A child with such strength, courage, and bravery … who would be so disappointed if she knew what a coward she became.
Heart pounding in rhythm with my chattering teeth, I hurry along the steep streets of Arithia, buffeted by bitter wind and pelting snow—wondering if Clode and Rayne are at war with each other.
Cursing them for it.
I would barely be able to see past my own hand were it not for the bright orbs bobbing overhead like tiny moons, likely suspended by advanced runes I’ve never seen before.
Distantly, I recall hearing a rumor that Tyroth traded a young protégé to the Tri-Council in exchange for their eternal favor, prized for his ability to lace runes like nobody else.
Guess it’s true.
Checking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed, I cut around a corner, struck by an icy blow that nips so deep it feels like my face is peeling off. “C-creators,” I chitter, easing deeper into my hood. Yet to see a single folk walking the streets, braving the storm. Yet to see a single sign oflifebeyond the odd lit window flickering like starved flames.
A full-body shiver runs all the way to my bones.
This place is beautiful. Skillfully sung. But it feels like a grave.
I move faster, jogging down a stairway pinched between tall, pointed buildings sung from obsidian, cursing each burst of blustery air heaved into my parched lungs. Cursing the size of this fucking place—an ornamental labyrinth that feels like it’s about to fold over itself and chew me up, all its honed structures becoming the tapered teeth of an angry beast.
I don’t want to be here, caught in wrestling gusts of snow. I want to be home in the hot, humid north,beyondthe impending conversations I need to have, chugging hard liquor until I’m blind drunk in some crooked gambling den, pretending the world isn’t more fucked up than I’d previously thought.
Rounding a corner, I finally come upon the towering black wall that circles Arithia. Almost collapse with a mixture of cold exhaustion and relief.
The sound of ruffling feathers almost makes me shit myself, the feelingnot helped when I look up and see a massive Moltenmaw roosting on the wall, front claws tucked.
I still.
It shakes off a crust of gathered snow, revealing a chest bound in saddle straps that offers me a pinch of relief.
Not wild.
Though its head is dug down in the resting position, its red eyes boldly stare, assessing me with uncomfortable curiosity.
I look at the wall beneath its roosting spot to where a dead weeping wisp is rooted to the stone, its spindly remains a pale sentinel to the only unguarded exit … givensaidexit is a secret only revealed by activating hungry runes with a penchant for warm blood.
Eyeing the beast above, I dig into my pocket and feel around for the vial of colk blood I stashed there. Slits of sting permeate my numb fingertips. “Dammit,” I murmur, picking out bloody shards of glass I drop in the snow. Remnants of the smashed vial.
Unfortunate.
I ease my blade free and drag it against my palm. Warmth pools as I clench my fingers around the hurt.
Keeping my gaze firmly trained on the curious dragon, I edge closer to the wall, trying to ignore the deep rumble coming from the Moltenmaw’s broad chest. A fierce reminder that approaching a bonded dragon without their rider nearby is often seen as a threat.
Way I see it, I’m bleeding. Bleeding things are less threatening than non-bleeding things. At least that’s what I tell myself as I smear my wet hand across the stone.
My blood coagulates into the shape of the previously invisible runes before they begin to hiss and steam.
I grit my teeth and brace against the wall, hoping the etchings aren’t thirsty enough to put me on my ass and make me look too much like an eager meal.
The bloody marks dissolve in unison with my fading equilibrium …
Three.
Two.
One—
Part of the wall slurps into oblivion, leaving an arched exit from this beautiful, soulless tomb. A perfect frame that looks out across the wide chasm to the Forest of Weeping Wisps on the other side, sown into the steep mountainside. The spindly trees being tossed about by the storm like water weeds caught in a blustery current.
