Chapter 36
Solaris
My most precious daughter sleeps in my arms as I walk through the campus at Dragonis Academy.
Nova’s weight is warm and solid against my chest, her small wings tucked beneath the blanket, her breath coming in soft, even sighs.
The autumn sun filters through the ancient oaks lining the main pathway, dappling the cobblestones with shifting patterns of gold and shadow.
The air carries the scent of fallen leaves and distant wood smoke, mingled with something sharper—the acrid tang of magical discharge from one of the training yards.
Raven is up to something.
I can feel it through our bond—a hum of energy, a sharpening of focus that tells me her brilliant mind is working on a problem.
I need to figure out what she’s planning before she and her father melt the other continents into goo.
It’s not an exaggeration. I’ve seen what my mate can do when properly motivated, and now that we have Nova, that motivation has increased a hundredfold.
The students give me a wide berth as I walk across campus.
Their eyes track me with varying degrees of fear and fascination—the ancient dragon carrying a newborn, his amber gaze sweeping the crowd with predatory awareness.
I’ve grown accustomed to the reaction. A millennium of imprisonment has left its mark on my bearing, and even in this relatively peaceful setting, I cannot fully suppress the warrior I was raised to be.
Raven’s siblings wave at me from across the courtyard—a cluster of youthful faces I’m still learning to distinguish.
They rush over to see the baby, their voices overlapping in excited chatter, their hands reaching out to touch Nova’s blanket with reverent gentleness.
I keep forgetting how huge my mate’s family is.
After a thousand years of solitude, the sheer number of connections she maintains is both overwhelming and wonderful.
I offer polite nods and brief answers to their questions, allowing them to peer at Nova’s sleeping face, then excuse myself and continue toward Shadowcarve.
Raven should be there for her Art of War class with Callan.
The building looms ahead, its dark stone walls covered in centuries of climbing ivy, its windows glinting like watchful eyes in the afternoon light.
The sound reaches me before I see its source.
The clash of metal against metal rings out across the courtyard—sharp, rhythmic, violent.
Not the controlled strikes of a training exercise, but the full-force blows of combatants who have abandoned restraint.
My pace quickens, my arms tightening instinctively around Nova, my heart rate spiking with sudden concern.
Then I round the corner and see them.
Raven and Orpheus.
They move in a blur of black wings and flashing steel, their bodies weaving and striking with a synchronization that speaks of a lifetime of training together.
The twins are evenly matched—Raven’s raw power against Orpheus’s serpentine grace, her aggression against his patience, her fire against his ice-cold precision.
I can tell by the flexing of their muscles, by the sweat darkening their training leathers, by the intensity burning in their matching features that they are not holding back.
Each blow lands with enough force to shatter bone.
Each parry sends sparks flying from the impact.
The air itself seems to vibrate with the violence of their exchange.
Rather than interrupt, I choose to approach Abraxis and stand next to him at the edge of the sparring ring. The older male watches the twins with an expression I cannot quite read—pride and worry mingled with something deeper.
“What sparked her tae fight today?” I glance over at her nest father, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Nova.
Abraxis sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion. “Lily’s egg went dormant sometime last night.”
There’s a tone to his voice that sounds like regret. Like guilt. I file away the information but press forward—that news, while tragic, doesn’t explain the scene before me.
“That does nae explain why my mate is fighting with her brother.” I shift my position, moving to block his view of the ring, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Give me a straight answer.”
Abraxis’s jaw tightens. His eyes flash to his dragon’s, slitted pupils expanding and contracting with barely contained emotion. “I told Raven I didn’t approve of taking Lily with me when we head to the northern continent.”
“And what did my mate say tae that?” I arch a brow, already suspecting the answer.
“Watch me.” He looks away, and for a moment, all I see in his gaze is fear. “That’s all she said.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. My mate does not make idle threats. When she says watch me, she means it. Whatever Abraxis tried to forbid, Raven will make happen—spectacularly, publicly, and in a way that leaves no room for argument.
“How long have they been sparring?” I ask, watching as Raven executes a spinning strike that forces Orpheus to leap backward, his black hair whipping around his face.
Corvus walks over to join us, his silver hair catching the light, his silver eyes sharp with assessment. Ziggy materializes at his side—the displacer beast’s humanoid form tall and lean, his dark eyes tracking every movement in the ring.
“Since first period.” Ziggy answers my question, his voice carrying the strange harmonics of his kind. “It’s currently third.”
Three periods. Nearly four hours of continuous combat. The fact neither twin shows signs of flagging speaks to their conditioning—and to the depth of whatever emotion is driving this violent display.
The clash of metal stops.
Raven and Orpheus stand in the center of the ring, chests heaving, grins spreading across their faces.
Then they start laughing—full, genuine laughter that transforms them from deadly warriors into the siblings they’ve been since before birth.
They pull each other into a tight embrace, Raven’s black wings folding around her brother in a gesture of familial love.
“Getting a little rusty, Raven.” Orpheus’s voice carries across the courtyard, teasing and warm. “Maybe being a princess is making you soft.”
Abraxis cringes at the words, and I understand why. Calling Raven soft is like calling a volcano tepid.
“Maybe,” Raven’s response comes with a dangerous purr, her sapphire eyes glittering with amusement. “But that’s okay. I can shift and melt half the continent before dinner if I want to.” The threat is delivered with a smile, but no one listening doubts she means it.
Then her eyes lock onto our daughter, and everything about her transforms. The warrior melts away. The strategist disappears. What remains is a mother—radiant, tender, incandescent with love. She smiles so brightly that it makes my ancient heart stutter in my chest.
“Someone missed their mum.” I step forward and pass Nova to Raven, careful not to jostle the baby too quickly.
Nova’s eyes flutter open at the transfer, those mismatched irises—one solid amber, one half sapphire and half amber—focusing on her mother’s face. The baby lights up and purrs, a small rumbling sound that vibrates against Raven’s chest. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
Raven holds our daughter close, pressing her lips to Nova’s dark hair, inhaling that intoxicating newborn scent. Then she leans toward Ziggy, her smile widening.
“Nova, this is Pop Pop Ziggy.” She coos to our daughter in that soft, musical voice she only uses with the baby. “He’s going to be your coolest grandfather. He can vanish like your daddy, Keir.”
I watch Abraxis’s face contort at the designation—the acknowledgment that Ziggy holds a place of honor in Nova’s life that Abraxis, for all his recent progress, has not yet earned. Jealousy flickers across his features, followed by something more vulnerable.
“She’s beautiful.” Ziggy says, his dark eyes softening as he looks at Nova.
He holds his arms out, and Raven gently places our daughter in his grasp.
Ziggy beams down at the baby, his usual predatory edge completely absent.
It’s remarkable how quickly Nova disarms even the most dangerous members of our family.
“Why are you still mad?” Raven turns and faces Abraxis, staring up at him with that direct, unflinching gaze that brooks no evasion.
I watch his jaw clench, the muscles in his neck tightening. His eyes flicker between human and dragon—round pupils elongating into slits, then contracting back again. The internal battle plays out across his features for several long moments.
Then he lets out a huff of air. A surrender. “I’m just jealous.”
Raven pauses.
She stares at Abraxas with her mouth agape, head tilting to the side in that bird-like gesture of confusion she inherited from her father. She openly stares at him, processing the admission, weighing its sincerity.
Then she dives in to hug him.
“I’m so proud of you.” She purrs the words against his chest, kissing his cheek as she wraps her arms around him. The sound of her approval vibrates through the air, carrying genuine warmth.
Abraxis looks shocked for several moments—frozen in the embrace like a man who’s forgotten how to accept affection.
Then, slowly, his arms come up. He hugs her back and buries his face in her hair, his massive frame curling around her smaller form.
Slowly, Raven closes her wings, sliding them over his shoulders like a leather blanket.
He lifts his head suddenly, his expression shifting from surprise to understanding to something that looks almost like peace. Then he smiles—truly smiles, not the bitter twist of lips I’ve grown accustomed to seeing on his face—and lowers his head to enclose her in his own wings.
Nest father and daughter, wrapped in each other’s wings, healing wounds that have festered for far too long.