“Think of the raw potency,” one had murmured. “If we could tap it—harness the Veil instead of the Flaeme…”
“Unstable,” the other had replied, but he’d leaned in closer anyway, breathless. “Beyond unstable. But theyield—”
They'd tried. Three of the most gifted minds in the Doctrine’s arcane studies. All dead within their first cast. Not from recoil. Not backlash.From overload. The Veilweave hadn’t resisted them. It had welcomed them—devoured them. Like a mother crushing a child to her chest, too hard. Too hungry. The result was a Council ban on any further attempts of such a thing.
Kailorien’s jaw locked. He opened his eyes and rubbed his temple.
Did Auryn know how dangerous her power was? He trusted she did. Never had he met anyone more intuitive and perceptive. Yet at times, it seemed as though the world whispered demands and she, in turn, wove the answers with her breath. But it waskillingher. Every thread she summoned pulled more from her skin, her blood, her soul. And he’d allowed it to happen.
Not anymore.
Not another thread. Not another breath. If he had to chain her to the bed and burn every last glyph in the fortress, she would never use that power again.
Trying to catch a whisp between your hands—the echo shivered through him, too close. Too real.
He scratched at his nape, jaw tightening as though to shake it loose, then took a steadying breath. He had to protect her, but he couldn’t cage her. He’d tried once already, and she’d run from him. He couldn’t take away her freedom.
I’ll speak to her again. Try to explain why she needs to be more careful. Try to help her trust me, to give me a chance to find answers.
A whisper.
A creak of wood.
Someone tryingnotto be heard.
He stood, shoving the table aside, hands sparking with rune-light. The flutter of dark feathers. Talons clicking on stone and wood. Runes blazed down his arm, and he narrowed his eyes.
Only to stop.
Beyond the partition, standing beside Auryn’s bed, was a tall figure. One hand hovered inches above her hair, not quite touching, but close enough to stir the strands. The tips of her braid caught the faint movement and gleamed in the Polis lantern light.
It was a Glider male. An Apexwing—a sight so rare outside the Nestings that Kailorien’s entire body tensed. The hair on his arms stood on end. His runes lit—the Resh’Agar’s power swelling—ready for the creature to make the slightest wrong motion.
His skin was dark—deep as mountain dusk, smooth as stone and covered in deceptively light cloth armor. Over various pieces of black and gold plates, he wore a fur and feather lined jacket that reached to his calves, runes and sigils burned and stitched into the wool. A flight coat. A Glider’s pride. Earned in battle and strengthened with skill and craft.
His bare forearms bore intricate glyphs in glinting violet ink, and his wings—massive, black as obsidian—tucked behind him like a folded storm; colossal feathers tapering into finer ones that trailed down into a tail. Braids hung around his shoulders, threaded with carved bone and onyx beads. In one hand, he held a deadly glaive taller than he was. The blade was serrated and covered in marks of battle.
And his eyes…
Violet, like mana burning hot. Still. Unreadable. Measuring.
Kailorien’s breath left him. He knew that face—thoseeyes. Distant, infamous memory wrapped in bone and wing and war.
“…Riven.”
The Glider looked up slowly. “Resh’Agar.” Then lower. “Skycleaver.”
Kailorien didn’t lower his arms. His runes bit into his spine, hissing with warning. “You have no business here.”
The Riven blinked at him. His glaive tilted casually over one shoulder, but his posture was that of a creature poised to strike. “The Matriarch is of a different mind.”
“You don’t typically run scouting errands,” Kailorien said, voice cool, steeped in warning. “Hard to believe you would, even if Shiva’sera demanded it.”
The Glider’s eyes darkened at the name. At the implication that the Riven was at her beck and call.
Focus on me—Kailorien thought.Step away from her bed. If you don’t, truce or not—
“The Matriarch does not tame my wings. Nor my curiosity.” The Glider’s gaze lingered on the sleeping girl. “And thatiswhat you have here, no? A curiosity.”
