Chapter 13 #2
He looked past her, eyes landing on Thaelyn. “Get her to the healers. Then, ready the cadets.”
Thunder rolled overhead, black and red bleeding together across the clouds. Somewhere below, dragons roared in answer to the horns. Thaelyn’s breath shook as Velnari helped her stand. Her body ached, her palms scorched. She could still feel the storm inside her, whispering through her veins.
“You called me,” it said, faint and patient. “I will answer again.”
Velnari’s grip tightened on her arm. “Whatever that was, Marren,” she said, voice low, “the border may not be the only thing that’s been breached.”
The horns had not stopped. They echoed down the mountainside, deep and relentless, rolling through stone halls and echoing across the parapets. Each note sent vibrations through Thaelyn’s bones, as if the very mountain itself were calling its defenders to arms.
By the time she reached the lower courtyard, the world had changed.
Cadets sprinted between towers, black cloaks snapping like banners.
Dragon riders thundered across the sky in formation, their beasts streaking between the clouds, shadows cutting through mist and firelight. Smoke rose from the southern horizon.
Thaelyn stumbled to a stop at the base of the grand stair, pressing a hand against the cold wall for balance.
Her breathing came shallow, uneven. Every nerve still hummed with remnants of the storm she’d failed to control.
The memory of that voice, the one that had spoken through the wind, scraped along her mind like claws on metal.
“Do not release me.” She clenched her jaw, trying to banish it.
The air around the academy had changed. It wasn’t just the chill of the high altitude anymore; it was heavier, more watchful. Each gust seemed to move with intent, carrying whispers that made the hairs at her nape rise.
Professor Velnari’s orders echoed from somewhere behind her. “All cadets report to the Scorchfield! Full combat readiness! We must get your squads ready. We need more time, but invasions and war do not wait for time.”
Thaelyn blinked. “Combat?”
Darian appeared at her side, his expression dark. “You heard her. Border Patrol’s been hit by the Darkwinds. They think it’s a preemptive strike.”
“By who?”
He hesitated. “They don’t know. But it’s coming from the Rift Lands, where the storms never die.”
The southern border. Her stomach turned cold.
Commander Dareth’s voice carried from the top of the steps, firm and resonant even against the chaos. “Cadets, this is no drill. The borders are under attack. You will report to the Scorchfield and prepare for live combat instruction. We fight when commanded. We move when told.”
Beside him stood Prince Kaen, pristine and untouched by the storm’s residue, his cloak untouched by rain. His eyes gleamed like cut glass as they swept the crowd.
“This,” Kaen announced, his voice smooth and carrying, “is the reason we train. Our enemies wait for weakness, and today, they’ve tested our vigilance. They will find none.”
The crowd hushed.
“Nephew,” Commander Dareth said tightly, appearing at once. “You were not expected.”
“I couldn’t resist witnessing the rebirth of greatness,” Kaen said, eyes fixed on Thaelyn. “Tell me, Professor, does the wind often answer with fire and shadow?”
Syra Velnari didn’t respond. She was staring at Thaelyn, her face pale, lips trembling. “That wasn’t Air alone,” she whispered. “Something else reached for her.”
Kaen’s gaze shifted, settling on Thaelyn. For the briefest moment, his smile returned, soft, almost gentle. But there was poison beneath it.
“Especially,” he said, his tone a blade sheathed in silk, “when our own power stirs the storms that draw them.”
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. Thaelyn’s face burned.
Commander Dareth turned toward him, jaw hard. “Kaen—”
Kaen lifted a hand. “Merely an observation. Surely, even you must see the coincidence.”
Velnari appeared beside the Commander, soaked to the skin, her expression carved from steel. “Coincidence or not, we’re wasting time. The Darkwinds are moving faster than predicted.”
Kaen’s smile faltered, but only slightly. “Then I trust your cadets are ready.”
“Readiness,” Commander Dareth said sharply, “is forged in battle, not on a dais.”
“Then perhaps,” Kaen murmured, his eyes still on Thaelyn, “we should see what they’re truly made of.”
He turned and strode away, trailed by guards, leaving silence in his wake.
Velnari exhaled through her nose, then looked to the Commander. “He’s baiting you.”
“Let him,” Commander Dareth said quietly. “But he’s right about one thing: we need them ready.”
His gaze fell on the cadets, young, wind-tossed, faces pale and wide-eyed beneath the rising stormlight.
“Report to the Scorchfield by dawn!” he called. “Thorne, gather your squad. This is what we have been training for all these nights. We will join up with Brynnek and Rory’s patrol. I need your team back here at dawn for combat training for the first-years.”
The courtyard erupted into motion once more.
Thaelyn followed her squad through the arches that led toward the lower training grounds, legs heavy, pulse unsteady. Ahead, the Scorchfield’s half-dome of glass gleamed faintly in the fading light. Beyond it, the roar of dragons echoed from the flight terraces.
She felt hollowed out, not from exhaustion, but from the ache of something left unfinished.
Vaeryn caught up to her, eyes grim. “They’re saying the Darkwinds are spreading along the border outposts. Three riders down.”
“Already?” Iri asked, breathless. “How did they breach the wards?”
“No one knows,” Vaeryn said. “Some say they weren’t breached, they were invited.”
Thaelyn slowed. “What does that mean?”
Vaeryn looked at her, then away. “It means someone’s guiding them.”
The words hung like ice in the air. Thaelyn froze, eyes darting toward the storm-dark sky above the Scorchfield dome. Somewhere in the sky, she saw a red cast of light. She thought she saw movement unfurling, darker than shadows.