Chapter 18 #2
Up ahead, I catch sight of Lyra throwing her head back in a laugh—loud, unrestrained, and utterly Lyra. And Valen is looking at her . . . gods, the corner of his mouth actually pulls up. If anyone could get Valen to laugh, it’d be her.
“Valen’s a hard one to crack,” Thane remarks, his voice low with just the faintest edge of amusement.
“I’ve noticed.” A pause. Then, quietly, “What was he like when you first met him? Was he always this serious?”
It’s a safe question. Neutral ground. No heat, no landmines.
Thane’s gaze shifts toward the pair ahead.
“Serious? Yes. But not in the way most people think.” He’s quiet for a beat.
“He was sharp. Always two steps ahead of everyone else. And blunt—gods, he could cut a man down with words alone. Still can.” His tone softens, almost nostalgic.
“But he was the first person who looked at me in a long time and didn’t see just fire.
He saw what I could be, not what I was.”
Thane’s gaze goes distant now, shadows of old memories flickering in his eyes. “And he came to us right after my father became ill. So I wasn’t in the best place.”
He exhales slowly, the memory clearly heavier than the words alone.
“Valen . . . helped me find my way again.”
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. Not because he’s incapable of it—but because it’s rare. Precious. Like light breaking through rock.
I don’t say anything right away. Instead I watch him. And for a moment, the silence between us feels . . . different. Lighter.
The trail narrows as we move into the trees, the canopy thickening above us. The sunlight softens, filtered through the leaves, dappling our path in shifting gold and green.
Thane doesn’t speak for a few moments. His gaze lingers on the man ahead—dark hair that falls in uneven waves, touched with gray at the temples.
Then he says, “Valen was born in the mountains—northern edge of the Air Clan’s territory. Not the part with courts and politics. The part where wind carves through stone and no one dares to interfere.”
I glance at him. His tone is softer now, almost reflective.
“His family were lorekeepers—going back generations. Not mages or nobles. Just people who believed the Elements weren’t meant to be wielded, but understood. They studied patterns, prophecies, celestial shifts. Keepers of the old ways, before the clans traded reverence for control.”
The wind shifts as we move deeper into the trees. It rustles the leaves above us, cool against my skin, carrying with it the scent of moss and damp earth. I glance at Thane again, waiting to see if he’ll say more.
He does.
“Valen was different, even back then. He could read the wind—sense a storm before it gathered, map pressure shifts without ever lifting a hand. Said he could feel how the elements spoke to each other.”
He pauses as a hawk cries above us, wings slicing through the canopy. Then he continues.
“Valen can do more than most give him credit for,” Thane says, his voice reverent, like the memory is a precious stone. “Even though he can’t channel magics the way riders can . . . he has something more.”
I look at him, curious. “More?”
Thane nods slowly. “The way he saw the world—the way he understood the elements—went beyond technique or combat. He could feel the balance of a place just by standing in it. Knew when something was off and how to fix it.”
Thane nudges his horse closer, angling around a small boulder in the trail. The shift is subtle, but the pressure is enough—my horse mirrors the movement, falling into step beside his.
Our legs brush—light, brief, but enough to jolt awareness through me. I glance at him, and for a heartbeat, our eyes meet. Then he looks away, adjusting his reins and straightening his horse with practiced ease.
The space between us widens again, like nothing happened.
But I still feel it.
“Valen told me once—the most powerful thing a wielder could do wasn’t command the elements . . . it was listen to them.” Thane’s expression shifts slightly. That rare glint of respect in his eyes. “He listens better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I blink, trying to picture a younger Valen. Curious. Unrelenting.
And suddenly, I wonder—how long have the elements been waiting for me to listen?
“He started asking questions no one wanted to answer. The elders called him a nuisance—too bold, too rooted in a past they’d already chosen to forget. So he left.”
Thane’s voice is low, but there’s a thread of admiration woven through it. Maybe even something closer to kinship.
“He wandered. For years. Studied with seers and outcasts, found pockets of knowledge even the clans had let rot. Learned how to read the stars the way dragons once did. How to find truth in forgotten scripts. By the time I met him, he knew more about the Elements than any mage or scholar I’d ever trained with. ”
I don’t speak. I just listen. Let the wind move through the trees—let it settle the weight of everything he’s saying.
Thane continues. “After leaving the Air Clan region, he traveled through every territory. Lived with reclusive mages, old mind-stillers from the Water Clan, earth-binders so ancient they barely spoke. He mastered techniques the clans had forgotten. Lesser magics most don’t use anymore.
But they weren’t lesser to him. They were the root. ”
I nod slowly, taking it in. The puzzle of Valen begins to click into place, one quiet piece at a time.
The mountains rise steeper around us, the path narrowing, winding between jagged cliffs that drop into nothingness. The sky above is vast, unbroken—a kind of openness that makes you feel small and limitless all at once.
It’s late afternoon. The golden light stretches long across the cliffs as we continue our slow ascent. Lyra and Valen are still ahead, their conversation drifting back to us, but I haven’t been listening.
Not when Thane is still here, riding beside me.
We’ve fallen into a comfortable silence, his presence no longer something I’m questioning. And it feels dangerous because I should be questioning it. He’s so inconsistent with me, it’s maddening.
But instead, I find myself thinking about everything we’ve talked about over the weeks—the questions he’s asked, the things he now knows about me.
We camp for the night in a clearing.
The fire crackles, flames licking the cool night air. The scent of smoke drifts on the mountain breeze, wind carrying the hush of unseen creatures through the cliffs. The sky is scattered with stars, the moon casting long shadows along the uneven ground.
It takes three hours to hike to Velkar’s Descent. We will leave at dawn.
Valen tears a piece of bread in half before speaking.
“Velkar,” he says, his voice steady—like he’s told this story a hundred times. “The first dragon to bond with a rider. The one who started it all.”
I shift, leaning forward slightly, chewing absently on a piece of dried meat. Even though I already know the story from books, hearing Valen tell it makes it feel different. He tells it like it’s not just history, but truth.
Valen continues, “Dragons and humans existed for centuries before the first bond. They were forces of their own—dragons were the untamed rulers of the skies, humans the keepers of the land. There was no trust between them. No war, but no alliance, either.”
Lyra, who had been poking at the fire with a stick, perks up. “So what changed?”
Valen’s gaze flicks to her.
“The world shifted,” he says—voice even, measured.
“The balance of magics, the way the elements moved. The land began to wither in places, the skies churned with unnatural storms. The dragons felt it first—something stirring, something coming. And for the first time, they realized they could not face it alone.”
Thane, who has been silent until now, finally speaks. “Velkar was the first to say it aloud.”
I turn to him, watching the way the firelight flickers across his face, deepening the angles of his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones. He doesn’t look at me. He’s remembering.
“‘Now is the time for the bond,’” he recites, his voice quiet, but firm. “Those were his words.”
Lyra tilts her head, considering. “So he just . . . called to a warrior? Out of nowhere?”
Valen shakes his head. “No. He waited . . . watched. And when he saw the right one, he reached into his dreams. And called.”
The wind picks up, scattering sparks into the night. They vanish into the vast dark beyond our fire.
Valen speaks again. “The warrior was cast out by his own people. Unworthy in the eyes of mortals. But Velkar saw something more.”
I already know this part, but still, my stomach tightens.
“He followed the call to the cliffs,” Valen continues, “but when he arrived, there was nothing. No dragon waiting. No sign of the bond. Just mist and sky. And a drop into the unknown. He stood at the edge,” Valen says, his voice quieter now.
“Faced with nothing but the abyss. No promises. No guarantees. Only the unknown.”
The fire pops, the glow flickering across Thane’s face across from me.
“He could have turned back,” Valen says. “And no one would have blamed him. But he didn’t. He stepped forward, not because he knew Velkar would catch him—but because he was willing to fall.”
Lyra is silent now, her expression thoughtful.
I shift, my pulse steady, but strong. Because I know that tomorrow, I’ll stand where that warrior stood.
Valen leans back slightly, exhaling. “That was the first Trust Fall. The moment that changed everything.”
I watch the fire, the flames dancing in my peripheral vision. I whisper, “And Velkar caught him.”
Valen nods. “He did. And for the first time, dragon and rider became one.”
The fire burns low, the warmth flickering in the crisp mountain air. Lyra leans forward, arms on her knees, brow furrowed in thought.
“Alright, but why him?” she asks. “Why was this warrior the one? What made him special?”
Valen exhales, stretching his legs out as he leans back slightly. “His name was Isandor, of the Fire Clan.”