Auryn stepped out of the tent, clutching her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The sunlight caught the silver thread woven into its edges, painting her in flickering light. She paused at the edge of the rise, just high enough to see the clearing below.
And there they were.
The Riven Blades—fifty strong, mounted and gleaming, every one of them marked with the gray-and-gold sigil of the Lioness herself. Their armor wasn’t polished for show; it was battle-worn, scarred, and covered in runes pulsing with high tier magic. They rode in rows—disciplined, feral, unstoppable.
At their head—
A woman with hair woven into a glorious warrior’s mane, the series of swaying braids draped over her shoulders. They whipped behind her incoils of gold and bronze. She sat straight and sure, her grin a challenge carved of lightning and war.
Thessia.
The Lioness of the Southern Wastes. The Breaker of Bastions. The woman who had once held a mountain pass alone for three days with a shattered leg and no shield. She rode a beast born of shadow and ferocity—not a horse, but lean and long-limbed. A large feline with green eyes, dark brown fur, and claws meant for rending flesh.
As she reached the camp, she dismounted in one fluid motion and stalked straight toward the Resh’Agar. Auryn’s heart gave a strange little lurch in her chest. Resh stood waiting, arms crossed over his chest, expression carved in stillness.
Thessia’s grin widened.
“Well, look at you. Still brooding like a mountain before a snowstorm.”
Resh didn’t blink. “And you, still riding a demon.”
A beat.
Thessia’s smile widened.“That’s rich, coming from you.”
They clasped forearms—hard and fast. A warrior’s shake. A sound like steel meeting steel. Auryn’s breath stilled as Thessia leaned in with the ease of a woman who feared nothing, brushing a kiss to Kailorien’s cheek. Resh didn’t react. He didn’t smile or pull away. But helet it happen.
“Miss me, Shadeslayer?”
His expression didn’t shift. “Thess, you’re still a nuisance.”
“Am I sharing your tent this time, or have you sworn off women over the last six years?”
“This isn’t a social visit, Lioness.” He crossed his arms. “We have dealings to discuss.”
Thessia’s smirk widened, eyes blazing. "I negotiate better when I've blown off some steam.”
Some of the men chuckled. A few looked around, as if searching for Auryn.For the one they called Sokâr.
Before she could stop herself, Auryn scooted back into the tent. Her heart was pounding, and she touched her hand to her chest. Confused. Uncertain.
What is the matter with me?Why does it feel like…it’s hard to breathe?
She closed her eyes and analyzed her feelings. Excitement in spotting Kailorien. Anticipation of bringing him and others bowls of soup. Some of the men were recovering from an illness and could use a hand, especially those who asked her for blessings sometimes.
I told them I can’t bless anything, but they seem comforted when I listen to their troubles.
She hesitated. Odd. Was the presence of the Lioness somehow acting like a wall between Auryn and the camp? That simply wouldn’t do.
I am myself, and none can tell me not to be.
She took a deep breath, summoned several food bowls to her side with her magic, and stepped outside once more.
Thessia stood nearly as tall as Resh, her muscles coiled like they’d been forged in iron and steel. Her braids glowed with sunset fire. Her laugh made the men ease and grin, and her very presence bent the space around her. She was incredible. Charismatic. Fearless.
A goddess of war, if such things existed. Much like Kailorien’s tales of the female Glider warriors.
Auryn looked down at her own hands—weak from her last use of magic.
