Chapter 24 #4
Two massive forms slam into the earth with a force that rattles the stones beneath my feet.
Xaroth. Calryx.
They land like falling stars—wings outstretched, magics trailing behind them like a comet’s tail. Dust explodes in thick, choking waves. The ground bucks as the outpost shudders.
Soldiers shout, stumbling back, not in fear of the dragons—but because dragons never land on the training field. They’re supposed to descend in the clearing beyond the ridge, where stone perches and ledges were carved for them.
Xaroth—a shadow of obsidian and force. Calryx—a gleaming specter of iridescent flame. They felt it. They answered it. The bond didn’t just reshape itself.
It called them.
They don’t roar, only stare at us, wings half-furled, eyes glowing with that same ageless knowing. And in their stillness I understand.
They weren’t waiting for danger. They were waiting for this. For us. For the bond to stop being prophecy and start being choice. For it to become something forged—not inherited.
The dragons apparently felt it long before we did.
The blue fire vanishes, and my body is my own again. I push myself up off the ground, muscles weighted with exhaustion, and stagger back a few steps. My skin still hums, each breath tearing through me as if I’d sprinted the breadth of the grounds.
Calryx moves first, her powerful, lean body all grace and precision. Her gaze finds mine—bright, unending. And her voice—low, vast—settles into my mind like thunder rolling across stone.
“It is done.”
Xaroth exhales, steam curling from his nostrils. His tail sweeps the earth behind him like a war banner lowered in surrender.
Thane stares at him, eyes wide. He must be speaking with Xaroth and hearing the same thing. Because this moment—it’s not just ours. It’s theirs, too.
They’ve been watching. Believing—long before we did.
My chest burns. The bond thrums—louder now. Watching. Waiting.
I meet Calryx’s eyes.
“You knew?” I ask her.
Her eyes gleam—a thousand memories in that emerald-jewel stare.
“Not everything,” she says. “But the Guardians told Xaroth and I enough.”
She steps closer, wings folding tight to her sides, her voice brushing through my thoughts like wind through old stone.
“They spoke of a bond that would not follow the old paths. A convergence born not of fate, but of choice. Elemental. Eternal. Equal. A bond that would reshape itself when both hearts chose freely, without fear, without force.”
My breath sticks.
“You knew it would be Thane,” I whisper.
Calryx’s voice softens. “I suspected. But I did not know if he would be brave enough to accept it.”
My throat tightens. “And me?”
“You were always brave enough,” she says gently. “You just didn’t believe you had the right.”
The words land like a stone in still water—deep, echoing.
I glance at Thane. He’s still staring at Xaroth, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding himself together.
The dragons didn’t come to save us—they came to witness what we became.
Not fate or prophecy. But something remade—something chosen.
The air hums. The dragons stand motionless. But all I see is him.
Thane stands just a few feet away, breathing like he’s run for miles.
But his eyes—they’re clear.
When he looks at me, everything else goes still.
There’s no fire left, no defenses. Just quiet. And it’s louder than everything that came before.
I step forward.
He stands still as stone, watching me. Like he’s still trying to believe I’m real.
“Thane,” I say softly.
His name tastes like a vow.
He swallows hard. “I tried to protect you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But you don’t have to protect me from you.”
His gaze sharpens. Focuses. And for the first time since the bond flared—I see only me in his eyes. The air still hums around us. The bond hasn’t settled. It’s waiting. Watching. Ready.
And then—
“What in the bloody hell is going on?!”
I jump, then whirl around.
Valen stalks into view, robes flaring behind him like a storm, hair wind-tossed and eyes wild. He looks like the sky spit him out.
His gaze rips from me, to Thane, to the dragons still standing sentinel on the field—then back to the charred circle, from the blue flame, on the ground between us.
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“Are we under attack?” he demands, bewildered. “Did the sky fall? Did you two actually break the realm this time?” He mutters to himself, “Can’t leave either of you alone one godsdamned minute—” he trails off.
Thane exhales. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a groan. Just breath—like he’s finally letting go of something he’s been holding for too long.
I blink at Valen, still too stunned to speak.
“Because from where I’m standing,” Valen continues, gesturing wildly toward the scorch marks, the still-trembling watchtower, and the dragons, “this is either a cosmic breakthrough or the start of a war. And frankly, I’m not sure which.”
Thane looks at him, then me. I notice the tightness around his eyes.
“I have something to tell you both,” he says, his voice low.
But before he can go on, I see them. Fenric. Lyra. Nessa. Darius. Taila.
My friends.
Just beyond the ring of scorched earth, thirty feet away. Standing still, watching. Their faces are tight, eyes wide but not afraid.
They’re standing tall, proud. Like they’d follow me through fire. Like they just did.
I meet their eyes, and I nod once, then I mouth the words, I’m okay.
Lyra nods, hair like fire in the sun. Fenric lifts a crooked thumbs-up, and gods—my chest aches. Darius flashes his bright smile. Taila’s eyes shimmer. Nessa inclines her head, steady as ever, a silent acknowledgment.
I turn back to Thane. And now I’m steady.
His gaze drifts. I follow it.
The training field is unnaturally silent. Soldiers edge closer, hushed, some frozen in place, others half-out of doorways, or peering from behind windows. Armor half-done, expressions tense. Like they’re not sure if they’ve just witnessed a threat—or a miracle.
Even the dragons draw attention—Xaroth’s wings are half-spread, tail twitching in the dirt, steam hissing from his nostrils with every exhale. Calryx stands utterly still, but her gaze cuts across the field, over every face, every weapon, every soul gathered here.
We’ve made a scene—storm inside of usual order. And no one knows quite what to do with it.
Thane exhales, jaw tight.
“Best if we go inside,” he says, quietly. “To my study.”
Valen looks annoyed—still rattled, arms crossed.
“Yes,” he mutters. “Perhaps we should.”
Thane turns back to me. And this time—he walks like every step is deliberate, every step measured.
He stops in front of me, leaving one step left between us. And then—he reaches out. Just a hand. Open. Waiting. His eyes hold steady on mine—quiet, asking.
With everything he is. With the truth of him. The choice of him.
I grasp his hand.
It’s not even a question. There’s no hesitation, no fear left to fight. I will always take his hand. Every time. In every world.
Even if it burns. Even if it breaks me.
His fingers close around mine. And for a heartbeat, we just stand there, hands joined, magics quiet.
And then—
“Nothing to see here!” Garrick bellows. “Get back to training!”
Jarek chimes in. “Be gone with you! Go lift something heavy!”
Rian moves among the soldiers with subtle authority, clearing the space with a calm authority that’s more forceful than shouting.
Captain Elaris steps in beside him, barking clipped orders, ushering staff back inside like a man trying to put a lid on a storm.
I watch as the crowd begins to thin. Curious eyes linger for a moment longer—then disappear behind doors and around corners.
I glance up.
Xaroth stands tall, wings flexing, obsidian scales gleaming in the fractured sunlight. He braces his legs and with a powerful push, he takes to the sky. The rush of wind from his wings ripples through the air around us, scattering dust, making the flames in nearby braziers flicker and sway.
Calryx follows close behind—her scales shimmer like water and starlight. She looks at me once more as she rises.
“We will speak more,” her voice touches my mind, warm and firm. “For now . . . listen to the Warlord with an open heart.”
A puzzled frown pulls at my brow, but I nod, trusting her.
That’s when I feel it. A gentle tug—not in the bond—but on my arm. His hand still holds mine and he’s pulling me closer. I fall into him like I’ve been waiting to do it forever. His arms wrap around me.
A shield. A promise. A release.
I push away the exhaustion, trying to focus on this moment, how he feels in my arms. I breathe in the scent of him—cedar and smoke and leather. Not just scent, but memory like home.
Thane leans down, breath warm against the curve of my ear. And in a voice so soft I almost don’t catch it, he whispers—“I’m sorry.”
And then, softer still, voice frayed, but certain, “I will never walk away from you again.”
His hand cups the back of my head, fingers steady, grounding me. Real. Here.
And I believe him.