FIFTY-ONE
BATTLE OF ATTRITION
Courage is not the absence of fear. Rather, it is born from it. Fear has a way of revealing the strength hidden within us, or the weakness. It can call forth acts of bravery we might never have known we possessed. Some of the greatest courage a soul can muster rises only because of fear.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
The cold air tears past me as my boots strike the packed earth.
Calryx is waiting.
Massive. Still. Coiled with purpose.
Her head is lowered, wings half-spread, emerald eyes fixed on me like a beacon in the dark.
I leap, catching the harness and hauling myself into the saddle. The moment I settle, the magical locks snap into place, spell-sealed clasps clicking against the leather. I feel the magics settle along my legs and across my back, securing me in place.
Around the field, riders do the same. Buckles fasten. Leather tightens. Dragons rumble low in their chests. One by one, dragons shift beneath us, wings rustling, talons digging into the earth.
The air crackles with tension.
Across the line, Thane raises his hand. His silhouette stands stark against the cloudless sky, Xaroth towering behind him, obsidian scales gleaming and wings stretched wide.
His signal is crisp. Controlled.
Take flight.
Calryx launches.
The ground vanishes beneath us. Her wings drive hard against the air as she surges upward. I press into the saddle while the wind roars past, my pulse racing as I fix my gaze on the horizon.
Thane requested we fly close to Xaroth, and Calryx executes his request without even being asked.
I glance to my right and catch a glimpse of him astride his dragon. His expression is focused, unwavering. The wind tugs at his dark hair, but nothing about him bends. He looks born for this.
I draw in a breath.
“This is my first battle,” I say to Calryx.
Her voice answers through the bond with the weight of something ancient and all-knowing.
“Then we make it one they never forget.”
“Calryx,” I whisper into the bond as the wind screams past us. “I’m scared.”
Her answer comes swiftly, solid as stone and warm as flame. “You are ready, Virelya. You’ve already proven that.”
“When?”
“At the ball.” There’s no softness in her tone, only certainty. “You fought when no one else could. You held the line. You are the reason the death toll wasn’t greater.”
My grip tightens on the saddle horn as we drop behind Xaroth, his obsidian wings cutting through the air ahead.
“That was different,” I tell her. “That was an ambush. An attack. I didn’t think. I just reacted. I was surviving.”
My next words come out quieter.
“This is war. This is planned. Deliberate. It feels . . . heavier.”
Her voice remains unwavering.
“But that doesn’t mean you are any less ready. You fought when it was chaos. Now you fight with purpose. That makes you even more dangerous.”
I release a slow breath. Her words anchor me, even as the wind rips around us and the sky grows darker ahead.
“I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“Then don’t.”
That familiar spark flashes through the bond, fierce and sharp and uniquely Calryx.
“But don’t let yourself down either. You are not just surviving anymore, Virelya. You are rising.”
I swallow hard, blinking against the sting in my eyes. “But what if I make a mistake? What if I—”
“You won’t.”
The certainty in her voice leaves no room for doubt.
“You’ve trained. You’ve bled. You’ve burned. You’ve faced things that would have broken others. This? This is simply the next fire you walk through. And you walk it beside a magnificent and extraordinarily powerful dragon.”
I close my eyes for a moment, drawing strength from the bond between us as the wind howls past.
“They’re going to come at us hard, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
There’s no hesitation in her answer. No sugarcoating.
“They will try to break you. But they don’t know who you are.”
“And who’s that?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
I feel her satisfaction through the bond, warm and fierce.
“Mine.”
My throat tightens. I reach forward and rest a hand against the curve of her neck, just behind the ridge of bone and muscle.
“I’m with you.”
“And I with you. Steady, Virelya. Even sparks can set the world alight.”
The wind bites at my skin, but I barely notice.
I glance at Rowena flying just ahead and above me, her back straight, braid streaming behind her.
Aisling cuts through the sky with effortless power, sapphire wings stretched wide against the darkening clouds.
Somewhere along the way, Rowena stopped being merely an ally.
She became a sister. Not by blood, but through battle, trust, and everything we’ve survived together.
To my right, Garrick rides Ruadhan, the copper-scaled dragon blazing against the clouds like a living ember. Even now, with war waiting ahead, Garrick looks eager for the fight.
Beyond him, Jarek and Faolan fly with their usual deadly focus. Jarek rides low in the saddle, watching everything.
Farther ahead, Rian and Muirgen cut through the sky in near-perfect silence. The aquamarine dragon moves with the same quiet confidence as her rider.
Months ago, they had just been dragons. Now I know them all by name.
Aisling. Ruadhan. Faolan. Muirgen.
And the riders who fly astride them. Garrick, Jarek, and Rian have stood beside Thane longer than anyone. They are warriors, guardians, and friends.
To me, they have become brothers. I would bleed for them. I already have.
I lift my gaze, taking in the formation around us, and the sight steals my breath.
Twenty-one dragons fill the sky with the colors of cut jewels, scales gleaming like obsidian, emerald, citrine, sapphire, topaz, amethyst, and molten copper.
Their wings beat in synchronized rhythm, powerful and vast. Some breathe embers into the wind.
Others ride the air with effortless grace, magics trailing behind them like stardust.
Below us, the realm stretches out, mountains rising in the distance and rivers cutting through forests of red and gold like veins of silver.
We are past the edges of Volcaris now, beyond the safety of stone walls and training grounds. This is the edge of the world I have known.
The wind shifts, and my thoughts turn to Valen.
He stayed behind.
I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Didn’t get to thank him for the hours he spent training me when I didn’t know what I was, or for believing in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.
For seeing something worth nurturing when I felt like nothing more than a village girl swept into a storm too large to survive.
I blink hard, trying to push the feeling aside, but it doesn’t quite leave.
“You will not entertain thoughts like that. Not my rider.” Calryx’s voice cuts through the emotion, firm, sharp, and unmistakably hers. “You will see the Mentor in a few hours. You will return.”
I exhale, pressing a hand to her scales. “I know.”
“Then remember it. Because I have no intention of letting you go.”
Despite everything, a faint smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
We’ve been flying for nearly an hour. The formation remains tight. The wind grows colder with every mile.
Then I see it.
Smoke.
It rises beyond the next ridge, black and thick and wrong. The kind that doesn’t come from a single fire, but from destruction. From siege. From suffering.
Greythorne Keep comes into view, stone spires cracked and scorched, sections of the outer wall already crumbling beneath the force of whatever breached them. Even from this distance, I can see movement below. Too fast. Too dark.
Shadow Forces.
Hundreds.
Calryx growls beneath me. Around us, the formation tightens. Riders lower into their saddles. Hands ready to release magics. Every eye fixes on the battlefield ahead.
And then, just as I adjust my grip, I hear it.
“I love you.”
I turn my head and find Thane already watching me across the distance. His eyes hold mine, unwavering. The wind tears at his dark hair, his jaw set. His entire body is poised for battle.
But in that moment, he’s just him. Thane.
I raise two fingers to my lips, press them into a kiss, and hold them out toward him across the sky.
“Now shields up, love,” he says, the bond lingering between us for a moment longer. “I’ll let you know when I need to communicate with you.”
I nod.
Then I draw wind around my mind like a veil, weaving it tight and impenetrable. The shield settles into place, a barrier of air and will, leaving only the smallest opening for Thane. My connection with Calryx remains untouched.
“If anyone else tries to breach it,” Calryx says, her voice edged with pride, “I will know. I will shut them out. And I will cut them off at the root.”
“Let them try,” I murmur.
Then Thane raises his hand and gives a single signal.
Strike.
The formation shifts instantly.
Calryx angles left, tucking in behind Xaroth’s wingtip. Aisling climbs above and to the right, taking high guard. Ruadhan, Faolan, and Muirgen fall into staggered positions behind us, each surrounded by other dragons and their riders.
The entire flight stretches across the sky like a living storm, twenty-one dragons locked into an attack pattern that moves with terrifying precision. No words are spoken. No orders are shouted. Every rider knows their place. Every dragon knows the rhythm of the others.
We form a spearhead with Xaroth at its tip. The rest of us narrow behind him in a bladed V, honed through training and trust.
Above us, clouds churn.
Below us, Greythorne burns.
Flame-scaled, obsidian, amethyst-winged, and bronze-horned dragons beat their wings in unison. Jewel-toned bodies flash through the dull light as they bank and adjust, preparing for the strike to come.
As we descend, the smoke thickens, curling into the sky in dark, twisting columns.
I see the battle below—the courtyard of Greythorne Keep is in chaos.
Fellborn swarm the stone paths and battlements, twisted masses of muscle and shadow. Their claws glint as they slash and tear through anything in their path.