I urge Rygun to leap off the Moltenmaw, toward the misty canopy still bearing over us. Maell launches into the vortex churning in his wake with Pyrok and Roan perched between her sunbeam wings.
All that’s left behind is a smoking blister of molten stone.
Rygun stiffens beneath us as we bludgeon into the Moving Mists, Maell gusting above the shielded safety of his left wing, both tearing toward the border—a thunder of dragons blindly chasing.
Raeve is strangely quiet, tense, even once we outrun the battalion and fly free of Bothaim’s skies. Not that I need her words to know what she’s thinking.
So long as we all survive the impending moonfalls, war is coming for The Burn.
My throbbing wounds pale in comparison to the brisk air slicing through Bharon’s loose grip on me, freezing me from the outside in. My only reprieve is the numbing darkness that keeps taking sips of my consciousness, only to spit me back out in this frozen slumber-terror over and over again.
Nothing less than I deserve.
I watch the aurora dip in the west, out of sight. Rise again over the nearby eastern peaks. Keep expecting Bharon’s claws to tighten. For him to crush me for the fun of it or tuck his head, push me into his mouth, and masticate me as a mid-flight snack. Part of me—the part that’s festering from the horrible things I did—evenhopesfor it. But every time I wake, we’re still flying toward the bright horizon, Bharon’s wings working in such a steady rhythm that I immediately notice when they begin to falter.
When his energy begins to wane.
He releases a deep groan that tremors through me.
My heart lurches as he misses another beat. As I realize it’s not just the cold air slicing through the gaps in his grip that’s chilling me to the bone.
It’s his claw, too.
It was warm at the start, tribute to the molten blood pumping through his veins. Now the calloused skin on his palm feels dead cold, like I’m bundled in a nest of snow.
I reach out—around—running my hand over the small scales that protect the other side of his claw. Whip my hand away from what feels like plates of ice, a deep sense of dread making the underside of my tongue tingle with the urge to vomit.
Our altitude drops so abruptly I choke on a scream, releasing a sob instead—notfor myself …
For this poor bedraggled beast so desperately trying to make it home to the warmth. Breaking away from the shackles of a bond I believe he once loved, but perhaps too late to save himself.
It all feels too fucking heavy.
His motions smooth, and again the darkness sips at me. I pour myself into it with all my might, goingaway.
Somewhere warm and happy, the smell of spices thick in the air, sunshine hot on my face. I’m weightless, running across the Loff’s pebbled shore into wide-open arms. Wrapped in a sweet, creamy scent I think I’ve known all my life.
Her.
Mah.
She squeezes me so tight that it’s hard to breathe, but I welcome the feeling, knowing that I’m safe.
I dig my face into Mah’s soft chest, and I allow myself to break.
Another jolt rips me back to the cold, the pain. The icy claw holding me.
The brutal reality of all the awful shit I’ve done.
I open my eyes, look down through the thin gaps in Bharon’s grip …
My heart stills at the sight of jagged mountains to our right, the snow-covered plains almost close enough for Bharon to drag his tail through and carve a trench.
Creators …
He’s not going to make it to The Burn.
He’ll be lucky to make it to The Fade.
