CHAPTER FIFTY-SI
Verena
MORNING CAME TOO SOON.
The hours slipped by like grains through an hourglass, each one louder than the last. The beat never stopped; it lodged behind my skull, counting down to something inevitable.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I knew Ronan hadn’t slept either. If his countless movements all night didn’t give him away, then the sunken look in his eyes did. We had said nothing when dawn came thin through the clouds. He was up before the first full light touched the floorboards.
I found him where the air met the edge of the world, leaning against the balcony rail, staring past where the horizon wept into gray.
At the armoire, my reflection trembled, the mirror glass warping, caught between two realms. One where I stood breathing, and one where I was already lost. Behind me, blurred and waiting, was Ronan.
My hands shook as I tried to braid my hair, strands slipping through my fingers.
I cursed beneath my breath, gripping the roots until my scalp stung.
Warmth moved through the bond as smoke wound up my legs, curling over my hips and waist, grazing my cheek.
Then higher, until it found my hair, the tendrils twining each strand, pulling them into a single braid that spilled down my spine.
I turned to where he sat on the side of the bed, the sun brushing the black of his armor. The war-born prince had been restored, cold steel over golden warmth, the tenderness of the night sealed beneath leather and shackles.
His eyes lifted to meet mine, a hint of something unspoken there. Regret, maybe. Or the ghost of what he wouldn’t allow himself to say. And for a breath, a single, fragile heartbeat, I thought he looked at me as if he already knew.
My fingers skimmed my leathers. Not the tattered ones I had arrived in; Ronan had burned those.
These were a new skin, molded to every curve, supple and dark as volcanic glass, but when the light brushed across it, threads of ruby wavered, a pulse of blood beneath black stone.
At my sternum was his personal indulgence: a tiny dragon clasp, obsidian wings spread, emerald eyes gleaming. His sigil. His claim.
I crossed to him, a creature sharpening itself. With only one piece missing. He slipped from the bed before I reached him, kneeling, reaching for my boots. The bed made no sound as I sat, no give as he slid them on and over the arches of my feet with the care of a ritual.
Smoke slipped from his fingers, tucking in the laces, kissing up my calves as his lips followed. My hands found his arms, dragging him higher, his weight folding over me as our mouths met, soft, then greedy, then desperate.
A taste of what we might never have again.
When he broke away, he stayed close, forehead nearly touching mine, eyes steady and unreadable. “I’ll meet you back here when the smoke clears.”
All I could give him was a smile.
I hadn’t said goodbye to Willa or Aero. Aelora wouldn’t mourn my absence, only the inconvenience of it. My final glimpse before Ronan’s power folded around us was the desk at his back, where the journal still lay, and inside it, the note I left slipped between the pages.
He would find it when I was gone. He would read it when it was too late.
He was a part of me, one I hadn’t realized I was missing. But fate, that cruel, beautiful thing, had made sure I remembered him before it took him away.
Turns out, Elysian isn’t quite the rule follower we all thought he was. Or maybe our rebellion had rubbed off on him.
The few days Ronan and I spent in Ryuu, the others had apparently decided patience was optional. Elysian and Killian took it upon themselves to declare the last leg of the voyage to the border doable.
Somehow, they were right. Three days, one sleepless night, and not a single run-in with soldiers or beasts. The first miracle in a lifetime of near deaths.
When we fell through the sift, Elva crashed into my arms, her laughter drifting through the air like sunlight through fog. Her scent hit me quickly, all wildflowers and honeyed warmth, and for a fleeting second, I remembered what it felt like to be excited.
Ford barreled into me, sending us both sprawling into the grass.
“Ooh, look at you!” His eyes were wide with delight as he tugged at the hem of my new leathers.
“All fitted and brooding, how very Ryuu of you.” He turned his head toward Ronan, who was pretending not to watch.
“Tell me, are these custom sets only for your sexual partners, or can friends apply too?”
I bit back a laugh as Ronan’s hand stilled mid-polish along his sword, shoulders stiffening just enough for Ford to notice.
“Careful,” I murmured, brushing off the dirt his hands had left. “He might take that as an invitation.”
Ford winked. Ronan didn’t even look up as he exhaled, already sick of Ford and I together.
Wells had aged a decade somehow. His hair was cropped short, enough to make him look like a soldier instead of the boy I remembered.
It was the matching display of discipline shared by Elysian.
A grim shift had settled over both him and Killian.
Though I didn’t provoke questioning it at that moment.
I hadn’t seen Callum at first. He emerged from the tree line shortly after we landed, embers dancing in his palms, Inessa and Kanoa shadowing him.
The moment our eyes met, an impulse inside me twisted.
Everyone else must’ve felt it too, because they drifted back, giving us space neither of us had asked for.
When he finally wrapped his arms around me, it didn’t feel like before.
Not like childhood, or safety, or the years we spent building trust. It felt… off-balance.
He felt it too. It was obvious in the twitch of his jaw, the way his hold didn’t linger too long before the let go. Still, we smiled, tight, tired, and said we were glad everyone made it back alive. Then we turned toward the firelight, pretending that was enough.
Ford tossed a twig into the dwindling flames, barely any humor left in his voice. “Well, there goes my appetite.”
I didn’t expect anyone to be shocked when we told them Obrann had declared war. We knew it was coming, even if we were unaware it would be this sudden.
Killian stood a few paces away, fingers clenching around his dagger’s hilt. “He’s trying to force your hand?”
Ronan straightened. “He tried. And now he’ll learn what it costs.”
It wouldn’t have mattered even if Ronan had said yes to Luamis’ bargain. Obrann knew we were after the dark heir. Knew what would happen if we collected those stones before him, whether he knew they were fakes or not.
Elva’s lips parted. “Ronan—”
Elysian took a cautious step toward her even when Ronan didn’t look at her as he spoke. “Ryuu will bring slaughter before we surrender either of you.”
“Gods help us,” Wells muttered.
“They won't," Inessa spoke, blade steady in her hands. “They never do.”
Ronan turned, burned air following him, not saying another word. He hadn’t spoken of the memory I’d seen, the one that lodged itself into my skull and left a scar. And so, I couldn’t tell him, couldn’t remind him that this was how it had always begun. That Rhydan’s prophecy had already taken root.
I knew it wouldn’t have changed anything anyway. Ronan would scorch the world before bending to another king.
Ford whistled, only a pinch of his humor returning. “Well, I, for one, certainly love when we skip straight past diplomacy to the fun part.”
Elva glared at him. “How is any of this funny?”
He only shrugged. “It’s not. But I’d rather laugh before all my friends potentially burn and die terrible deaths.”
The wind stirred, carrying Ronan’s scent straight to me as he turned, eyes on Ford. “Then laugh now,” he said. “Because by dawn, the world changes.”
“They likely know exactly where we’re headed.” Ronan dragged a finger across the tattered map of Selvarra. “They may be waiting for us at Nyctom’s border. May be ahead of us. Or even beneath us. Either way, we prepare for anything and everything.”
Callum’s voice slid over his. “What if this is the diversion? What if their real target is Sahfyre?” His glow was gone, the once-golden fire in his eyes dimmed to tired amber. “They could gut the throne while we continue to chase the heir.”
“Sahfyre will hold,” Ronan said. “Aero has warned the other dragon clans. They’ve been summoned. They’ve been waiting.” He paused, the next words carried by gravity. “They will answer.”
They’ve been waiting for war.
“What about resin iron?” I asked. “If they use it, the dragons can’t fly or shift. They’ll fall from the skies.”
Ronan looked at me, and the calm in his stare was more frightening than any fury. “Then they’ll fight from the ground.” He folded the map, handing it to Callum, who tucked it into his pack. “Killian found a weakness in Nyctom’s wards. A tear big enough for all of us to slip through unseen.”
Killian gave a mocking bow. “You’re welcome.”
Ronan didn’t bother with gratitude. “Gather what you need. We leave now.”
The air thickened with unspoken dread. And as the camp moved, I watched Ronan. He wasn’t looking at any of them. Only at me.
He held my gaze, something in his eyes shifting—already seeing the truth I’d been trying to hide. Like he knew exactly what I was about to give up.
He went still, too controlled, locking everything in place.
Fuck. He knows.
One by one, our footsteps struck the ground, a drumbeat to whatever waited on the other side of the dark’s veil. All of us were cloaked in weapons and purpose. All of us fighting for something we believed in.
Elva moved beside me, her hand brushing mine, our shadows merging into one shifting form against the stone realm. Light pulsed beneath her skin, freckles sparking ivory.
“It’s getting stronger,” I said, watching the flicker grow. I prayed we wouldn’t need it.
Her lips curved, but not with joy. “Only a little. We’ve been practicing. Brick by brick, freeing it from its cage.”