“I’m a relief?”
“You understand the surface. I’m counting on you to bring them back to reason.”
I shake my head and turn right, slipping into one of the alleys that ring the military institute—a vast complex of more than a dozen flight halls and training grounds, a museum, and an entire floor devoted to molding the intellect of our future dragon army. I never tire of the intricate reliefs carved into its walls, each panel capturing moments from our history even before the descent into Draethys. One could spend a day studying these murals, learning how we once stood as gods. Once. Not anymore.
“The world above has changed,” I say to Anees. “They’vebecome vicious, inventive, relentless. You know how they tapped into my essence—imagine what the magicals could do with wounded dragons. If they shoot one of us down, I’ve already shown how that can spark an entire military program.”
Anees nods, grave. “I know. We can’t just march upstairs and claim what was ours.”
I steer us deeper into shadow, aware of the curious glances we draw. To many, I’m a stranger; to others, the prodigal son returned, as my brothers joke. But I catch every hushed whisper and the flicker of doubt in their eyes.
“What does Father think about the emergence?” I ask.
“He’s on the fence.”
“On the fence? I expected him to be all in,” I mutter, bitter. “From the moment we arrived and Mother unfurled her plans to build this city, Father insisted it wouldn’t last.”
Anees sighs. “Time passed, new dragons were born, hope returned—until Mother died?—”
“I know. I was there,” I interrupt sharply.
“And you left less than a week later, Dayn. Arrynth, Byzu, and I were left to pick up the pieces. Father never healed. He sulked, raged, burned down anyone who crossed him, then finally reflected. Mother’s belief in balance rubbed off on him.”
“She valued balance, as I do,” I say. “I left hoping to find a way to achieve it.”
“In the meantime, Father stayed and ruled. His mind softened. Still, the intelligence you brought back about humans worries him. Neither he nor I believe that sheer numbers and size alone will restore our supremacy.”
“It might win it for us, but not keep it. Yet we’re speculating.”
If the darkbloods share Esme’s resolve, they will pose a brutal challenge. I’ve seen the clearbloods at war—and despite their rivalries, they might unite against dragons, viewing us as the common enemy.
Bond or no bond, I know exactly where Esme’s loyalty lies. I don’t want to battle her, though part of me aches to probe her limits—push her until she unravels, lashes out, and reveals the ruthless survivor beneath her calm façade.
“Who else on the council supports the emergence?” I ask Anees.
“House Braynor and House Rogon are almost unanimous,” he replies.
“Figures. They eat, sleep, and breathe war. I’ll wager Colonel Rogon is bored stiff teaching drills at the institute,” I say, nodding toward the building as we round another corner and reach its southern wall. “That old hawk would sooner burn the city to ashes than die of old age.”
“Byzu’s in favor, too,” Anees adds. “Arrynth? I’m not certain. He drifts whichever way the wind blows.”
“Byzu’s itching for combat; it’s been centuries since his last clash, and I’ll grant he’s fierce. But bloodshed won’t solve our problem.”
“Maybe our brethren can be swayed.”
“They have to be, Anees. What good is reclaiming our land if half our people perish on the journey?”
“Fair enough…”
The institute’s southern face lies mostly in darkness. Only a few lamps illuminate the alley here—this is the rear exit, the emergency route in case of an attack. It spills into side streets that fan across the city and feed three separate evacuation tunnels. Over generations, our ancestors carved these corridors, ever fearful we might one day flee Draethys. Fortunately, that day never came. But if humans learn of us, everything could change.
“We can’t let our brothers become liabilities,” Anees says, meeting my eyes. “They admire you, Dayn. You’ll need to bring them around.”
“I agree,” I shrug. “Tonight I’ll call a closed family meeting.”
“And you must deal with the darkblood,” he insists.
“What deal? She’s mine. We’re bound. End of story.”
