Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
Thaelyn hadn’t slept, and the night had been a storm that refused to pass, filled with the distant screams of wind and the echo of horns from the southern range.
The Academy felt hollow, its usual hum replaced by silence that clung to the halls like fog.
Even the dragons’ roars had faded to uneasy quiet.
Somewhere beyond the mountains, battle had already been joined.
A knock broke the stillness. Iri pushed through the door, her braid loose, eyes red from sleepless worry. “They’re back,” she whispered.
Thaelyn was already on her feet.
The dragon fields reeked of smoke and scorched rain. Blackened grass stretched for yards where the heat of landing wings had burned it raw. Soldiers hurried between tents, carrying crates of medicine and bundles of blood-stained bandages.
Thaelyn stopped at the edge of the causeway.
Vornokh loomed across the courtyard, his obsidian scales dulled by ash. Steam coiled from his nostrils as he crouched low to let Thorne dismount. Commander Dareth slid from his dragon’s shoulder beside him, his leathers torn, a deep cut along his temple bleeding into the storm.
The sight of them, so controlled, so unbreakable, stripped bare by battle, sent a tremor through her chest.
General Solas stood waiting near the command tents, voice low and sharp. “Report.”
Commander Dareth straightened, wiping rain and blood from his brow. “We reached the Southern Outpost at dawn. The barricades were gone. Every wardstone drained.”
“Drained?” Solas repeated.
“Emptied,” Thorne said quietly. His voice was hoarse. “The magic was pulled from the stones like marrow from bone.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered officers.
“Creatures moved through the fog before sunrise,” Thorne continued. “Not wraiths. Not beasts. Shadows that fed on light. They tore through the first watch and vanished when the dragons descended.”
“They left this behind.” Commander Dareth dropped something onto the wet ground, a sliver of black crystal, jagged and glimmering faintly with violet fire. It hissed where the rain touched it.
Professor Velnari approached General Solas from behind. Her eyes widened. “That’s Riftstone.”
“Impossible,” Solas said. “The Veil’s been sealed since the last Aether War.”
“Then something is breaking it open again,” Velnari murmured. “Something is using the border storms as a passage.” Her gaze flicked toward Thaelyn before she could look away.
Thorne stripped his gloves, flexing blood-stiff fingers. His dragon’s dark eyes followed his movement, restless. There was something feral in the silence between them, something half-contained.
Kaen arrived then, cloak dry despite the rain, as though the storm itself bent away from him. Two guards flanked his steps.
“Kieran,” he greeted smoothly. “I see you returned with souvenirs.” His gaze fell on the black shard. “Charming.”
“It’s corruption,” Kieran said flatly. “Not ornament.”
Kaen’s eyes flicked to the sky, where the storm still churned. “Perhaps corruption is what we need. Power unbound by the council’s caution might end this war before it begins.”
Solas’s jaw tightened. “You speak of darkness as if it’s a weapon to be wielded.”
“And if it is?” Kaen asked, soft as a knife sliding free. “Would you rather let the kingdom burn for pride?”
The exchange drew murmurs, but Thaelyn barely heard them. Her gaze had caught on Thorne. He stood apart from the others, his head bowed slightly, water sliding from his hair into his eyes. He looked hollow, like the battlefield had carved something out of him.
She took a step forward before she realized what she was doing.
“Thorne,” she whispered.
His head lifted. For a breath, the distance between them vanished. His eyes, storm-blue, rimmed with exhaustion, met hers. There was a question there. And fear.
Then Commander Dareth’s voice broke through. “Prince Kaen, we’ll brief you once the wounded are tended.”
Kaen smiled thinly. “Of course. I’ll inform the King that the shadows have returned.” His gaze lingered on Thaelyn. “And that they seem particularly drawn to your academy.”
The dragon fields were now empty. Only embers and the low moan of wind through the cliffs remained.
Thaelyn waited near the stables until Thorne finally stepped out of the infirmary wing.
Up close, he looked even worse, with cuts across his knuckles, soot along his jaw, and shadows beneath his eyes.
“What happened out there?” she asked.
Thorne hesitated. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “They moved like smoke. No sound. When we struck them, they split apart and reformed. They fed on our fire.”
Thaelyn swallowed hard. “Fed?”
“Every time Vornokh breathed flame, the light went out. Like it was swallowed.” He looked past her, toward the mountains. “It wasn’t an army. It was hunger.”
The wind tugged at her cloak. “And the border?”
“Gone.” His voice was hoarse. “The Rift’s edge is spreading. You felt it first in the Trial.”
She shook her head. “No. That was something else.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it was the first whisper of what’s coming.”
He started to walk away, then paused. The torchlight caught in his eyes, turning the blue to iron. “They think I don’t hear it,” he murmured. “But the darkness speaks to the dragons, too. Vornokh won’t rest. He says the wind lies.”
Thorne’s silhouette vanished into the rain. Thaelyn’s breath stilled. Outside, thunder cracked so loud it shook the walls. For an instant, she swore she heard a whisper riding the wind, low, distant, familiar.
“We are not done. War has come to Asgar.”