Chapter Eight #2
Determined to change her mind, I follow, already opening my mouth to push again when a skinny recruit—no more than seventeen—rushes up beside her, all long limbs and breathless energy.
“Sorry I’m late,” he pants, doubling over. “But I’m here for the fire training.” He lifts both hands and crooks two fingers on each as he says the word fire.
Reya pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezing shut. “For fuck’s sake.”
“So you are training?” I push. “Let me tag along. You’re already doing it—I’ll watch.”
“I said no.” She doesn’t look at me as she huffs and addresses the young recruit. “I’ve got a killer hangover, so we’re walking. If I fly, I’m definitely going to throw up.” Then, without another word, she strides off, the boy hurrying after her.
A flash of green slips into the edge of my vision as Ahria drops from the tent and hovers at my side.
Screw this.
I need this training. I’m not letting this go. Setting off after them, I follow as they leave the camp and take a worn path around the lake.
Reya walks ahead, setting a pace just fast enough to be annoying. Every so often she glares at us—first at the recruit, then at me—her expression hardening each time.
But I pretend not to notice and keep going.
No one says a word. The only sound is the constant buzz of crickets in the midday heat and the occasional growl from my stomach. And the longer we walk, the longer the silence stretches, thick and awkward.
Ahria, on the other hand, couldn't seem to care less.
She loops through the air beside us, chasing after Reya’s purple dragon like it’s all a game.
The two of them weave through the long grass, diving low, vanishing, then bursting back up again with a scatter of startled crickets.
Squinting against the blazing sun, I wipe away the sweat gathering at my hairline as Ahria snatches one mid-flight, crushes it in her jaws triumphantly, before taking off after another.
Goddamn, it's hot. I should’ve brought my flask, or at least drank more water before we left.
The midday heat presses down relentlessly, baking my skin and the ground beneath my boots.
I’ve no idea where we are going or how long it will take to get there and I almost consider returning to the camp when Reya finally veers off from the lake and starts heading inwards, following a smaller path toward the foothills of the Southern Peaks.
At first, I don’t notice anything unusual—only more rock and scrub gathered at the base of the mountain.
But as we get closer, the details start to separate from the stone: narrow windows cut into the cliffs, doorways shadowed beneath overhangs, roofs tucked so close against the rock they almost disappear.
Only when the outer wall comes into view do I realise it’s a full settlement built into the mountainside, hidden in plain sight.
The path widens as we approach, then ends at a gate where a short, round guard stands waiting.
“Got two new volunteers for us today?” he grunts, as Ahria and Reya’s purple dragon settle onto the gate above him, their claws clicking against the metal.
“No.” Reya declares as we stop in front of him. “Just the one. She’s not entering.”
“Yes, I am.” I step forward, moving past the young recruit. Above us, Ahria peers down, her violet eyes pinned on me.
The guard’s mouth twitches, his creepy gaze rakes over both of us before settling back on Reya. “Freckles here would make you more money… the odds would be good. Plenty would pay to watch her.”
Reya mutters something under her breath, but doesn't move.
“Come on,” I protest before she can shut it down again. “I can do this. Let me do this.”
Reaching into his pocket, the guard pulls free a little velvet pouch, dangling it in front of Reya with a lazy shake—the contents give a soft, muffled clink.
“Fine,” Reya huffs, grabbing for it—but he pulls it back out of reach.
“You know the rules,” he taunts with a smile that makes my stomach churn. “After the show.”
Reya’s scowl deepens as the guard tucks the bag away and pushes the gate open. The three of us begin to move through—when Reya stops.
“No. Not you,” she orders the younger recruit. “You can go now.”
The boy’s mouth opens like he’s about to argue, but Reya’s already stomping off into the settlement. Left with no one else to glare at, he turns his unimpressed, pissed-off stare on me. Lifting one shoulder, I mouth a quick sorry, then slip past him and hurry after her.
Inside, though, the tension’s no better. People clock us as we pass—glances that linger a bit too long—but Reya doesn’t react. She keeps moving, while Ahria and the purple dragon fly ahead, slipping between the small, stone houses as the southern peaks press in on either side.
Every so often, a child runs out chasing after them, laughing—only to get snatched back or sharply called off by a parent. My brows knit.
What the heck?
No one’s screaming. No one’s grabbing weapons. No one even seems surprised to see two dragons the size of bloody rats flying around. How is that even possible? If they know—if this is normal here—why the hell doesn’t anyone in Ashvale know? Ravenscross?
Then again Outerlanders barely share water between settlements, let alone information. Especially not with the southern mountain folk. Bren used to tell me stories about them that made Kael appear almost reasonable.
Following the dragons as we wind deeper through the streets, a low hum of voices starts to build around us. It stacks fast—cheers, shouting—then suddenly a loud, collective gasp cuts through it.
As we round a corner, the source of the noise comes into view.