Chapter Six
Merrin stands in his formal Citadel attitude. He’s missing his regal red robes, but my chest still seizes at the sight of him.
“Why would I go anywhere with you?” I bite out, shifting back a step.
“Well, for one thing,” he declares, the deep lines on his face creasing as his smile spreads. “I thought I could show you around. Show you where to get breakfast. Second, I can answer some questions. I know you must have them.”
At the sound of Merrin’s voice, Ahria suddenly decides she can hear after all and flies to my side.
“Ah, I see you two have been spending some time together already,” he notes. “I’m glad to see it.”
The casualness in his voice knifes under my ribs, but I keep my feet planted as I scan over him.
“You don’t have a dragon? You’re not bonded?”
“No.” He glances toward Ahria. “Never cared much for heights. I hear we have that in common.” Turning, his boots crunching against the dry dirt, he starts walking. “Won’t you join me?”
Fuck.
I don’t trust him. Talen, I can almost start to understand. But Merrin, he's the one barking the orders, pulling the strings.
Grinding my teeth hard enough to hear, I force myself to follow—not only because he has answers I want, but because Ahria is watching, and I can’t afford to look nervous. Unsure.
“You can start by explaining what this place actually is.” I demand, catching up and falling into step beside him.
Merrin nods, clasping his hands behind his back and keeping his posture easy and relaxed as we walk.
“Talen probably called it a Movement.” He looks toward the camp as we start circling the outer ring. “That’s the closest word we have. It isn’t a rebellion. Not yet. There’s no banner, no army, no single purpose everyone agrees on.”
A flicker of green speeds past us as Ahria darts ahead, gliding between the ropes securing the tents and people busy at work outside them.
Some hammer metal into shape, sparks snapping into the air with each strike. Others sit cross-legged nearby, threading leather through half-finished armour. No one idles. Everyone’s working. And every single one of them notices Merrin— offering a polite bow as he passes.
“The truth is,” he continues, dipping his head in acknowledgement to a woman passing by carrying a crate of cabbages. “There are about a hundred of us here now and we don’t all want the same thing.”
“Then why are you all here together?” My brows draw together.
“Well, some, like myself, want Aurelia restored. The throne reclaimed, old lines put back where they once were.” He takes a heavy breath.
“While others, like Talen, think the old world is what broke us in the first place.” Without breaking stride, he tilts his head toward me.
“Still, we unite, as this isn’t about deciding the future.
It’s about stopping what’s happening now. ”
“And what is that?” I push as we take a right and start weaving deeper through the canvas rows. Around us, the paths narrow as the tents press closer together in a wall of dull brown, but every now and then, small flashes of colour pop through between them.
Dragons.
Not many, but so bright and vivid.
One curled up, napping in someone's hair, their purple scales glinting in the morning light. Another tucked in a pocket, only the slow flick of a yellow tail giving them away.
Captivated, I don’t even see the stone until my boot catches on it. I pitch forward a step, arms shooting out before I catch myself.
“Do you know what caused the War of Ruin?” Merrin questions, retracing a few steps when he realises I’ve stopped.
Shaking my head, I drag my focus back to him, pulling it away from a bright purple dragon perched on a welder’s shoulder—its jaws parted, feeding a thin, precise line of flame into his tool.
“Thousands of years ago,” he starts, lifting a hand to gesture ahead as we continue walking, “the four Realms lived side by side. Things worked in harmony, with the kingdom of Aurelia watching over them. But peace is a fragile thing.”
Beside us, Ahria dips low, gliding past my shoulder before darting ahead again. I track her tiny form as Merrin keeps talking.
“About six hundred years ago, dragons came out of hiding and started to bond. Until then they were rarely seen—creatures of old stories and distant shapes in the north, feared, misunderstood, hunted.”
My skin prickles as I watch Ahria, so careless and free. The thought of someone hunting her...
“So bonding was the problem? Some bad people got too powerful?”
“Not quite,” Merrin replies. “The dragons didn’t choose at random. They only bonded with those they deemed morally worthy—warriors of proven honour, members of Aurelia’s royal line. People they believed would use their power as a force for good.”
We slow as a horse and cart rattle past, wheels grinding over the dry earth.
“But that is where it fractured,” he explains once the loud rattling fades.
“Power wasn’t shared. It gathered—concentrated in a few.
Imbalance grew between the Realms and envy bred among the unbonded.
” Unclasping his hands, he looks over at me.
“And even in the right hands… power has a way of changing you.”
“So that’s how the war started?” I ask, trying not to sound like an idiot. We never learnt any of this in the Outerlands. “Envy?”
He sighs. “In a way, yes. The war lasted for centuries until, finally, just over 300 years ago the heads of the Realms came together and created the Treaty of the Four Threads. Its magic severed every dragon bond in a single moment.”
I glare at him. “Every bond?”
He nods. “Most dragons died, unable to release their Threads without a rider. The remaining few vanished back into hiding and Aurelia fell soon after. Cursed by the Treaty and left to ruin. Then the Veins erupted, splitting the land itself. And from that fracture, the Citadel rose.”
As we keep moving, I run a hand over my hair, smoothing down the red curls that have fallen free.
God, there’s so much I don’t know, so many pieces, and I can’t figure out how they all connect.
“While I appreciate the history lesson,” I mutter, stepping over a crate of sausages, “what does any of that have to do with what's going on now?”
His wrinkles deepen as he huffs a quiet laugh. “Yes, I remember your mother was never fond of my long lectures either.”
My fingers curl at how casually he brings her up, but he only clears his throat and resumes talking.
“The Citadel was created to maintain order. Peace for those who signed the Treaty. But Serrane…” His tone hardens.
“He has never been content with that. He has always held power over the Innerlands—but recently, he has begun expanding his influence and seems to have his own agenda, beyond the Treaty.”
“Expanding how?”
“We believe he is harvesting pure Threads.” Merrin's lips pull thin. “From people. From dragons, leaving them only with darkness.”
“Harvesting? As in stealing their good Threads? That's why they’re all left with black eyes?” Blood drains from my face and my fingers go numb. After they took Finn, I knew Serrane was doing something—but hearing it confirmed out loud sends a cold shiver right through me. “Why? How?”
Turning a corner, Merrin's posture stiffens. “All we know is that he's building something in the Northern Peaks. An army. A weapon. We don’t fully know. Only that whatever it is… he is accelerating.”
“How is he even catching them?” My voice drops as I walk, watching Ahria loop through the air in front of us. “The dragons?”
Merrin inclines his head slightly. “Unbonded dragons are at their most vulnerable when they are nesting. Their Threads grow unstable as most of their strength is poured into the eggs. In that state, they cannot grow… nor can they defend themselves effectively. It is then they are most easily taken.”
“So why not just stay hidden?” I push.
“Because they cannot.” His focus drifts toward the mountains. “They can only lay their eggs in the Northern Peaks. The volcanic heat there sustains the eggs. Without it… their offspring will not survive. So if they wish to breed, they must emerge.”
We sidestep two men half-carrying a groaning third between them, his weight sagging as he drags one foot through the dirt. I glance back over my shoulder, watching as they disappear into a tent.
“We believe this is part of what led them to bond in the first place,” Merrin adds.
“And why they have begun to do so again. A bonded dragon is more stable. Their Threads, which would otherwise consume them, can be safely released through a rider. This not only extends their lifespan but also allows them to endure greater strain, granting them the means to grow and defend themselves when they are otherwise exposed.”
“So Reassignment?” My eyes narrow on him. “People who are being shipped off to defend us from dragons attacking?”
“A well-crafted lie. Serrane uses it to gather people and harvest their Threads without raising suspicion. By the time most are missed, their Threads are already his. The ones Talen reaches first, we bring here.”
A tremor runs through me.
Finn.
Oh god.
The image hits before I can stop it. Him out there somewhere, being held down, having the best parts of him torn away. Leaving behind only darkness.
No. There has to be a way to find him, to bring him back. Ezzy can’t lose both of them. I have to be able to save him. Because if I can’t… then why the hell am I even here?
“So why me?” I demand as we move through the growing flow of people. “What do I have to do with any of this?”
“This isn't a one-person war, but there are certain people who change what is possible. And I believe you're one of them.” Merrin’s icy blue eyes sharpen as they settle on me. “I saw the same potential in your mother. Not just strength, but range. More than we’d seen in centuries. I had hoped she would join us, fight alongside us. But I pushed her too hard and she left.”
“Why didn’t you just tell her about this?” I throw an arm out toward the tents, not quite buying what he’s saying. “About the Movement. About Serrane.”