Princess in the Ash
Aurora POV
The silver glow of the Argent magic faded beneath my paws, dissolving into the cool, damp air of the Mirror Lake. My legs trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer, draining output of weaving muscle and bone back together.
The wounded wyvern let out a low, shuddering exhale, her emerald eyelid drooping as the pain finally receded into a dull ache. She was whole.
‘You’re okay,’ I thought, resting my forehead against her snout for a brief, grounding second. ‘You’re safe.’
A heavy, scaly weight pressed against my flank, it was the Matriarch. I gave her a lick back. Then I turned to see the Young One, coming over, nudging me with a desperation that nearly knocked me over. She let out a high, whistling chirp, checking me for injuries.
I gave her a quick, rough lick on the nose as well to reassure her. ’I’m fine, you big baby. I’m fine.’
I looked up at the Matriarch. The massive, scarred leader of the flock was watching me with intelligence in her reptilian eyes.
She dipped her head low, a gesture of profound respect that rippled through the rest of the flock.
They weren’t just beasts; they were family. And they were my dear friends.
Relief washed over me so hard it felt like I was sinking into the moss.
But we weren’t alone.
The silence that followed the battle was heavy with unasked questions. I turned slowly, my eyes scanning the clearing.
The monster, a heap of obsidian plates and black ichor, lay dead a few yards away. If I had been alone... if I had to fight that thing with just the flock... we would have lost. I would be dead, and the Young One would be a smear on the rocks.
My gaze landed on him.
The Storm Alpha.
He stood near the carcass, his chest heaving, his sword, a terrifying blade etched with runes, held loosely at his side. He was covered in sweat and monster blood, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, but his golden eyes were locked on me with an intensity that burned.
He had come.
He hadn’t just come; he had brought his “circus.” The Red Wolf, the Mountain Man, the Scary Knife Lady, they were all there, standing in a loose defensive perimeter, watching me and the wyverns with a mixture of awe and confusion.
They could have stayed in the ruins. They could have let the “rogue” deal with her own problems. But they didn’t. When the scream tore through the air, he ran after me towards the danger.
My wolf, usually so guarded and prickly, let out a soft whine in the back of my mind. She missed her pack.
I took a breath, steeling myself. I knew what they had just seen.
I knew the silver light of my healing magic was a dead giveaway that I wasn’t just a scruffy stray.
Valdoran wolves regenerate; they don’t project restoration magic.
I had just exposed my biggest secret to the Storm Alpha and his pack.
But looking at the healed wing of my friend, I decided I didn’t care. It was a fair trade.
I stepped away from the wyverns. The Matriarch hissed a warning at the intruders, but I chuffed a soft command, silencing her. ‘It’s okay. They helped.’
I walked toward the Alpha. I didn’t slink. I didn’t crawl. I walked with my head high, despite the ash and dirt matting my fur. I stopped five feet in front of him.
He looked huge from this angle. He watched me, waiting, his body tense but not aggressive.
I sat down.
I looked him dead in the eye, holding his golden gaze with my own. I let my guard down, just an inch. I let him see the gratitude that I couldn’t speak.
‘Thank you.’
I dipped my head. It wasn’t a bow of submission, but it was a bow of deep, genuine respect.
‘You saved my friends, Storm Alpha.’
I held the pose for a long beat, acknowledging the debt, acknowledging the sync we had shared in the fight. When I lifted my head again, I offered him a slow, deliberate blink and a soft chuff, a sound devoid of the mockery I’d used at the bog.
This time, it was just us.
----
Kieran POV
The jungle around the Mirror Lake had fallen into a reverent silence, broken only by the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the wyverns and the settling of the dust.
The Rogue remained seated before me, her head dipped in that gesture of warrior’s respect, but my mind was reeling, replaying the impossible sight of the last few minutes.
I had seen magic before, Vampiric blood rites, Draconian fire, Fey illusions, elemental magic, magic stones, but what I had just witnessed was something that was supposed to be extinct. The soft, silver light that had knit bone and scale back together wasn’t just a party trick; it was a legacy.
“That light,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended, breaking the quiet. I took a step closer, ignoring the warning hiss from the scarred wyvern. “That wasn’t standard regeneration. That was Argent Magic.”
The Rogue lifted her head. Her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that stripped away the grime and the ash covering her coat.
“I was taught that the White Wolves were wiped out eight years ago,” I continued, the words heavy with the old guilt that always sat in the back of my throat. “I was taught that the Draconians and Vampires burned every last trace of your kind to stop that specific magic from spreading.”
She didn’t flinch. She just watched me, her posture regal despite the dust covering her fur.
“But that healing... the scholars called it Selene’s Blessing,” I whispered, the name of the ancient art surfacing from the history lessons of my youth. “Only one bloodline possessed a connection to the moon potent enough to project restoration of that level.”
I dropped to one knee, bringing myself down to her eye level. The air between us crackled, charged with the weight of a ghost story coming to life.
“Are you an Argentis?”
The question hung in the humid air. Behind me, I heard Silas suck in a sharp breath. The name was a legend, a tragedy written in blood and ash.
The Rogue stared at me for a long, agonizing heartbeat. Then, slowly, deliberately, she nodded.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. An Argentis.
Alive. She was living in the skeleton of her own capital, covered in dirt, reduced to hunting just to survive.
My mind raced back to the lineage charts I had memorized as a boy, before the war turned the world upside down.
The King and Queen had perished in the siege.
The three princes had fallen at the gates.
But there was another. A daughter. She was supposed to be dead too, but... it couldn’t be, could it?
“The youngest,” I murmured, my gaze tracing the delicate, tapered shape of her muzzle, the elegance of her build that even the rough disguise couldn’t fully hide. “The Princess.”
She stiffened, her ears flicking back slightly.
“Aurora,” I said, the name testing the air. “You are Aurora Argentis. Aren’t you?”
Shock flared in her eyes. The cool, detached mask she wore slipped, revealing a flash of vulnerability. She looked at me as if I had just spoken a language she hadn’t heard in a lifetime. She hesitated, glancing toward the capital city behind the waterfall, then back to me.
She didn’t nod this time. She simply closed her eyes and let out a soft, resigned chuff, dipping her head lower than before.
It was a confirmation.
I stared at her, stunned. The so called “little rogue” who had dropped me into a mud pit, who had sassed me, fought with me at the bridge, who looked like a scruffy scavenger... was the lost heir to the Forbidden Lands.
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, not a smirk of victory, but a genuine expression of awe. She wasn’t just a survivor; she was like a queen in exile, ruling over a kingdom of monsters.
“Well,” I said softly, the gold in my eyes softening as I looked at the white wolf hiding beneath the grey dust. “It is an honor I never thought I would have.”
I placed a hand over my chest, right over my heart, and offered her the bow due to an equal.
“I am Kieran Blackwood,” I introduced myself, my voice steady and clear. “Alpha King of Valdora. And I am very pleased to finally know who I have been fighting beside.”