Page 72 of Starside

I close my eyes as another thought clenches my heart and mind.

Kira. Floating away in a boat. She’ll also be okay. I say it confidently to myself, as if I can will it to be true.

Circumstances change in moments. This map is one of my greatest assets. My dragon is asleep, and it’s not like I’m going anywhere without her. Carefully, I sit, lean against one of her legs, and decide to memorize the map, just in case I lose it.

The way to the gods is treacherous. There are several mountain ranges. Forests with various names and shading. Wide fields. Bogs. Countless villages. Stretches of land that seem uninhabited. And there it is again, the City on Fire. I frown. Could it possibly be on fire? Or has it been burned away, just like my own home?

I draw the entire thing in the dirt with my sword, arm straining with each stroke. I memorize every name. Every peak and valley. Then, I erase it. I make it again from memory. Check my work. Try again. Again, until it grows tedious.

Then, I finally allow myself to study my glorious blade.

Every moment since I claimed it has been full of danger. Or I’ve been too tired to do anything but sleep. Now … I have a few seconds to simply admire it.

The hilt is storm-silver, with intricate etchings that are so small, so precise, I need to squint to see the details. Its pommel is sharpened into a point. Its cross-guard juts out like two wings. A diamond is buried between them. The entire piece almost looks like the front of a crown.

“Masterful,” I whisper. I make weapons. I pride myself on my focus, and the meticulous way I carve metal. It’s the only task that can truly quiet my mind and sorrow.

Still, even if I had years—even if I had lifetimes—I could never make anything like this.

The blade itself is sparkling, otherworldly Starside steel. It glimmers as if a million diamonds and stars were melted down to make it.

“Why me?” I ask it, and I must be out of my mind, asking questions of beings and things that will never answer.

The blade—it glints. And I really must be losing it, because it almost feels like a response.

“Maybe you should have chosen someone who could actually get you off the ground,” I say, through my teeth, as I stand and use both arms to lift it. Every single inch up feels like its own battle. Without panic running through my blood, it feels impossible to even get it to my waist.

I need to learn. This sword will help me reach the end of this … but only if I can use it.

The dragon watches as I fall into my stance, the one Stellan taught me. I lift my sword again, using my core and legs to ground me. It helps, a little. But this sword is heavier than anything I’m used to.

I clench my jaw. Pretend that there is an enemy. I slice up through the air, and the weight sends me forward, until I end up skewering the ground.

The noise the dragon makes sounds almost like a laugh.

I glare up at her. “I’m trying,” I say.

Then I tug and tug at the ground, trying to get my sword out of the dirt. I’m sure I look like an utter fool. I pull so hard that I end up stumbling backward and falling on my ass.

This time, the dragon does laugh, a huff that feels like steam upon my skin.

I take a deep breath. Settle myself.

And try again.

The dragon watches as I cut invisible enemies to ribbons, both arms fighting to hold the metal. As I stumble more times than I don’t. As I fall more times than I can count. As I get up. Again. Again.

I’m practicing advancing, feigning blocking hits, when, in a flash, silver is hitting my own. I gasp, stumbling—only to see that the dragon has launched her tail at me.

For a moment, fear grips my heart. I think this dragon has grown tired of my inferiority and is about to skewer me with her spikes.

But no—with an impatient growl, I see that the dragon … she’s helping me train.

Her tail battles with my sword, lightly striking. It’s thicker than my entire body, but it clashes just like a weapon. It moves as fast as one.

And having an opponent, having someone to practice against … it helps. It helps me find my energy. Find my strength.

My arms tremble. I can’t get the sword up high enough, but the dragon doesn’t give me a break. She doesn’t go easy on me. She strikes again and again, and I’m forced to haul the metal up as high as I can to escape the wrath of her tail.