Chapter Forty-Six #2
My teeth clamp down as pressure spikes under my ribs. A crack—soft, splintering—above me something’s shifting. I reach again. Sweat rolls down my face, stinging my eyes as I pull harder. Another crack. Louder this time.
The roof.
The wood listens. No. Not just wood. Stone. Dust. But I don’t have Earth Threads, do I?
Still, I try again. Focus this time. And it moves. Threads thrum under my skin—darker, heavier. Earth. Raw and waiting. It’s there. And it’s mine.
Wood creaks below me as the black-eyed one’s move in closer, I roll back out from the wall, deliberately slow. Faking weakness. Threads flicking out—light, harmless. It works. The short one grins, steps another pace closer.
Unknotting more Threads, I ease back. Magic building and building.
More than I’ve ever held. It floods my veins, thick and wild, stretching beneath my skin like something alive trying to claw its way out.
My eyes pulse with it, hands won’t stop shaking.
It’s fire and stone and storm tearing through me, heat sinking into my bones like molten glass, pressure rising behind my ribs until it feels like my chest might split.
I can’t hold it much longer.
But they take one final step toward me—magic loaded, ready.
Then I move.
I throw my Threads wide—across the beams, the rafters, through the bones of the building—and pull. Hard.
Pain lights through my side. My legs give. Every nerve burns like it’s trying to escape my skin, but I don’t stop.
The roof groans. Cracks. Gives.
They look up.
Too late.
The whole thing comes down. Wood. Stone. Metal. Crushing both of them in a thunderous collapse.
Silence follows. Thick and final.
My ears ring, my chest heaves. I don’t move at first—can’t. Every part of me’s buzzing, overloaded, like my magic hasn’t caught up to the fact that it’s done. That I did it. Earth, I have Earth Threads?
Lungs heavy, limbs shaking, I take a breath and stagger forward, scanning the debris.
It’s a mess—still, the white robes stand out fast. The short one’s spine is twisted at a sickening angle, limbs crumpled beneath beams. The tall one has a metal bar clean through his chest. Splintered wood pins his one good arm to the ground.
They don’t move.
Dead. Both of them.
The sight should bring relief, yet something still twists in my gut, cold and sour, because I can see their faces now.
Eyes wide, black to the edges—but not unfamiliar.
The shorter one—red hair, I know that face.
It’s the cadet from our year. Finn fought him once during a Demonstration, he later volunteered for Serrane’s inner circle like it was a badge of honour.
But the other, the one with one arm... Heat rushes my face, but my fingers go ice-cold. What the fuck, it’s the baker? The father Strannt took, the one Talen was meant to take—
“Lyra!”
I spin as Rowan rushes toward me, wide-eyed, pale, his boots kicking up dust.
“Shit, are you okay?” he asks as he runs inside the shack.
My chest is still heaving. I taste blood and smoke, ribs throbbing, but I’m upright.
“Yeah,” I gasp. “I think... I’m okay.”
His eyes catch on the wreckage behind me. The robes. The bodies. Then he looks back at me.
“I don’t know where they came from,” I say, fast, words tumbling now. “But Rowan—their eyes were black, hollow. Like the dragon. Like those people you saw in Ashvale....”
Rowan stares, head shaking slowly like he’s trying to force the pieces into place. Like they’ll rearrange into something that makes any fucking sense. They don’t.
Something shifts behind him, through the window in the distance, I spot Ezzy weaving through the scrubland, heading toward us. He spots her too, shit, not now.
“We don’t have time for this.” I mutter, turning away, forcing myself to move towards the door. “We’ll figure it out later. We just need to find that Relic.”
Rowan nods, and we step outside. I turn to say something, but suddenly his eyes snap wide, fixed on something behind me.
“Lyra—”
A gust slams into my back, catching in my hair, ripping dust up off the ground. Then—
THUMP...
The earth shudders.
A low, vibrating growl hums up through the stone.
I turn.
And everything in me drops. My heart lurches, I try to swallow, but it sticks halfway.
The dragon towers over us—close enough to feel the heat bleeding off its chest with every breath. Close enough to see the moonlight catch on its obsidian scales—a living lattice of armour shifting with each inhale.
Its nostrils flare, teeth sharp, eyes black.
Its chest expands.
Fuck.
“MOVE!” I scream, shoving Rowan, body already in motion, legs screaming as we dive behind the half-collapsed shack. The impact hits hard—splinters, stone, dust grinding raw against skin—just as the world behind us erupts.
Flames roar past us, but the heat slams into me like a wall—liquid fire in my lungs with every inhale. Can’t see. Can’t breathe. Air thick enough to chew. I drag my arm over my face, coughing hard.
Another roar. Another wall of heat.
The dragon shifts, circling the building. Hunting.
“It’s coming around—” Rowan yells at my side.
“Fuck,” I gasp. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” I twist up to look at him. “Do you... do you know how to fight a dragon?”
He stares back, just as wrecked.
“Lyra! Rowan!” Ezzy’s voice cuts through the smoke from somewhere behind us.
My head whips toward it. No. No, no, she’s out in the open. Mid-run. Exposed. Halfway to the ruined building, about fifty metres away from us and fifty metres from it.
I want to scream, Don’t shout, don’t move, but it’s already too late.
The dragon turns, shifting toward her, massive body coiling with intent.
A deep rumble echoes in its chest, and then flames erupt from its jaws.
The blast doesn’t hit her directly, but the pressure knocks her clean off her feet.
She slams into the ground hard, skidding in the dirt.
Through the smoke, I see her try to rise—but her leg buckles and the dragon keeps stalking towards her. God, she doesn’t stand a chance.
Rowan’s head spins to me. Chest heaving, face just as white as mine. And I know, I know that look. My heart drops.
“No,” I whisper. “Rowan, don’t—”
He grabs my hand—tight, grounding—and squeezes once. “Go.” He orders. “Help her.”
Before I can say anything, before I can beg, he’s gone, running straight into the open.
“HEY!” he shouts, voice breaking. “OVER HERE!”
Wind slams outward, sharp as blades, as he flings his Threads wide—driving them straight at the dragon’s side.
No reaction.
The dragon just keeps pacing toward Ezzy. Step by step. Massive. Unstoppable. For a second, my lungs hold still, but then Rowan throws again—harder this time, magic cracking like thunder.
The dragon pauses. Turns. Finally. It paces toward Rowan with terrifying speed. Then, when it reaches him, it rears back, its wing slams out, hitting him full-force.
Rowan flies. Like a rag doll, and slams into the ground with a sickening sound I never want to hear again.
He crumples. Doesn’t move.
I roll forward, edging around the building, throat tight, heart hammering so hard I can barely hear anything else.
The dragon looms over him now—Smoke leaking from between its teeth, breathing hard, preparing for something worse.
It’s going to burn him.
Then—
A new sound.
Deeper. Heavier.
The wind shifts.
And a second dragon drops from the sky.
Larger, dark orange scales, eyes like molten gold. It slams into the earth between them—massive wings folding like a wall of fire and thunder. Dust surges outward. Even the black-eyed dragon reels back, hissing.
For a second, nothing.
Then they collide.
Flame. Claws. Teeth. They rip into each other like war itself, made flesh. Massive bodies slamming, jaws snapping at throats, wings shredding the air. Every impact shakes the ground beneath me.
The black-eyed one is faster, meaner—striking low, aiming for joints, eyes, under-scales. It gets the upper hand more than once, raking deep into the orange dragon’s side.
But the orange one, god, it’s power. Pure, overwhelming force. Every hit it lands cracks like thunder. Every roar shakes my bones.
They’re distracted. This is my chance.
I scan the battlefield—Rowan’s closer. Barely breathing. Blood pooling fast beneath him. Ezzy’s further, but alive—dragging herself forward, one hand clamped to her thigh, jaw locked against the pain. Still fighting.
I can only get to one of them.
Promise me something. If you ever have to choose between me and her... choose her.
The memory of Rowan’s voice hits like a truth I never wanted to face.
I promised him. God, I promised him.
My chest cracks open. I don’t move. I can’t breathe. This isn’t a choice—it’s a fucking execution. But I have no time.
So I run.
Toward Ezzy. Toward the one he made me promise to save. And it feels like my heart is being torn out of my chest as I go.
Behind me, the ground shakes—dragons still locked in battle. Claws screech across the dry ground, flames carving through the night sky. Smoke and sulphur burn the back of my throat. Then—a sound, wet and visceral.
Panting hard, I keep running but glance back just in time to see it: the dark orange dragon has the black-eyed one pinned by the throat. A twist. Another crack. Blood pours—dark, steaming—just as the black-eyed dragon goes limp. Dead.
I skid to a stop beside Ezzy, dropping to a crouch just as the orange dragon lifts its head. It turns—golden eyes locking on to mine.
My hand clamps around her, tight, and for a heartbeat, I think it’s going to finish us too.
It takes one step forward, exhales a low, guttural sound, then pressure slams into us as it launches upward—wings beating hard, rising into the night sky. Higher and higher, until it’s nothing but a shadow etched against the moon.
Silence, gone.
Ash still swirls in the air. Heat still rolls off the ground. But all I hear now are our breaths—mine and Ezzy’s—shaking, shallow, scraping through raw lungs. Every nerve screaming. But I have to move. Because across from us, Rowan isn’t.
Pain flares through my shoulder as I shove up, staggering toward him until a hand clamps down on my arm. Hard, holding me back. I spin, trying to tear myself free, but it’s a Citadel officer and behind him more shadows cut through the smoke—an entire patrol spilling in. Lucien at the front.
“Let me go!” I scream, thrashing in the officer’s grip. “Let me go, I need to get to him!” My Threads lash out, but Lucien’s are faster. His strike hits like a hammer. Magic slamming into my chest, knocking me clean off my feet.
The ground rushes up, punching air from my lungs. Lucien doesn't stop; he just strides past me. Straight toward Rowan.
“Please, please let me go to him—” Ezzy’s voice cracks behind me. She’s fighting her own officer, while half limping, half dragging herself forward.
Up ahead, Lucien drops to a crouch beside Rowan’s body. Checks for a pulse, then grabs the front of his jacket and hauls him upright like dead weight.
Rowan doesn’t protest, but his eyes slide open. Fingers twitch at his side, just once, a whisper of life. My heart kicks hard, he’s still there, still fighting.
And then his gaze finds mine. Not panic, just pain, and something else.
Lucien watches him for one heartbeat too, then moves. No hesitation. No mercy. Just purpose, pulling a blade from his belt.
“No!” The word rips from my throat. “No, no, he’s still breathing! I can help, I can—”
My magic surges. Hot. Violent. It lashes out, slamming the officer holding me off his feet. I break free and run.
“ROWAN!”
But it’s useless.
I’m too late.
Lucien moves before I’m even halfway there. One clean stroke. Steel through skin, and Rowan’s throat splits opens.
No sound. Not at first.
Just the fall of his body. The blood. The impossible stillness.
Then—Ezzy’s scream.
It rips through the air—raw, animal, the kind of sound that doesn’t fade, it burns. It vibrates through me, through everything, shaking loose what’s left of me.
My knees drop to the floor. “No, no, no, no” I didn’t get to say goodbye. Didn’t get to say thank you. Didn’t get to say anything. He was trying to help. He was trying to help and now—
Threads surge up before I even mean to call them, flaring white-hot and violent, bursting through me like wildfire. I can’t hold them back. I don’t want to. They crash through my skin in jagged spirals of light—air and water and fury—fire in my veins.
“You bastard!” I scream at Lucien as I hurl them forward. Every ounce of me, breaking.
I mean to kill him. I want to.
The magic hits—For a second, I think they’ll hold—but then something shifts, they rebound.
A shockwave slams into my chest, a violent, twisting kick of power.
It burns up my arms, knocks me flat on my back, and before I can drag in a breath, Lucien’s already there.
His hand clamping down on my shoulder, forcing me to the ground.
I struggle, twisting, clawing, but it’s like trying to fight a storm.
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small, damp cloth, and slams it over my mouth and nose.
I jerk back, try to twist free, but his grip is unbreakable. A deep inhale, and my Threads falter. Vision blurs.
Ezzy’s still screaming somewhere far away—her voice cracking, fading. I try to reach for her. For Rowan. For anything.
But the world tilts sideways.
And then—
Black.