his trust. It was about surviving long enough to prove I was worth it.”
I blink. “That sounds brutal. Why call a rider if the dragon’s just going to break them?”
Thane continues, his voice low and thoughtful. “Some dragons are like that. Some call to their rider and accept them without hesitation. Others . . . they challenge you. Even after the bond is sealed, they push. Test your strength . . . your resolve.”
He glances toward the sky again, as if he can still feel Xaroth circling somewhere above. He probably can.
“Every dragon has their own will, their own past, their own reasons for choosing who they choose—and how they treat you once the bond is sealed. It’s not just instinct or magics. It’s personal.”
I follow his gaze skyward. I’ve heard the stories—that dragons have their own minds, their own culture—but hearing it like this, spoken with such certainty . . . it hits differently. The idea that they are individuals, not just creatures of legend, sparks something in me.
They choose. They remember. They feel.
Thane looks back at me. “Dragons are taking a risk when calling to a human, just like we are taking a risk by answering that call. They need to be sure after they call. For me, like most, it started in dreams. Xaroth was there, waiting, testing me before we ever met.”
He hesitates. “When the time comes, the rider is called to the cliffs.”
I frown. “What cliffs?”
“They are called ‘Velkar’s Descent’,” he says, his voice quieter now.
“Named after the first dragon to ever bond with a rider. Legend says Velkar was different from the others—stronger, smarter, more willful. He didn’t bow to anyone until he chose his rider, an outcast warrior with nothing to lose.
They say Velkar appeared in his dreams, calling him again and again, until he finally followed the vision to the cliffs.
That’s where it happens. The rider has to jump and trust that the dragon who called them will catch them.
If they don’t trust, the dragon won’t. They must believe completely—not just in the dragon, but in themselves. We call it the Trust Fall.”
I stare at him, stunned. “So you just . . . jump?”
Thane nods. “There is a bit of fear, a small part of you doesn’t really know if they’ll catch you until you’re already falling. But if you’re hearing their call, you do know, deep down, that they will catch you, if that makes sense.”
I swallow, my mind reeling at the thought. “But what if they don’t?”
His voice doesn’t waver. “Then you die on the rocks below.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Riders are crazy.”
Thane huffs a quiet laugh. “Maybe.” A ghost of a smile flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Or maybe we’re the only ones willing to risk everything for something greater than ourselves.”
That hits wrong.
Too pointed.
Like he’s not just talking about riders anymore. Like he’s talking about me.
My jaw tightens and I glance away. “Right. Just jump off a cliff and hope it all works out. Sounds brilliant.”
He exhales, sharper now, clearly hearing the edge in my voice, connecting the dots. “Every day, people die. Villages burn. And we’re running out of time.”
A beat.
“But sure—let’s wait until you decide the moment’s right. The rest of us don’t have that choice.”
His words hit like a slap—sharp, angry, and far too close to the truth.
I can’t breathe. Can’t speak.
My gaze flicks to his and for the first time, I really see him.
The tension in his shoulders, the heat simmering behind his eyes. He’s exhausted. Furious. And beneath it all, he’s desperate for me to understand.
But I don’t. I can’t. I’m still buried in my own grief . . . still trying to crawl out of the wreckage of who I used to be.
So I say nothing.
I just stare past him, back toward the forest, his words vanishing into the echoing void that’s already taken root in me.
My fingers curl into the dirt beside me. Part of me wants to fight—to scream—like I once would have if someone spoke to me like he just did. But the weight of it all—his anger, my despair, the shadow of what I’m supposed to become—suffocates whatever words I might have said.
Thane blows out a breath, like he’s already given up.
“Figure it out, Amara,” he mutters, turning on his heel. “Before it’s too late.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Just walks away, his long strides eating up the distance, his frustration trailing behind him like smoke.
THANE
The moment I walk away, I know I fucked up.
I grit my teeth, regret churning in my stomach. But my legs won’t let me turn around and go back to her to apologize.
Why do I even care?
I’m the Warlord. I have an entire bloody realm to think of—not just one person, Spiritborn or no.
No one gave me a choice. I had to step up because that’s what had to be done. She’s the Spiritborn. This is what she has to do.
Why can’t she just see the significance of finding her after all this time. Of actually having a chance to turn things around. We can finally end the Shadow Forces for good and bring peace to the realm.
No more death; no more burning villages or orphaned children.
The clans will stop bickering and become less divisive. The dragons will finally start choosing again.
Amara is the answer to everything.
But gods—what if she’s not?
What if Valen’s wrong? What if I’m wrong?
What if all I did was hand a grieving girl a prophecy and expect her to hold up the sky with it?
I drag my fingers through my hair as I keep walking, my cloak whipping behind me with every furious step.
Shit.
I saw the way she looked at me . . . like she wanted to disappear. And still, I kept pushing. I know I can be bull-headed—Mother regularly reminded me that not everyone moves at my pace.
I told her to figure it out. Like she hasn’t already lost everything. Like grief runs on a clock. I know firsthand grief doesn’t work like that.
Gods, what’s wrong with me?
I’m supposed to lead. To protect. But I’m the one who lit the match this time.
I was born into this world. Amara just arrived . . . after losing everything. I hate that I didn’t get a choice. But I hate even more that I have to ask her to do the same.
Fuck. I think I just made things worse for her.
I stop in the middle of the corridor, winded. My body’s still moving, but my mind’s somewhere back under the oak tree—watching her shrink into herself as I walked away. I don’t even remember what direction I was going. I just needed to leave.
But gods—there’s no outrunning this.
“Thane!”
Hearing my name pulls me out of my thoughts, but it doesn’t change my mood. I look up and see Jarek jogging towards me.
“Hey brother,” he says when he reaches me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. But before he reveals why he was calling my name, his eyes narrow.
“Why do you look like someone just snapped your favorite sword in half?” He has a glint in his eye, clearly about to make this into a thing.
“It’s nothing.” I try to sound casual, but my voice lands too flat, too fast. Jarek hears it. Of course he does.
I meet his gaze, trying to project cool indifference, but it doesn’t work. The bastard’s known me since we were kids. A half-smile spreads across his face.
“Is ‘nothing’ Amara?”
I let out a slow breath, trying to temper my mood.
“Whoa!” He raises his hands up in mock defense. “Relax there, brother. She’s gotten under your skin already?”
My eyes flash, temper brimming under the surface.
“No. She hasn’t gotten to me,” I mutter. Then quieter: “I just didn’t handle it right.”
Jarek’s hazel eyes search mine. “What did you do?”
I exhale. “It doesn’t matter.”
He arches a brow, waiting.
“I pushed her. That’s all.”
He keeps waiting.
Dammit, he’s going to make me say it. The brothers are so similar in both looks and temperament, but where Garrick would probably bust my balls, Jarek holds me accountable.
“I won’t do it again.”