Chapter Twenty-Eight
RONAN
Ihad been attempting to solve a problem that no longer respected logic.
The plans for the ritual to fix the wards were spread across the low table in the treehouse, maps of Lyoness marked with inked lines, revised anchor points, notations in the margins where Nerissa and Nuva had argued over placement and structure.
I had redrawn the configuration three times already, adjusting for altitude weaknesses, for volcanic interference, for the strain of new magick on an old framework.
None of it was holding.
The realization sat heavy in my chest. I had spent weeks trying to solve this correctly, carefully, intelligently, and the island had reached the point where none of that mattered anymore.
I put down my pencil and considered getting some lunch. The sun was high and warm against my scales. Where had everyone gone?
A female draken’s distress call shrieked through the air, like clawing raking down my spine.
I flinched and nearly snapped my pencil.
Not Wren. It wasn’t Wren.
I dove out the window, flying toward an already large group down by the lava tubes.
What was going on? I adjusted my descent, circling once to take in the full scope before landing.
The tension was immediate, visible in posture and spacing.
Canavar stood forward, weight pitched slightly ahead as if he expected violence at any moment.
Nasi remained close to him, though less rigid, his attention split between the crowd and the male at the center of it.
Veskor. Of course.
As I landed, a low, unfamiliar vibration rumbled through the ground.
Oh no.
Not now. We were not ready. The anchor calculations were unfinished, the stress tolerances still theoretical. We were running out of time faster than Nerissa or I could solve the problem.
Maybe I’d imagined it. But the sensation deepened, spreading outward, becoming something more tangible. I landed next to Wren and Kieran, and Benedict shot me a knowing look as another tremor raced through the ground.
I immediately turned and scanned the horizon. The volcano loomed in the distance, unchanged in shape, but not in presence. There was a pressure around it now, a distortion in the air that suggested movement beneath the surface.
My stomach tightened. I knew that pressure. The wards were straining. If they failed completely, Lyoness would not survive the collapse intact.
Another tremor followed, slightly stronger.
Nerissa sighed. “It’s time.”
Fear grabbed hold of me. I hated the feeling instantly. Fear made people irrational. Fear made them hesitate. The last time I had hesitated where Wren was concerned, people had gotten hurt.
We did not have time to waste gathering papers. The plans would not matter if the island destabilized before we could implement them. No amount of planning or reading could solve this. We would simply have to act.
The ground trembled again, stronger.
The shift passed through the clearing in a visible ripple. Several drakens staggered, adjusting their footing. A low murmur spread, unease replacing confrontation as attention shifted downward.
A small warble of distress was audible over the crowd. This time, it was Wren. Kieran, Benedict and I moved to her immediately. She was not standing as she normally did in moments of tension: centered, steady, commanding.
One hand pressed low against her stomach, the other gripped Benedict’s arm with enough force that I could see the strain in her fingers. Her posture had tightened, her breathing shallow in a way that immediately redirected my focus.
This was not simply discomfort–this was strain.
A cold certainty slid through me. Something was wrong beyond the tremors. Wren was trying too hard to remain standing, trying too hard to look unaffected.
“Ronan,” Benedict said as I approached, his voice clipped. “You felt it?”
“Yes,” I replied. “It’s not isolated. The tremors are increasing in frequency. If the pattern holds—”
Another tremor cut through the ground, sharper this time. Wren inhaled sharply, her body folding slightly forward before she caught herself.
“What are you feeling?” I asked, shifting my attention fully to her.
Her eyes flicked to mine, something strained and uncertain behind them. “Pressure,” she said. “Heat. It’s … wrong.”
Wrong. The word echoed unpleasantly in my mind. The ritual relied on balance, stability, and controlled flow. There was nothing stable about a laboring draken female in the middle of a ward collapse.
Nerissa moved then, stepping forward with a decisiveness that cut through the lingering tension of the clearing. The blood-marks along her arms were already active, faint lines of gold tracing beneath her skin.
“We don’t have time to debate this anymore.” Her gaze moved briefly to the volcano, then back to us. “Now. It has to be done now.”
There was no hesitation in her voice. No room for argument. I nodded once, the conclusion making sense.
“The anchor points are ready,” I said. “But we need the central conduit—”
“I know,” Nerissa cut in. Her gaze shifted. Not to Benedict, not to me, but to Veskor.
The shift in the clearing was immediate.
Every head turned toward him.
Nerissa did not soften the moment. She stepped directly toward him, closing the distance that no one else had been willing to cross.
“I need you,” she said plainly.
Veskor blinked, clearly not expecting the request. “What?”
“I know you don’t have any experience with bloodmagick, but you’ve navigated broken wards.
You’ve survived where others wouldn’t.” Her voice did not waver.
“You’re the best candidate we have. And to be honest, the only one expendable.
” She turned to Wren, already anticipating the blowout.
“You are in active labor. You can no longer be the anchor.”
The silence that followed was not disbelief. It was shock.
Wren’s reaction was immediate. “No.” The word came out sharp, almost reflexive. “That position is the most dangerous,” Wren continued, her voice tightening as she stepped forward. “If something goes wrong—”
“It will,” Nerissa said calmly.
Wren faltered. “That’s exactly why he shouldn’t—”
“I’ll do it.” Veskor had straightened fully now, the earlier tension in his posture replaced with something else entirely. Not confidence, not quite, but a certainty.
“I’ll do it,” he repeated. “You are right. I do not belong here. If someone is to die, it makes sense it should be me.” He shot a glance at Nerissa. “It’s only fair.”
Something twisted sharply in my chest. He said it so easily. It was as though his death had already been agreed upon by everyone present—including himself.
There was no hesitation in him.
No visible fear.
“I don’t care about the risk,” he added, his gaze flicking briefly toward Canavar before returning to Nerissa. “Just tell me where to stand.”
Canavar swore under his breath. Nasi’s expression tightened, his attention sharpening as if reassessing Veskor entirely. Benedict shifted slightly in front of Wren, instinctively placing himself between her and the unfolding decision.
Wren shook her head. “We don’t even know if—”
The ground split beneath us with a violent crack.
The clearing lurched, several drakens losing their footing entirely as the shockwave rippled outward.
The sound of stone grinding against itself filled the air, followed by a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to originate from the center of the island.
Wren cried out, almost crumpling to her knees. Her distress call was a high keen that made every draken twitch. Her grip on Benedict’s arm tightened abruptly, her other hand pressing harder against her stomach as her knees buckled.
I moved instinctively, reaching her just as she began to fold.
For one terrible moment, all I could think about was failing her again.
“Wren,” Benedict said sharply, catching her other side.
Her breath came in uneven pulls now, her focus fractured in a way that had nothing to do with the mountain.
“This isn’t—” she started, then stopped, her expression tightening with sudden realization.
I recognized it a moment later. Not through experience, but observation, patterns, and timing. This was not a reaction to the tremors.
“This is a really bad time,” she whispered, though her tone suggested she already knew that was no longer relevant.
Another contraction hit her—there was no other word for it—and she gasped, her body tensing fully this time.
Benedict’s expression shifted instantly, all attention narrowing to her.
“No,” he said under his breath. “Not now.”
Nerissa exhaled once, sharply.
“Well,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the chaos, “that answers the timing.”
There was no time left to debate.
No space for careful planning.
I straightened, the weight of the situation settling into something clear and unavoidable.
“All right,” Benedict said, his voice steadier than I felt. “Then we proceed immediately.”
My pulse hammered hard enough to hurt. Every outcome branching through my mind ended in risk, blood, or loss. There was no safe solution left.
My gaze moved to Veskor. “You take the central point.”
He nodded once.
No hesitation.
Around us, the island continued to tremble.
And for the first time since I had begun studying the failing wards, the solution was no longer theoretical.
It was happening.
Now.
Wren was going into labor. And for the first time since arriving on Lyoness, I found myself staring at a problem intelligence alone could not solve.