Chapter 16 #5
“No?” I cut in, voice rising. “Because it sure as hell feels like it!”
I step forward, throw my arms wide—gesturing to the scorched field, the crackling air, the mess they expected—but I had to live through.
“You stand there analyzing me like I’m some kind of experiment, while I’m the one who nearly burned this entire place to the ground! While I’m the one who hurt—”
I stop.
The word sticks. Sharp. Ugly.
I can’t say it. Not with him right there.
My breath stutters. My fingers twitch—still tingling with residual magics. Like it hasn’t fully left me yet. Like I haven’t fully come back to myself.
“I’ll be fine,” Thane says suddenly. His voice is steady. But there’s something under it. Not cold. Not dismissive.
Just . . . final.
I look down at my hands. The magics’ still there. Not just power. Not just anger. Something new—and it’s mine.
The air crackles around me, faint traces of magics curling at my fingertips—waiting.
For permission. For release. For me.
Valen glances at me—once—then turns to Thane. He studies him for a long, quiet moment before stepping forward.
“Come with me,” he says quietly. “You need to be healed.”
Thane doesn’t argue. He doesn’t look back at me. Doesn’t offer reassurance. He simply nods and follows Valen toward the infirmary.
And I . . . watch. Breath uneven, body still tingling with the remnants of what I unleashed. Alone, in the center of the wreckage just like when my magics erupted the night my village was attacked.
I should say something. I should do something.
But I don’t.
I can’t stand here—in this shattered field—with all these eyes judging me.
So I turn. Sharp. Stiff.
I storm away—past the scorched earth, past the staring soldiers, past the ruins of what I just did. My boots crunch over blackened ground as I head for the only place that still feels like mine.
The old oak tree by the lake. My oak tree.
I drop heavily against the bark, limbs aching, head tipping back as I close my eyes and try—gods, I try—to breathe. To steady the chaos inside me. But it’s still there.
All of it.
The intensity of my powers. The way they keep shifting, changing, growing. I can barely keep up, always two steps behind—surviving one revelation before the next crashes over me.
I close my eyes and see the faces of my parents. What would they think of their daughter of destruction?
Is that what I’ve become?
I open my eyes and press my palms to the ground, trying to steady myself.
Instead, the earth stirs beneath me, not resisting, not recoiling—just waiting. My magics linger. In the air. In the soil. In me.
I exhale, dragging my fingers through the dirt.
What the hell is happening to me?
And how much longer before I lose control completely?
A shadow shifts nearby, footsteps crunching softly over the dry grass.
I tense, bracing for Valen, or worse—Thane.
Or maybe it’s not worse if it’s Thane.
But when I lift my head, it’s Kieran—and I hate that I’m disappointed.
He’s grinning, but there’s something careful in the way he approaches, thumbs tucked into his belt like he’s trying to look casual. Like he knows I might snap.
“You alright?”
I bark out a dry laugh. “Do I look alright?”
He drops onto the grass beside me, leaning back against the tree with an exaggerated sigh. “No, but I figured I’d ask anyway.”
For a moment, we sit there. Kieran doesn’t push or try to fix it. He just exists next to me, steady and easy—like he’s not expecting me to fall apart, just letting me be.
Finally, he shifts, stretching his legs out in front of him, links his fingers and puts them behind his head.
“You know,” he says, more thoughtful now, “I saw what happened back there. And I don’t mean the fire and flying rocks. I mean you. You weren’t just losing control, Amara. You were wielding something no one else can. That has to mean something.”
I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “It means I almost burned everything down. It means I could’ve hurt more than just Thane.”
Kieran watches me for a beat, then shrugs. “Yeah. But you didn’t. You stopped it. That means something, too.”
Before I can argue, he continues, “Look, I don’t know what they’re telling you, but you’re not some ticking bomb waiting to go off. You’re still you. And you’re figuring it out.”
His words settle over me—gentle but firm—and for a second, I almost let them in.
Almost.
Then the air shifts.
Kieran’s teasing falters—just for a moment—as his eyes flick past me. I don’t have to look.
I know it’s Thane.
The weight of his stare presses into me, brimming with unspoken things.
Kieran clears his throat and rises, posture straightening. He nods toward Thane in a crisp, practiced salute.
“Warlord,” he says smoothly. Then he flashes me one last grin. “Try not to break anything else while I’m gone.”
I roll my eyes.
“I should probably go check on something that definitely exists . . . somewhere else,” Kieran mutters. He tosses a lazy salute and slips into the crowd.
I don’t look at Thane, but I feel him. Standing there. Watching.
Like always.
After a long pause, he sits beside me. Not too close—but not far enough to pretend there’s nothing between us. Even in the open air, the heat of him is unmistakable.
“Kieran seems interested in you,” he says lightly. “Can’t say I blame him. You have a way of making things . . . hard to ignore.”
I blink, turning my head just enough to see him from the corner of my eye. “Are you really here to talk about Kieran?”
His jaw tightens slightly, but something flickers behind his eyes, something I can’t quite name. “He sees something in you. Something worth going after.”
The words settle between us.
But I hear it—the careful dip in his tone, the too-even delivery. Like he’s testing a boundary he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross.
It’s not just what he’s saying. It’s everything he’s not.
My gaze travels over him, tracing every tear in his tunic, every raw edge where my magics cut through. The sight of it twists something deep in my chest—guilt, fear, maybe both.
I swallow hard.
“Thane, I’m so sorry.” The words tumble out, rushed and uneven. “I never meant to hurt you. My emotions got the best of me—like they always do.”
The guilt hits hard, sharp and choking. “I was reckless. I lost control, and . . . I hurt you. And you were right there. Of course you were.”
He exhales, slow and measured, dragging a hand along his thigh like he’s trying to wipe the memory away with it.
“I’ll be fine,” he says quietly.
But he won’t meet my eyes. And that says everything.
The tension in his posture, the way he avoids holding my gaze for too long—it tells me more than his words ever could.
“I was scared,” I admit, the words catching. “Not just of what happened . . . but of what it means. What if next time, I can’t stop myself in time? What if—”
“But you did stop,” he says, cutting in gently. “That means something.”
Just like what Kieran said.
I take it in, turning the words over in my mind like a stone between my palms. My fingers curl into the dirt, running through the cool, familiar texture. The earth always grounded me—my home, my village, my parents. It’s been my anchor for as long as I can remember.
And now . . . it isn’t enough. Not when the storm is coming from within.
The fear coils tighter in my chest, pressing hard against my ribs, louder than reason. Stronger than the steadiness the dirt once gave me. My magics hum just beneath my skin—restless, volatile. I feel untethered, like I could lose control at any moment.
I swallow hard, forcing my hands to stay still in the soil.
Hold on. Ground yourself.
But it doesn’t help. Not this time.
What happens next time? What if I can’t stop it? What if I don’t?
For the first time in my life, the earth doesn’t calm me. It only reminds me of everything I’ve lost. Of everything I’ve become.
I can feel Thane’s eyes on me—the weight of them. Watching. Assessing. Always.
And something inside me snaps.
“You always do this,” I say, voice sharp and rising. “You stand there, watching, waiting—like I’m something dangerous you need to contain. Like I don’t already know that!”
He keeps looking, considering. Like he’s deciding how much of himself he’s willing to give away in this moment. His jaw shifts, just slightly, before he finally speaks. His voice is lower now, rougher.
“I don’t think you’re dangerous, Amara. I know exactly how powerful you are. And I know you don’t see it yet—the potential of your powers.”
A breath.
“I am in awe of you.”
His words stun me. Of all the things to say . . . that wasn’t one I was prepared for.
Not from him.
But before I can respond—before I can ask what he really means—his hand twitches. Like he’s about to move.
About to reach for me.
The space between us shrinks—just slightly—but it’s enough to make my breath stall. The air tightens, charged and humming.
And then—his fingers brush mine.
Light. Tentative. Barely there.
A silent question neither of us dares to voice. His warmth seeps into me, steady and waiting.
I don’t breathe, afraid the moment will break if I do.
Thane has touched me hundreds of times before now.
Adjusting my stance. Correcting my form. Turning my head with a firm grip beneath my jaw. Reaching down to pull me up after knocking me down. There were times he pinned me, held me in place with the full weight of his body. Times our skin touched in sparring, in sweat, in heat.
But this—this—feels different. Like everything unspoken between us has settled into this single point of contact.
My fingers twitch. Before I can stop myself, I turn my hand over and lace my fingers through his. His hand tenses in mine.
For a breath, I’m certain he’s going to pull away, to retreat into that familiar distance he always maintains.
But he doesn’t.
Just like the night on the tower after Thane found one of his squadrons slaughtered. Instead, his grip relaxes—just slightly—his fingers settling against mine in a silent acceptance.
A quiet surrender.
I draw in a shallow breath, my chest suddenly too tight. I don’t know if I should say something—if I should break whatever fragile, flickering thing is settling between us.
But neither of us speak. We just sit there, hands intertwined, staring out at the trees. Like silence is the only way to keep it from breaking.
And then—just like that—he pulls away. The absence of his touch is immediate. Sharp.
Whatever almost happened . . . vanishes. Buried beneath the weight of everything left unsaid.
I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my fingers curling instinctively into the earth like it might still have the power to anchor me.
He doesn’t look at me.
But I see it—the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands clench against his thighs like he’s punishing himself for even that small slip of control.
And then, again—just like that—he shifts away. Shutting the door. Sealing it. Whatever almost slipped free between us is gone.
“I should go,” he says, quieter now. Restrained.
I glance up at him, searching for something—anything—but his expression is already locked behind those walls I can never seem to get through.
Before I can speak—before I can even process—he turns and walks away. Disappearing into the fading light of the outpost, just as easily as if none of it ever happened.
I sit there, fingers still tingling from his touch, staring out at the trees—confusion and something far more dangerous curling tight in my chest.
Want.
I stay under the oak tree for hours, unmoving. My thoughts churn with everything that happened today. My elemental powers—how they surged, how they merged. How they hurt Thane.
Kieran.
Thane.
The fear of losing control again, of becoming something dangerous. Something I can’t pull back from once it begins.
Thane.
At some point, Lyra appears with dinner. She sits beside me, close but silent, offering quiet comfort—the kind that doesn’t ask for answers. She knows me well enough to let the silence do the work.
After a while, she leans over, kisses my cheek, and heads back to the barracks.
The night deepens, the air cooling against my skin. Eventually, I force myself to stand, my body heavy with exhaustion.
I walk back to the barracks in the dark. Lyra is already asleep, her steady breathing a soft rhythm in the quiet. I climb into my bunk and lie there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts circling endlessly—looping, looping, refusing to settle.
And then, at some point, sleep finds me.
And I dream.
The air thickens, heavy with mist that curls in luminous tendrils around my ankles. It shimmers faintly, pulsing like breath.
Like something alive.
The world beyond is veiled. Shadows stretch and shift—restless but silent.
I turn slowly, my footsteps soundless on the unseen ground beneath me. There’s no sky above, no stars. Only an endless expanse of darkness pressing at the edges of the mist.
And yet . . . beyond it, something gleams.
Radiant. Otherworldly.
I step forward, drawn by a force I cannot name, my pulse quickening. The mist parts in slow, swirling ribbons, revealing a vast, open space—a place that is nowhere and everywhere all at once.
Then—a flicker of light.
Not just light—scales, rippling like liquid silver.
A shape moves through the mist. Powerful. Effortless. Gliding through the shadows—a creature made of myth and memory.
I freeze, breath caught, heart pounding.
A dragon.
But not just any dragon.
The mist recedes, reverent, unveiling her fully.
And she stands before me.
I know her name.
Like it’s always been inside me, waiting to be spoken.
She is part of me. As I am part of her.
Calryx.
Her silvery-white scales shimmer like moonlight on rippling water, iridescent—each movement catching shades of blue, green, and soft rose. Ethereal. Luminous. Impossibly real.
She is breathtaking—beautiful beyond words, terrifying in the sheer weight of her presence. Power clings to her like a second skin, ancient and unyielding.
Her emerald eyes meet mine—filled with a knowing that stretches beyond time, something unbreakable.
And then, a voice. Soft as wind. Deep as bone.
“It is time, Virelya.”
The words are not spoken aloud, yet I hear them—clearly, unmistakably—as if she whispered them straight into my soul.
A tremor runs through me, my pulse thundering.
The ground beneath her does not hold firm. It shifts like mist, as though she is not bound by something as small as earth. As though she moves through more than just air.
Through memory. Through magics. Through me.
I should be afraid. But I’m not.
Warmth unfurls in my chest—steady, growing. Something stirs. Awakens.
I lift my hand, reaching for her—drawn beyond thought, beyond fear. Drawn by a knowing older than this life. And just as I feel her—just as I know she’s real—
I wake, gasping. My heart pounds, the echo of her presence thrumming through my veins.
She’s calling to me.
A dragon.
My dragon.