Chapter 25
The following morning, Ashe leaves me with two other disciples—a woman, with clipped blonde hair and fierce sky-blue eyes, called Thaye and a young boy, with dark brown braids, called Wren.
The pair lead me through the ground level of Obdiris's temple, traversing narrow corridors, and out to a central glade just beyond the life tree.
Long-trunked oaks line the exterior of the hatchery and mossy green younglings muddle about, nipping playfully at one another.
"We clean their dens once during the midday feed and again just after dusk. Don't get too close to the mother Jadetails. This generation of hatchlings is still quite young." Thaye offers me a wood-handled shovel.
"Got it," I say, questioning every decision that led me to spending what little time in Storm we have shoveling dragon shit and crisp goat carcasses.
A full grown Jadetail lurks across the clearing, her deep citrine eyes tracking my every move.
One snap of those sword-sharp teeth and she could split me in two.
Jadetails, although fairly peaceful, won’t hesitate if provoked.
I don’t know much about the magic, gifted from Obdiris, they wield but excerpts from our histories report lightning strikes and instant death.
They’re not to be messed with, especially the mothers.
Wren and I step into line behind Thaye, closely following her path around a trio of hatchlings gnawing on splintered bones.
My stomach turns at the scent—incinerated flesh and boiled blood, but the three little dragons crunch contentedly on their meal.
One flicks its tail in warning as I cross a hair too close to its lunch.
"Easy there Misty, she's not going to steal your meal," Wren says, raising a palm. The hatchling huffs and wraps its claws over the chunk of what I can only assume is a sheep’s thigh.
"And no, you can't eat her. That's your third goat! Save some for the other younglings."
Thaye snorts and continues to the farther boundary of the grove.
"Misty can be a little protective with her meals, so I'd not tread too close if I were you,” Wren says.
Misty clicks her fangs at me.
"Noted.” With a feigned smile I force breakfast back down my throat, and scan the grove for Misty’s mother. Wren and I join Thaye, now leaning against a boulder, with a steel pail held toward us.
"Let's get to work. It stinks of dragon out here." She tosses Wren the bucket and starts for the nest beside us.
I expected a Jadetail’s nest to be...grander?
Crimsonclaws in Smoke's hatcheries prefer the caves along Terrafyre's eastern precipice, but Jadetail nests are simple mossy mounds of lichen and fallen trees.
I sink my shovel in, overturning moss and brown clumps of what I'm telling myself is just dirt.
Each scoop into Wren's pail draws tears from my eyes and churns my stomach. How in Astora’s name did I get myself here… ?
"Were you born into service, Wren?" I ask, closing my nostrils as best I can.
"Yep! Both of my parents serve Obdiris, like my grandparents and great grandparents before them. You'll come to find that most of us here are of multiple generations," he replies.
Thaye takes the now full pail from beside her and dumps its contents down the incline at our backs.
I throw a glance below, only to hurriedly return my attention to the nest. At the bottom of the sloping, forested hill is a ravine, rotting into the earth.
And the smell, Astora help me! Like putrid flesh and marshy swamp.
I can't imagine enduring it on a hot day. Thank the gods we’re nearly into the cold season.
"I'm sorry if this is forward, but that comes as a surprise. I thought disciples were sworn to a life without love," I say.
Wren wipes the sweat from his brow and we move on to the next nest.
"Obdiris doesn't require that oath of his followers, unlike the other gods. He offers us freedom to love any partner of our choosing," Thaye says.
Damn, Storm has been surprise after surprise.
I'm not sure what I expected of the faction or its people, but it's so different from Smoke.
There's a whole world, gleaming and brilliant, with cultures I know nothing about.
Suddenly, I feel small. Smaller than a mouse or a stone or a grain of sand in comparison.
"You're from Sovereign right, Nova?" Wren asks.
"I was raised in Smoke." I start for the third nest. Thaye eyes me with a narrowed gaze.
"I heard the people in Smoke are fireproof. Is that true?" Wren asks.
"Oh gods no," I say. "Made from basalt and ash, perhaps, but definitely not fireproof."
His brow knits as he holds out the pail.
"Made from violence and blood is more like it," Thaye bites, taking the pale before again tossing its contents down the ravine.
The rest of the afternoon continues much the same, clearing each nest and avoiding jumpy hatchlings.
By evening, my body aches and I’m nowhere near closer to an answer I seek.
A hot bath back at Yaris’s and a quiet evening in the study calls my name as I offer a quick goodbye to Thaye and slip back into the streets.
“Breathe Nova, let the water call to you as you inhale.” Yaris places a gentle hand on my shoulder.
We’ve been at this for the last hour, seated beside one another cross-legged.
The crease in my brow is starting to cramp.
No matter how hard I focus, how much I concentrate, nothing speaks to me, nor does the bowl vibrate or hum as Yaris describes.
“Fuck, Yaris, it’s not going to happen. We can’t force a connection if it’s just not there,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. He sighs and kneels over the bowl.
“These things take time, my dear. Patience is everything. You can’t expect to leap into the astral plane on your first few attempts. Astora’s servants took years to master this, you’ve been practicing for what, a week and a half?” He offers a comforting smile. “Just keep practicing.”
I click my tongue and leave the velvet floor cushion to grow cold. My knees ache as I straighten them. How long have we been down here? An hour or all night? It’s far more humid than normal, and the smell of the air is slightly more earthy. Another storm’s approaching, or it’s already arrived.
“One more time before we call it a night.” I run a hand over my cracking joints. “This time I’ll try standing. Maybe a change of position will help.”
Yaris nods and settles back into his seat.
My stomach grumbles in protest, but I swallow the late night sweet craving and approach the bowl again.
The swirling opalescent water inside refracts the flicker of candlelight like little amber stars on its surface.
If I squint, and level my gaze with the waterline, it’s almost like I’m seeing the cosmos themselves.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Yaris crosses his arms and nods to the bowl.
“Right.” I close my eyes. The cellar, the earth, the dirt, gods, even the wriggling little worms, fade with each drawn breath. I focus inward, leaving the sounds of a settling foundation and creaking beams to dissipate. All that remains is my heartbeat. All that withstands is my breath.
“Do you hear Astora’s call?” Yaris asks, and my spine nearly jumps from my flesh at his words. The sound is almost intrusive, like a screech amidst silence.
“No,” I snap, my eyes flying open. “This is pointless! I’m not meant to walk the cosmic plane. Maybe my mother did, but I’m not anything like her.”
The words pour from me before I can dam them.
Every suppressed fracture, ignored memory, and vicious thought rips through me.
They scream with tearless sobs, threatening to shred me apart strand by strand.
How could I have been so stupid? So hopeful?
Maybe learning astral projection would make me something more than a blood-trained killer.
But the truth is cold and blunt like a well-neglected axe.
I’ve fallen past the point of no return.
“I’m just a nobody from Smoke, made from violence and ash. How could I have even entertained this ridiculous training?”
Yaris places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Nova, look at me.” His eyes flash amethyst, just as mine do, when I finally summon the courage to meet his steady gaze.
“Maybe I’m beyond fixing, Yaris. The war took my home, my family…who’s to say it didn’t take me, too?” Tears fall from my cheeks before I can wipe them away.
“Oh, dear girl, come here.” He reaches for me, pulling me into an embrace of incense and warmth.
There’s no offering of noble advice or encouraging promises. He doesn’t wipe the tears from my eyes or push me to try again.
No, Yaris simply holds me, absorbing my pain as if it’s his. I sob and sputter and choke like a child until my eyes sting and my cheeks are blotchy.
“This isn’t some self-pitying bullshit, Yaris. I’m not a good person. I’ve killed and stolen my entire life. There’s nothing but darkness left in me. I don’t deserve Astora’s grace or fond memories of my parents…I don’t deserve your kindness, or a place in your home. I—”
“Nova.” He cups my jaw. “You get to choose who you are. Not those that made you. It takes time, and the cycle is incredibly difficult to break, but you decide when to break it. You decide who you’ll be when the sun rises.
Okay? Astral projection aside. Sovereign, and Astora, be damned.
You walk your own path, and I will always be here to offer my guidance if you want it.
I walked away once before, but I won’t ever again. I swear it to you.”
I swallow the choke in my throat and look at him.
The warmth of his promise is too bright, too undeserved, and I battle the instinct to recoil from it.
For a moment, I just breathe, dancing on the outskirts of the darkness I know.
His thumb rests on my jaw like a quiet tether I don’t pretend not to need.
“Why?” The word slips out of me, small and raw. “Why show me kindness? After everything I’ve done.”
“Because you’re family,” he answers with no tremor of doubt.
My chest rumbles. Family. Up until a week ago, I hadn’t thought I’d ever remember what that word feels like. A longing cramp settles in my side as Yaris tucks me into his shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest grounds me enough to keep the demons at bay.
Mocking me, the bowl still waits on the pedestal behind us.
Its surface dims with the dying candlelight.
When we started, I promised that if I stared long enough, focused hard enough, I’d finally slip into the cosmic plane.
Maybe I’d see Astora herself, or maybe my mother, maybe even a version of myself I could come to embrace. But that hope is gone.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever change, Yaris,” I whisper, wiping at my eyes. It’s pointless, because I’ve cried myself dry, but it gives my hands something to do besides shake.
“Then for tonight, don’t. Just rest.” His voice softens.
The words settle in me like cooled metal, heavy but holding shape. I let out a long, uneven exhale. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try again. “Okay.”
He gives me a small, knowing nod and in that subtle gesture, I feel something I haven’t felt since I was a child. Blurry and faded, it’s a safety that doesn’t need to be earned.
I withdraw from his embrace, smoothing the silver strands from my face.
A flicker at the corner of my vision catches my attention.
For a moment, no more than a breath, the bowl’s water shudders.
Not like a reflection, but something beneath its surface stirs.
A faint shimmer ripples over it, fading almost as quickly as it appeared.
“Yaris…” I blink, but it’s gone. Again only candle flame and stillness. My heart pumps an exhausted rhythm, and I extinguish the glimmer of hope seeding within me. It was a trick of the light or my own damned imagination, that’s all.
I draw my robe tighter around my ribs if only to keep myself from coming undone all over again. Yaris doesn’t comment or follow my gaze. If he saw it too, he offers no sign. The chamber is calm again, silent, and still.