The enormous bridge of white stone upon which Calen walked extended over a chasm that stretched for what must have been at least two hundred feet. Erinian stone lined the low parapet of the bridge, the soft azure glow augmented by the incandescent firelight of the lanterns set at evenly spaced intervals. Above, the sun and the moon shared the sky, their natural light dimmed by dark clouds. On either side of the bridge, rivers fed waterfalls that flowed over the edge of cliffs, cascading into the depths of the chasm, the crashing roar of water filling the air. The forests atop the cliffs were thick and lush, as dense as the densest parts of the Darkwood Calen knew.
Valerys let out a puff of air, and Calen felt the awe radiating from the dragon walking behind him and Aeson, talons clicking off stone. The bridge was so large that even Valerys could walk along it without his winged forelimbs touching the parapet on either side, the warm light of the lanterns and soft glow of the erinian stone accenting his white scales.
"Where are we going?" Calen asked. After meeting with the triarchy, Aeson had taken Calen from Mythníril immediately. He had refused to let anyone come with them, which had elicited a number of hot tempered words. In the end, Calen had agreed to go, much to Dann's chagrin, simply to stop the arguing. Also, Aeson had agreed they would be back by nightfall. It was the easiest option.
Aeson didn't turn. He continued walking at the same measured pace, his eyes fixed ahead. "You will see soon enough."
"No, Aeson." Calen stopped. "All you have done is tell me as little as you possibly could at any given time. You string me along, promising me answers that you almost never give. Since meeting you, I've lost almost everyone I've ever cared for. My mam, my dad, Ella, Faenir, Rist. I'm not following you blindly anymore. You tell me now, or I'm not taking another step."
Aeson turned. Valerys moved forwards, extending his neck, a deep rumble resonating in his throat as Aeson came closer to Calen, but to Calen's surprise, Aeson didn't round on him with anger. His eyes were soft, his expression mournful. "I am sorry." The words took Calen completely off guard. "You were right. What you said by the Burnt Lands. I would give anything to see the empire fall. To see Fane and the Dragonguard lifeless on the ground." He drew in a deep breath, biting his lip and shaking his head. "You have experienced loss, Calen. Deep, foundation-shaking loss. I do not deny that. But you have only begun to feel a shred of the things that have been taken from me. The empire took half my soul, they took my world, my kin. They took everything I knew and destroyed it. I don't speak of Lyara often, mostly because the thought of her burns like fire, but also because there are few who could understand what it is to lose a dragon. But you can. Lyara was taken from me by a Draleid who betrayed us, Sylvan Anura, and the dragon to which she was bound, Aramel. The fear Lyara felt in the moments before she died is burned into my soul like a brand. She was terrified, Calen. Not for herself, but for me. She was terrified of leaving me alone in this world. There is a reason why the word Rakina means both 'one who is broken' and 'one who survived'. I am alive, but I am limping. I will never be whole again. It takes all my strength simply to rise each morning. I would set this world on fire for her. I would burn it to the ground and sleep in the ashes. But I will settle for tearing the empire to pieces and building a world that is better for those who come after me. For Erik, and Dahlen, and you. Because that is the man I once was, and it is the man I strive to be again. So please, for the love of the gods, stop fighting me. I am trying."
A stray tear ran down Aeson's cheek, his eyes glistening, breaths trembling. Calen didn't know what to say, and to his surprise, he found tears welling in his eyes. He reached out to Valerys, letting their minds merge. Aeson's words had given him a deep, visceral need to feel their shared soul, to feel Valerys's presence. Sorrow bled from Valery and into Calen. He could feel the dragon's fear at the thought of leaving him alone in the world.
Calen turned and reached up his hand. Valerys nuzzled the tip of his snout into Calen's palm. Calen remembered a time when he could carry Valerys on one arm – a time when Valerys could curl up at the front of a horse's saddle. But as the dragon stood before him now, those times would scarcely be believable. Valerys's head alone was larger than Calen's torso, his muscles dense, chest deep, and wings capable of spreading twice as wide as Valerys was long. The horns that framed his face had once been no longer than Calen's thumb, and now some were the length of his arm. The dragon looked back at Calen with those pale lavender eyes and let out a puff of warm air.
"Draleid n'aldryr, Valerys. Myia nithír til diar." Calen leaned forwards and touched his forehead to Valerys's snout, then turned back to Aeson. "All right."
Aeson swallowed hard, his gaze holding Calen's. "I—"
"I said all right, Aeson. And…" Calen looked at the stone floor of the bridge, then lifted his head. "I don't have words that could give back what you've lost, but I… I understand what you're fighting for."
Aeson gave Calen a smile so weak it could barely hold itself together, then inclined his head and turned, continuing across the bridge.
As they walked, the bridge sloped downwards, connecting to a white stone landing on the other side that was built onto a cliff's edge. From the landing, they followed a path framed by tall broad-leafed trees that Calen didn't recognise. The branches connected overhead in a perfect arch, so perfect he was certain the Spark had been used to form them into the shape. And so tall were the trees that even Valerys could stand at full height without grazing the branches.
Aeson stopped where the path led through a Spark-carved archway in a sheer rock face that disappeared upwards past the trees' canopy. Through the arch, Calen could see only skies and more rock. Words were carved into the stone above the archway.
"Draleid n'aldryr, Rakina nai dauva. Ikin vir vänta. Ikin vir alura. Marai viël alanín til ata ilynír abur er kerta." Calen whispered the words, trying his best to find the right pronunciations. He could make out the first section; he knew it well. Dragonbound by fire, Broken by death. But he didn't recognise many of the other words in the rest of the script.
"Dragonbound by fire, Broken by death. Here we wait. Here we rest. Until we are called to make whole what is half." Aeson turned to Calen, his eyes searching. "Your Old Tongue has improved – you speak it well." He drew in a long, almost pensive, breath, then exhaled slowly. "Come, it is past time."
"Past time for what, Aeson?"
"You will see." Without another word Aeson walked through the archway, stepping onto the platform on the other side.
Valerys craned his neck over Calen's head as Calen read the words above the archway once more. "Until we are called to make whole what is half."
Something about the words resonated in Calen, and he thought he knew what he would find on the other side of the archway. He took a tentative step forwards, held for a moment, then followed Aeson through. Valerys followed, ducking his head to fit.
On the other side of the archway, the rock face rose, spreading hundreds of feet in a circle and sloping downwards toward a central courtyard. What looked like homes hewn from the same bone-like material as the city gates were nestled into the rock face. The buildings blended into the mountainside, flowing naturally as though they had been grown from the rock rather than built. Platforms fronted each of the buildings, pathways of cultivated grass leading down towards the enormous courtyard in the centre.
The courtyard itself was massive. It must have been almost three hundred feet in diameter. It was broken into sections divided by a system of bridges and small streams that were fed by cascades that flowed from around the homes built into the rock, following the paths to the centre. A large circular platform of white stone occupied the middle of the courtyard, a small thicket of trees at its centre, while lanterns stood on pedestals all about its perimeter.
It was on this platform that figures stood, staring at Calen, Aeson, and Valerys.
Aeson waited a moment, allowing Calen the chance to take it all in, then gave him a soft smile and started down the sloping path that connected their platform to the courtyard.
As they drew closer to the bottom of the path, three of the figures moved forwards from the larger group. One was a man, as tall as Haem and as broad as Tarmon, with dark hair that fell past his chest and down to his waist. The second was a Jotnar, her pale, whitish-blue skin shimmering in the lanternlight. She stood half again taller than the man, her hair red as blood. The third was a woman, small in stature with hair as blonde as straw. She sat in a chair crafted from a blend of steel and the same bone-like material as the homes that lined the rock face. Two wheels were fixed to the sides of the chair, slanted outwards at a slight angle. The centre of the wheels were covered by plates of bone white, while the rim was a deep grey-black.
Another twenty or so humans, elves, and Jotnar stood behind the three, watching.
The Jotnar with blood red hair stepped forwards, inclining her head. "Aeson Virandr, son of Torun Virandr, it pleases me greatly to lay eyes on you once more. It has been too long, my brother."
"Thacia, daughter of Ulin, the years have been long, and I am sorry."
"Forgiveness is easily given, considering the circumstances of your return."
The sound of wingbeats reverberated through the circular basin, and the Jotnar glanced upwards – as did all those gathered. Within moments a gust of wind swept over Calen, blowing his hair forwards, and Valerys alighted on the stone behind him, wings spread wide, neck stretched forwards. Their minds drifted together, seeing as one, feeling as one. Curiosity and a caution filled them both.
The Jotnar, Thacia, moved closer, the man and the woman in the wheelchair, moving with her. She looked up at Valerys, her head moving with his, staring into his eyes. A smile curled her lips. She dropped her gaze to Calen, her eyes a dark brown, almost black. "I never truly believed this moment would come – none of us did – yet, I hoped. But now that we are here, I am unable to find the words to adequately capture what I wish to say." The only Jotnar Calen had ever met were Asius, Senas, and Larion. And even with the three of them combined, he had not seen half the emotion that swelled in Thacia's eyes. "I am Thacia, daughter of Ulin, soulkin to Myrax, Broken by death. I would know your names, so that I may call you my kin."
Calen's hair stood on end at the Jotnar's words, and he found himself struggling to draw breath, the air catching in his throat. When he'd read the inscription above the archway, he had hoped to find more Rakina. But at the same time, he had not. Because if more Rakina still lived, that meant there were more souls like Aeson's, shorn in half, tortured, alone. "I…" Calen looked over the others who stood behind the Jotnar. Were they all Rakina? "I am Calen Bryer, son of Vars Bryer and Freis Bryer. My soulkin is Valerys, son of Valacia."
Whispers spread throughout those gathered, and Calen was sure he heard Valerys's name repeated.
"It is true, then." Thacia held her gaze on Valerys as she spoke. "You did travel to the Icelands, my brother?"
"I did." Aeson lifted his head to look at Valerys, a smile spreading across his face.
"Valerys," Thacia repeated, another smile touching her lips at the name. "Ice. It is a name well chosen. A Valacian dragon. Never in my days did I believe I would see such a thing. Not in the before, or now." She tilted her head sideways. "Alaith anar, Valerys. Din närvarin er atuya sin'vala, mentat ar altinua." Well met, Valerys. Your presence is welcome here, now and always.
The dragon lowered his head over Calen's shoulder, his snout dipping in what was almost a bow, a recognition of Thacia and what she had lost in Myrax. She was Rakina – one who survived.
When Valerys had lifted his head, Thacia reached out to Calen. "You and Valerys are a sight for the sorest of eyes, brother. There are no words in this tongue or any other that could convey the happiness in my heart."
Calen took the Jotnar's massive forearm, his fingers wrapping around the bluish skin. He had no idea what to say, but there was something comfortable in the silence between them.
After a few moments, Thacia released her grasp and gestured towards the woman who sat in the wheelchair. "Calen, Valerys, may I introduce you to Chora Sarn, daughter of Ekara Sarn, soulkin to Daiseer, Broken by death."
"Oh." Chora Sarn looked almost bemused. "We're doing me now, are we? I thought we were just going to stare longingly into each other's eyes until we grew hungry." She shifted her hand on the left wheel of the chair, pulling it backwards, reorienting herself so she faced Calen. "Apologies about Thacia here. It's said that once you become a Draleid, you cease to be anything else, but I don't think anyone told her. She practically oozes Jotnar. It's good to meet you, Calen." Chora had to tilt her neck back to look up at Valerys. "It's good to meet you, too," she called out in an exaggerated manner. "But if you could come a bit closer, that would be appreciated. This chair doesn't exactly make me taller."
Valerys gave a low rumble and once more craned his neck down, stretching his snout towards Chora. The woman was far less formal than Thacia had been. She reached out and rested her hand on Valerys's scales. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling and opening her eyes once more. "You're beautiful," she whispered to Valerys as she looked up into his lavender eyes. "Not as beautiful as my Daiseer was, but beautiful, nonetheless." Valerys acted more like a pup than a dragon before Chora, turning his snout as she patted his scales. "A Valacian dragon…" She shook her head. "Never in my days."" She turned to Calen. "Have your eyes always been that colour?" Chora's eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting from Calen to Valerys and back again. "Judging by your expression I'd say that's a no. Well, that's new. You've piqued my curiosity now, Calen Bryer. Now, I'm told I talk too much – I disagree, but that's beside the point – so I will pass you on to Harken." Chora gestured towards the tall man with the hair to his waist, but then glanced at Aeson. "Oh, also, it's good to see you too, Virandr. You've lost weight. You never were good for eating enough, even as a youth."
"It's good to see you too, Chora." The smile that touched Aeson's lips was a genuine one, the likes of which Calen hadn't often seen from the man. "I see Daiseer still hasn't taken your tongue."
"Not for lack of trying." Chora spread her arms out wide, gesturing to her chair. "Bastard went for the legs. He was always a greedy one. No doubt he'll come back for more one day."
"If we're quite done, it's an honour to meet you both, Calen and Valerys." The tall man whom Chora had gestured to bowed at the waist, once for Calen and once for Valerys. "I am Harken Holdark, soulkin of Thorandír, Broken by death. I am sure this must be beyond overwhelming for you both. And I can see in your eyes that you have lost much on your journey here. But you are amongst your own kind now. We are kin. Come, let me introduce you."
Harken, Thacia, and Chora proceeded to introduce Calen to each of the Rakina who had gathered in the central courtyard. Most were elves or humans, but besides Thacia there were two more Jotnar – Aelmar and Moras. Calen tried to remember each of their names, but there were too many. Rakina… The Broken… Even the thought felt strange. Until saying the inscription above the archway, Calen had not imagined there would be others besides Aeson. Why had Aeson not brought him here sooner?
"Come," Chora said, her chair shifting back and forth, threads of Air turning the wheels. "We can stand here all day, but I'm getting hungry and there's still something I believe you will want to see. There will be plenty of time to talk later."
"Chora speaks the truth," Thacia said with a nod. "Come, walk with us."
"Ahem." Chora raised an eyebrow, but after a moment she shook her head, let out an exaggerated sigh and moved towards the other side of the courtyard, using threads of Air to turn the wheels of her chair.
Harken stared after Chora, puffing out his cheeks, but Aeson just laughed, following her.
"My arms get tired," Chora said after a moment, glancing at Calen as he moved beside her. "The threads of Air, I mean. I know you're wondering, but you're the polite kind, I see that in you. I'll beat it out of you. I can use my hands to move the wheels, but my arms get tired. Using the Spark is easier."
"What happened?" As soon as the words had left Calen's mouth, he wanted to drag them back in. "I'm sorry, it's not my place."
"Sorry?" Chora chortled, a cough catching in her throat. "Ah the young. You'll learn. When Daiseer died, I lost many things. The feeling in my legs being one of them. I'm sure Aeson already told you that when the bond is broken, those who survive – for lack of a better word – lose things. Some lose something physical, like the ability to use my legs. Others lose things that nobody can see, like Harken's sense of humour."
The tall man glared at Chora, rolling his eyes.
Chora placed her hands on the wheels of her chair, adding her strength to the threads of Air to push her over the small bridge before them. Ahead was a pathway through the rock, like a small valley.
"Some lose a single thing," Chora continued, "Others lose… a lot more. Most lose the will to live. Even those of us who have survived have to fight that battle each day."
Calen looked around at the Rakina who walked with them. There were almost thirty, including Aeson. "How is this possible?" He looked to Aeson. "And why haven't you told me?"
"Don't worry, Virandr. I can answer that." Chora spun her chair, stopping the procession. She let out a sigh, running her tongue across her lips. "How do I put this?" She clicked her tongue off the roof of her mouth. "This is all there is. This is the last of us. Twenty-nine, including Aeson, and Coren and Farwen – who are in the North. If there are more, they have remained hidden even from us. There were once thousands of our kind. We filled the sky. But when dragons go to battle against one another, the sky bleeds. After Ilnaen fell, and the wars that followed, the elves established this place and erected the glamour. They had no choice but to be careful with whom they reached out to. You must remember this was at a time where our own brothers and sisters drove knives into our backs and hunted us like animals. So, carefully, methodically, and with the utmost caution, the elves of Aravell sought us out in the hopes of preserving the Draleid. At first, we continued to fight. Many of us were still Bound, and we refused to lay down and die. But as the years wore on, our numbers dwindled, our soulkin were slain… It became difficult to keep going."
She spread arms wide, gesturing to the Rakina. "This is a lot for anyone. Virandr, here is unique. You see, most of us, deep down, we're just waiting to die. That's the hard truth of it. I can't speak for everyone, but I know it is revenge and hate that drives me. It is a fire in the pit of my stomach that refuses to let Daiseer's death mean nothing. I think that might be the difference between those who die and those who become Rakina after the bond is broken. It's not about strength or weakness. It's about purpose. Some want nothing more than to be with their soulkin, the half-soul they have left yearns for it. To be bonded is their purpose. While others, like me, find their purpose in the physical plane. But of us all, there are three who hold to a purpose more strongly than any. Aeson Virandr," Chora gestured towards Aeson, giving an almost mocking bow at the waist. "And two others who were young at the time of The Fall, Coren Valmar and Farwen Ethylion. Whatever it is in their hearts that drives them, after a while, they refused to remain here. For them, I imagine, all we do is remind them of what they've lost. It has been a very, very long time, even by our standards, since I last laid eyes on Aeson Virandr. And I suspect, the only reason he is here is for you." Chora looked up at Aeson. "Did I get all that? I've grown forgetful in my old age."
"I'm sorry it's been so long, Chora." Aeson looked to the other Rakina. "All of you…"
"Oh, not you as well. Apologies are a waste of time, Aeson. I've told you this ever since you were young. Apologise by getting drunk with us tonight, not by giving us platitudes. Now, come, we've wasted enough time already."
As Chora and the others set off towards the path that split the rock ahead, Calen couldn't help but notice the despondency in the way each of them moved – a certain lethargy that showed no care for the next step they would take. What had each of them lost? Most of the physical losses were obvious: one elf had milky eyes, one woman didn't have a single strand of hair anywhere Calen could see, while another's left arm hung limp by his side. But the losses he couldn't see were the ones that cut the deepest – those of the mind and the soul.
The closest Calen had come to understanding what being Rakina felt like was when Valerys burst through the barrier that surrounded the Burnt Lands and when Artim Valdock placed those rune-marked shackles around Calen's wrists. He had still been able to sense Valerys in the back of his mind, but even then the sense of grief and loss had almost consumed him. He remembered leaning into Artim Valdock's grip as the High Mage closed his hand around Calen's throat, all sense of self-preservation gone. His jaw clenched reflexively, and he had to resist the urge to fold his arms across his chest and tuck hands under his pits. That position had given him some form of comfort while in the cell.
In response to the memory, a protective feeling washed over Calen, a rumble resonating in Valerys's throat. The dragon leaned down, letting out a puff of warm air as he nudged Calen with the side of his white-scaled snout.
But then, as that feeling of warmth drifted through the bond, a roar thundered in the distance, echoing down the pathway ahead and filling the courtyard.
A rush swept over Valerys, his eyes widening, neck jerking up. Their minds crashed like twin thunderstorms, bleeding into one another. The sensation was so powerful it was almost overwhelming.
Valerys lifted his head, cocking it to the side, lavender eyes staring ahead. The dragon's heart was galloping. A second roar erupted, and Valerys leapt into the air, wings carrying him high, a surge of excitement rippling through him. He cracked his wings and soared overhead, sweeping past Chora and the others before gliding towards the pathway.
Calen broke into a run after him, throwing etiquette to the wind. The elation that Valerys felt now coursed through Calen's veins. Dragons. There's more dragons. Valerys isn't alone.
He pushed past Aeson, Harken, and a slender woman whose name he had learned was Ah-aela, and charged towards the pathway ahead
"Calen, wait!" Aeson called
But Calen didn't stop. His feet pounded against the stone as he ran after Valerys, who soared overhead. If finding the shattered dragon eggs in Vindakur had brought Valerys agony and grief, the sound of that roar was like lightning in his veins. Calen had never felt the dragon's heart – their heart – beat so ferociously. Walls of rock rose on either side as Calen entered the pathway, which consisted of a single long slab of Spark-hewn white stone. The path was deceptively wide, almost a hundred feet from side to side. The open sky above was painted with the light of the setting sun that filtered through a scattering of dark clouds. Valerys unleashed a roar that shook Calen's bones – an answer to the one they had heard. The dragon's wings stretched almost from wall to wall, black veins streaming through white, muscles rippling with each wingbeat. The path was short, and Calen saw it opening ahead into a mountain glade.
Valerys's wingbeats drifted through the passage, amplified by the rising walls of rock on either side. He was already swooping down when Calen reached the end of the path and stepped out into the glade.
Calen stopped at the mouth of the passage. He looked about, eyes wide as he heaved deep breaths, his lungs burning. What he had thought was a glade was, in fact, a plateau that stretched for hundreds of feet in a horseshoe shape, dotted with trees and bushes. A small stream ran diagonally across the plateau, then tumbled off the edge of a sheer drop. Much like the area they had just been, the plateau was nestled into an enormous basin of steep rocky cliffs, with more plateaus extending all about it. At the far side of the basin, the cliffs gave way to a long valley that stretched off into the distance.
But it was not the wonders of the basin carved from the Spark that took Calen's breath away. It was the dragons. "Elyara guide me…"
Two lay in the clearing of the plateau, one beneath an enormous tree and another by the stream. Each was easily three times Valerys's size, with horns as long and thick as Calen's legs and wings that looked like the sails of a ship. The dragon beneath the tree had scales of dark yellow accented with hints of green, while the one by the stream was pure black with wings of dark blue. Long scars of fused scales ran along their bodies like markings in old stone.
Around the basin Calen saw three more dragons curled up on other plateaus. One was a muted shade of pinkish-white with wings reds as blood. The second was so grey it blended with the stone. The third was blue as the ocean, scales trimmed with white.
A roar thundered through the cavern, and Calen lifted his gaze towards the sky. The dragon dropping from the upper levels of the basin was enormous, larger again than either of the two who lay curled up on the first plateau. Its scales shimmered even in the fading light, glowing an emerald green. Calen realised he had seen this dragon before when Queen Uthrían's fingers had wrapped around his forearm. 'Myia'nari. Il vyara… myia'kara… é dauva. Il raethír er veinier.'
The elf's words echoed in Calen's mind like a lingering shadow. My queen, the princes… my brothers… are dead. The battle is lost.
Both Valerys and the massive green dragon circled around the basin, eyes fixed on one another, and for a moment fear clutched at Calen's heart. If that dragon decided to attack Valerys, it would tear him to shreds in a heartbeat. They circled, drawing closer, coiling around each other.
The green dragon roared, the monstrous sound reverberating off the rock that surrounded them, and Valerys swerved away, dropping towards the plateau.
Calen could feel the fear in Valerys's heart as he plummeted towards the plateau, cracking his wings and alighting on the grass, leaves and snapped twigs spiralling in the air. As soon as Valerys touched the ground, he extended his neck and gave an air shaking roar to match that of the other dragon.
Calen broke into a run, his heart fluttering and pounding at the same time. He tried to reach his mind out to Valerys's, but the storm of emotions that crashed through the dragon was indecipherable. Fear, rage, grief. "Valerys!"
Calen glanced towards the sky. The green dragon was plummeting, falling like a stone dropped from a tower. Except this creature was the tower. As it landed, it unfolded its terrifyingly large wings, sending a gust of air sweeping across the plateau and knocking Calen off his feet. Calen reached out to the Spark, pulling from it like it was the Waters of Life. He launched himself to his feet, but a hand clamped down on his shoulders. He spun, whipping threads of Air around him, refusing to let anyone stop him from going to Valerys's aid.
Then the Spark was gone, his threads sliced. The Jotnar, Thacia, stood before him, a sympathetic smile on her face. Threads of Spirit wound about the Jotnar, connecting between her and Calen, encasing him in a ward of Spirit. She took a step towards him. "Calm, brother." Thacia extended an open palm. "Ithrax is blind. She uses her roars to map the world around her."
Calen gulped, adding moisture to his dry throat. Being warded made his skin itch. It brought back memories of Drifaien – of being helpless while Artim Valdock drove spears of ice through Falmin's chest and snapped Lopir's neck.
He pushed away the thoughts and turned. The green dragon, Ithrax, now stood beside Valerys, making the white dragon look like nothing more than a child at her side. Ithrax was easily four times Valerys's size. As Calen watched, he felt the threads of Spirit dissipate, and then Thacia and the others were beside him, each of the Rakina watching as Ithrax stood over Valerys.
"That dragon is the soulkin of Queen Uthrían's son, isn't she?"
"How could you possibly know that?" One of the Rakina said, a skeptical look on his beard-covered face.
"Yes—" Harken curled a length of his hair in his fist, looking at Calen with a strange curiosity "—how do you know that?"
"I just… I just do."
"You are correct." Chora studied Calen, giving him a look he knew meant she would be asking more questions. "Ithrax is the soulkin of Prince Athír Ardurän. Athír died at the Battle of the Golden Fields, shortly after the city of Varien fell to the empire. We won that battle solely because Ithrax tore four Lorian dragons to pieces and savaged the Lorian army – all without her fire. Her misery was our salvation. We are forever grateful and forever guilty, for she saved us, but we couldn't save her."
A feeling of pure sorrow seeped from Valerys into Calen, and he looked over to see Ithrax and Valerys nestling their heads together, Valerys's dwarfed by that of the green dragon.
"If you are here and you have dragons – dragons of legend, dragons that could turn the tide of any war – why are you hiding? Why am I important at all?"
"I will always envy the simplicity of a young mind." Chora's smile spoke nothing of happiness, only regret and loss. "Ithrax is blind and lost her fire when Athír died. Sardakes"—Chora pointed towards the black dragon who lay by the stream—"moves only to eat and drink. He cannot fly – that ability was taken from him when he lost Faraline. The others are all Broken in their own way, each without their fire. Dragons, Heraya bless their souls, suffer greatly when their soulkin are taken from them. The breaking of the bond is far more severe for a dragon. It is much rarer for a dragon to become Rakina than it is their Draleid. Most lose their minds, bereft." Chora drew in a long, pensive breath through her nose and let it out in a sigh. "It is said that in the making of the world, Varyn crafted the dragons as sworn protectors, his guardians on the mortal plane. Creatures of untold power, born solely to enforce the will of The Father. Through the bond, the Draleid gain much. We gain a connection to the Spark and, as such, extended life. We gain power and strength. And of course, the companionship of dragons. But do you know what the dragons gain?"
That particular question was one Calen had indeed asked himself.
"Dragons are fire and flame. They are fury incarnate. After the wars of creation, Varyn himself, in his wisdom, realised that kind of power was too great and that the dragons were wrought of too much rage to wield their flames with true consideration. And so, he took it from them. He took their fire, and he created the bond. The Draleid would gain access to the Spark, long life, and strength to wield as guardians in Varyn's name. In return, the dragons would be re-gifted their fire, their fury and rage tempered by the blending of souls. Through the bond they gained compassion, understanding, sorrow, happiness, grief, love. So when a Draleid is killed and the bond is broken, most dragons lose all semblance of who and what they are except for rage and fury. Their loss consumes them, and in turn, they consume. These dragons are all that is left. Six. From thousands, only six survived the breaking of the bond and lived to this day. And now, with the exception of Ithrax, each have as little active desire to live as moss on rocks. Their hearts are broken just as their souls are. And that, Calen Bryer, is why we hide. We fought for years, centuries in some cases, but eventually, it wore us down. We are The Broken, each of us only fragments, where you are whole." Chora gestured to Valerys, who was now nudging the black-scaled dragon, his heart aching. "That is why you are important. Because you are the future of our race, and through your bond, you wield a power that we do not."
"Calen." Aeson's voice was little more than a whisper, but it still held the same firm tone Calen was used to.
Tears welled in Calen's eyes as he looked at Valerys, watching as the dragon leaned his head down and nudged the black-scaled dragon who lay by the stream, urging his kin to stand. Calen reached out, wrapping Valerys's mind in his own, trying all he could to bathe his soulkin in warmth, just as Valerys had done for him so many times. With each nudge that Valerys gave to the unmoving black dragon, Calen's heart broke a little more. It wasn't simply the sense of loss that rent Valerys, it was the feeling of hope that first roar had given him. The hope that had been ripped away. "Myia nithír til diar, Valerys. I denír viël ar altinua. Aiar væra svid nur dar aiar haryn narda. La vandír denír til du." My soul to yours, Valerys. In this life and always. They will burn for what they have done. I pledge this to you.
Calen's hand fell to his hip, brushing the silk scarf that hung there before wrapping his fingers around the pommel of his sword – his mam and dad, with him always. The empire had taken them from him, just as they had taken Ella, Faenir, Korik, Lopir, Ellissar, Falmin, Heldin, Alwen – the list was endless. And in that time, all Calen had done was run. From The Glade to Belduar, from Belduar to Drifaien, from Drifaien to Berona. And it was here, standing in the elven city of Aravell that he made a decision: he would run no more. Drawing a deep breath, he turned to look at Aeson.
The man stood with the other Rakina at his back, Chora and Harken to his left, Thacia, the Jotnar standing by Calen's side.
"Chora told you why I hesitated to bring you here, but she didn't tell you why I finally decided to do so." He took a step forward, his eyes searching Calen's. "Whether you like it or not. War is here. It is being fought right now. You've seen what the empire will do to keep its hold. What it did in your home. What it did to Gaeleron, to Lasch and Elia Havel. Before Belduar fell, I had contemplated bringing you here. But I wasn't sure you were ready."
"Ready for what?"
"Ready to understand what it is to be Broken. Ready to contemplate the reality of what your death would do to Valerys and what his would do to you." Aeson took another step forwards so he was only inches from Calen. "You understand now, don't you? You understand why I fight. You understand why I would burn the empire to the ground for what they took. Not just from me, but from all The Broken. I saw it in your eyes near the Burnt Lands. I saw the fire. This is where it begins, Calen. This is where you learn what it is to be a Draleid. While the Angan send out our call, and while we choose those who will stand at our side, we will train you in the old ways. Teach you everything you should have learned if Fane and the empire hadn't taken that opportunity from you."
"What of the others?" Calen's hands trembled, his jaw clenching. The sorrow that radiated from Valerys bubbled and burned, twisting into a rage at the thought of everything that had been taken.
"Whoever has travelled with you," Chora Sarn said, throwing a glance at Aeson who looked as though he were about to protest, "is welcome here. You are our kin. And to put it plainly, Calen, you are our hope. It is to you that people flock. To the man astride the snow-white dragon. People seek out symbols, that is simply the way of things. And you are unequivocally the greatest symbol of rebellion we have had in four hundred years. And you will need good people around you. All will be welcome to stay here, in Alura. I will send for Craftsmages to hew quarters from the stone. It will be done by tonight. And with that, go, bring your companions here, for tonight we will drink, we will eat, and we will celebrate. There's been precious little to celebrate of late."
"Hmm." The tall, long-haired Rakina, Harken, raised an eyebrow.
"Say it, Harken." Chora folded her arms, rolling her eyes.
"The Triarchy will not appreciate us having a celebration before they arrange one for Calen themselves."
"Each of them are likely beating seven shades of shit out of each other for the chance to parade him around," A small Rakina with fair skin and long, dark hair said, shaking her head. Her name was Lira, if Calen remembered correctly. She was no bigger than Elia Havel but held herself like a man twice her size. "While they bicker, we can drink."
"Let them be angry," Chora said with another roll of her eyes. "They're always angry. We'll invite them. The first dragon in four hundred years has hatched. I'm having a drink."