Chapter 40 #3
On the way out, they walked slower, fingers linked, feet careful.
Thaelyn looked back once at the valley before the bend swallowed it.
The field rippled as the wind passed, a thousand pale hearts bowing and rising in the same breath.
At the seam of the rock, Thorne stopped and turned her to him again.
He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but could not find a way to put it into words that matched the way he was feeling.
She decided to save him. “I know,” she said, and lifted onto her toes to kiss him. He cupped the back of her head. The kiss tasted so sweet. When it ended, he rested his brow to hers.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For letting the boy I was stand beside the man I am trying to be.”
She told him the truth. “They are both you. I accept all of it.”
They stepped back into the shadowed seam, then out into the world that expected their names and demanded their time.
The path narrowed to let them pass. Far above, the dragons made a last lazy circle.
As they walked, the sound of the stream faded until it was only a memory stitched to the inside of her heart.
It would be there when she needed it, the way his promise waits.
At the last bend, Thorne stopped her once more. He took her hand and pressed it to his chest, over the steady drum that had learned a new rhythm here. His eyes were serious and full of light.
“When the next storm comes,” he said, “and it will, I want you to remember this place and my promise to you. Remember that I chose you here. Remember that you made me enough.”
She caught his face in both hands. “Then remember that the choosing goes both ways, and that enough is not a finish line. It is a home.”
They mounted their dragons. The mountains kept their secret. The field kept their dreams. The day moved forward, bright and unafraid. Words that were once spoken plain, beneath the watching sky, build a fortress that no enemy can destroy.
Their dragons touched down in staggered thuds and powerful gusts, wings folding. Dust spiraled as cadets watched. Laughter rang from several second-years. Garric patted Brynnek on the shoulder, murmuring something that made Brynnek roll his eyes.
Then, silence fell. General Solas stood at the edge of the field. Her presence was like a blade sheathed in velvet. Tall, bronze-scaled armor with navy trim, her silver hair bound high in a braid, and her eyes as unreadable as ancient tomes. Every cadet dropped into a line within seconds.
“Commander Dareth,” she said crisply, her voice clear across the open ground. “Walk with me.” He joined her, and the two approached the cadets together.
“Congratulations on your flight drills, cadets,” she said without preamble. A hush crept down the ranks. “There are confirmed events of organized uprisings along the eastern borders,” General Solas continued. “Second-year units will begin additional patrol rotations.”
She turned to the first years. “You are not exempt. Effective immediately, first-year cadets will conduct sky patrols along the perimeter of the Asgar Training Academy and the mountain ridge with a senior officer in charge. Your dragons are now cleared for live alert status. All patrol logs are to be filed by the end of the day.”
There was no celebration in that order—only the weight of purpose.
“Finally,” she added, stepping forward slightly, “Prince Kaen will be landing later today, on dragonback, accompanied by his royal elite riders. He is here on official business.”
The silence cracked with tension.
“Be prepared. All cadets are dismissed for two hours to gather gear, weapons, and full kits. You leave for assigned patrols before sundown.”
As the cadets began to scatter, Thorne stepped beside Thaelyn again. Their eyes met. Whatever joy lingered from earlier had quieted beneath the gravity of what was coming.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” Thorne said to Garric, who nodded and walked off toward his other friends.
Thaelyn reached for Thorne’s hand without speaking.
Together, they walked toward the edge of the flying field.
Voices were rising in bursts of excitement and nerves.
Today wasn’t just another drill; it was a real patrol.
Steel buckles clicked shut, leather was cinched, and the low thrum of dragon hearts beat like war drums in the air.
It was a time for flight, for duty, and for parting paths, at least for a while.
Thorne tightened the buckles of his armored shoulder harness with practiced efficiency, his gaze focused and jaw tense.
His tunic lay open at the throat, revealing a glimpse of the swirling shadow-mark that traced the curve of his collarbone.
Vornokh stood behind him, tail swishing in short arcs as his wings unfurled against the wind.
The massive black dragon exhaled a plume of smoke through his nostrils and grumbled deep in his chest, the kind of sound that made nearby first years glance over with unease.
Across the field, Darian adjusted the straps on Kaeroth's saddle, whistling low under his breath. “Remind me again why it’s always the second years who get the glorious assignments? Border tension, possible uprisings, and maybe even a skirmish. Sounds like the kind of thing we should be getting a commendation for.”
“Maybe don’t get shot this time,” Garric muttered as he tightened the straps on his own gear. Tarken was looming silently beside him. “And keep your dragon from eating any livestock on the way.”
Kaeroth gave an offended snort, tossing his red-scaled head.
Nearby, Rowan stood with his orange-scaled beast, Tarken, checking the twin daggers at his belt.
His usual smirk was replaced with grim focus.
Sorren, silent as ever, adjusted the cloak around his shoulders before lifting a gloved hand to stroke the muzzle of Mirra.
The pair were shadows, even in daylight, there and not, like breath drawn and never exhaled.
Garric approached first, already strapped in and checking the satchels on his saddle.
“We're clear on the route,” Garric said, voice low. “If the terrain reports are right, there’s been no real movement across the Black Ridge. But Solas is right to be uneasy. Something’s shifting.”
Thorne nodded, jaw tightening. “Eyes need to be sharp and fire ready.” Thorne stood near Vornokh’s massive forelimb, one hand resting against the black dragon’s thick shoulder. The beast’s golden eyes flicked toward him with quiet understanding.
This one, you do not want to leave.
Thorne didn’t respond aloud. His jaw was already set.
He watched the group across the field, Thaelyn and her squad readying gear with practiced rhythm.
Nyxariel moved like moonlit smoke behind her, head low, eyes bright with barely-leashed tension.
Darian approached from the side, sliding his wrist blades into place.
“You good?” Darian asked.
Thorne nodded once. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You’re lying.” Garric joined them, helmet under his arm. “You haven’t stopped looking at her since we arrived.”
“I am worried about her. I know she’s got Brynnek,” Thorne said, but his eyes didn’t move from Thaelyn. “I trust him. Doesn’t mean I like having her go on her own with the first-years.”
Garric smirked, clapping him on the back. “Then say something, before you both take off in different directions.”
Behind them, the field buzzed with organized chaos. Iri, Feyra, and Orion secured straps over their saddles, while Rhys passed out signal flares and magic dampeners. Brynnek stalked up and down the lines of first-year riders, barking orders like he'd been born to command.
“Check every clasp and tail rig. If I find one rider sliding off in midair because you were too lazy to triple-check, you’ll be dead.”
Thaelyn stood before Nyxariel, who had crouched low and watched the scene with glowing eyes, clearly agitated by the absence of her mate.
Thaelyn’s hair had been hastily braided to one side, a few rebellious curls falling over her brow.
She wore dark flight leathers cinched tight, bow and short blade slung across her back.
Her daggers were loaded in the sheaths of her flight leathers.
Feyra helped Rhys with a twisted strap, while Orion and Iri double-checked their weapons.
Their movements were more hesitant than the second-years, more careful and deliberate, but no less determined.
From across the field, Thorne’s gaze tracked her every move.
As Brynnek stepped away to finish inspecting his unit, he barked orders with a voice that was no nonsense. His brown dragon, Tieren, gave a low grunt of approval behind him as the cadets snapped to attention.
Thorne broke from his squad and crossed the field in long, purposeful strides. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew the weight of war and the sweetness of things worth protecting.
“Brynnek,” he called, just loud enough for the man to hear. Brynnek turned, brows lifted, expectant.
“Take care of Thaelyn,” Thorne said low, only for him to hear. “I thought of requesting she fly with my squad, but she’d be furious that I did, and she needs to learn to find herself outside of me. Watch Nyxariel. She doesn’t like being separated from Vornokh and can get agitated easily.”
Brynnek nodded once. “We’ll keep both of them in the air and clear-headed. You have my word.”
Thorne turned. Thaelyn was adjusting the vambrace on her arm when he reached her. Her brows arched in surprise as he drew near, and then a faint smile played at her lips.
“I thought you were already mounting up,” she said.
“I was. Then I remembered I forgot something important.” Thorne took her hand gently, pulling her a step closer, then leaned in and kissed her. Slow, warm, and unbothered by the dozens of cadets watching them from across the field. His hand slid to her waist, fingers brushing the edge of her belt.
Thaelyn blinked up at him afterward, cheeks flushed. “Well,” she murmured, “that should keep me warm through the northern winds.”
He stepped back with a smirk. “I’ll see you after. Stay above the stormline, keep your eyes sharp. Don’t let Rhys talk too much; it’ll make you slow. Brynnek knows what he is doing,” Thorne said, drawing close. “He knows not to let anything happen to what’s mine.”
She rolled her eyes. “So bossy. Just go, Dareth, before I start missing you. You look too good in those flight leathers, so as you leave, walk away real slow, so I can take in what is mine too.”
He chuckled low and brushed a final kiss to her forehead before turning sharply and crossing the field.
Garric gave him a half-mocking salute as he approached. “Very subtle, Lieutenant.”
“Wasn’t trying to be,” Thorne said with a little grin. “Mount up, everyone.”
He vaulted up Vornokh’s side with one fluid motion, landing in the saddle as Garric and Sorren mounted beside him. Darian was already on Kaeroth, spinning a blade in his fingers like he needed a distraction.
“Nice timing,” Garric called, grinning. “Want us to fly in a heart shape formation for your next goodbye?”
“Shut up,” Thorne muttered, adjusting his reins. His smile gave him away.
One by one, the dragons surged to their feet, wings unfurling like banners of flame and wind. The air buzzed with rising energy as the riders took their positions.
Brynnek called to his group, “Squad two, mount up. We sweep west, keep an eye on the ridge paths, and any ground movement.” Tieren crouched low, and Brynnek climbed into the saddle, already issuing flight formations.
Nyxariel spread her wings with a sound like thunder cracking, lifting her head to the sky and glancing once toward Vornokh, who rumbled a deep, reluctant goodbye across the bond.
Though no words passed between them, all dragons on the field felt the lingering thread between the two ancient beasts, a bond not meant to be stretched.
Then, like a tide rolling outward, the air exploded into movement. Dragons launched into the sky, their wings sending great gusts of wind across the field. Dust spiraled upward, cloaks snapped in the storm, and within moments, the sky was filled with flashes of scale and shadow.
Thorne led his squad in a tight diamond formation, Garric beside him at command, Darian and Sorren just behind, and Rowan circling the rear. Their path cut eastward toward the rising cliffs, where rumors of strange movement had reached the council.
Behind them, Brynnek’s command group rose higher, Thaelyn and Nyxariel breaking the first wave of clouds like storm-born royalty. Feyra’s wind-blessed dragon danced beside them, with Iri, Feyra, Orion, and Rhys close behind.
From the ground, Commander Dareth stood with arms folded, watching them disappear into the brightening sky. The real patrols had begun.