Welcome to The Skye Bound Series, a military fantasy featuring powerful magic, complex characters, and a brewing war between humans and elves.
Content Warning: Contains violence, strong language, and mature themes.
The blood moon hung low over Centrex, painting the city's iron spires in shades of rust and crimson. Valeria Ashwell stood atop the highest tower, the leather of her flight gear creaking as she shifted her weight, watching the war forges pulse below. Each burst of flame cast shadows that danced across the metallic landscape—Centrex's answer to the elven magic that threatened their borders.
The city's pulse thrummed beneath her feet, a symphony of steel and war: the clash of training swords from the academy yards, the beat of wings during patrol changes, the endless hiss of cooling metal from the weaponsmiths' quarters. She closed her eyes, letting the familiar rhythm wash over her. Twenty-nine years of listening to this song of iron and steel, and still it echoed with questions she couldn't answer.
With a thought, she bent the light around her body. Her reflection in the tower's glass windows blurred at the edges, shimmering like heat waves rising from summer stones, then vanished completely. The gift that had made her the perfect spy—a phantom in the night. The same gift that had marked her as one of the twelve children born under that crimson moon. Their faces still adorned the great hall, though Valeria rarely visited that wing anymore. Not since that night at Ironstead where her father had fallen to elven crystal arrows—weapons created to hunt the Gifted with terrifying precision.
The acrid scent of smoke and metal drifted up on a gust of wind, tinged with the sweet rot of burning forests beyond the city's borders. She touched the iron pendant at her throat—her father's last gift. Before everything changed.
Leathery wings whispered through the air, followed by the soft click of hooves on stone. Xasus banked gracefully around the tower's spire, powerful muscles rippling beneath silvery skin that caught the moonlight like liquid mercury. Even after years as a Reaper, the sight still stole Valeria's breath.
Sam lounged in the saddle with his usual casual grace, one hand resting on the pommel while the other ran through windswept dark hair. That familiar reckless grin spread across his face—the one that always meant trouble.
"Brooding again?" His voice carried that easy confidence that had made him legendary among the Reapers. Xasus snorted and pawed at the stone, sensing his rider's playful mood.
"I'm watching," Valeria said, though they both knew it was a half-truth. Sam's boots hit the stone with a familiar thud, followed by the gentle pat he always gave Xasus before leaving the saddle.
"So, brooding," he laughed, sliding an arm around her shoulder. The intricate wing patterns lined either side of his face, feathers and scales detailed in bright ink that hadn't faded since their marking day. She remembered it clearly—when they'd officially become Reapers, taking their first flight as a true unit. His markings framed his eyes like a mask where hers swept from her temples down along her cheekbones.
She shrugged his arm off. "Tomorrow's flight has me thinking."
"It's just a pass over the wall—"
"Near Ashemel." The words came out sharper than intended. "Two squads were lost last month. You know that."
Sam turned to face her, his usual smile fading into something more serious—a rare sight that always caught her off guard. "Is that why you've been up here so much? Getting away from it all?"
Valeria smoothed the leather edges of her uniform, avoiding his gaze. "Someone has to start using their head if we're going to survive."
"Don't worry, Vale. I'm always using mine." He rocked his hips back and forth with an exaggerated swagger, hands behind his head as if dancing to some soundless music.
"Wrong head, jackass." The smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
"Come on," he said, "Better get to Bren before she stabs someone. You know how she gets when people touch her chicken."
Valeria laughed. "She already cornered Cowan last week. Had him pinned against the wall by his throat when I found her."
"What did he do this time?"
"He ate her chicken, according to her." Valeria moved toward Lamara, who lay sprawled on the tower's stone, iridescent wings catching the crimson moonlight. The Pegasus rose at her approach, shaking out her mane and flexing her wings in a display that never failed to inspire awe.
Valeria swung into the saddle with practiced grace, the leather creaking beneath her. "Race you to the hall?" she called to Sam, already urging Lamara toward the tower's edge.
Lamara needed no further encouragement. The Pegasus launched from the spire, powerful wings unfurling to catch the night air. Valeria's stomach lurched with that familiar thrill as they plummeted, the wind whipping her hair back. Three heartbeats of free-fall, then Lamara's wings caught the perfect angle, transforming their descent into a sweeping arc between the iron towers.
This—this was freedom. Up here, there were no politics, no whispers about the Gifted, just the pure joy of flight. Valeria leaned low over Lamara's neck as they threaded through the maze of spires, their movements so synchronized it felt like dancing. The Pegasus's hooves seemed to strike invisible steps in the air, each beat of her wings precisely timed to carry them through impossible gaps between buildings.
Sam's whoop of challenge echoed off the metal towers as Xasus gave chase. Within moments, they were alongside the larger Pegasus's powerful wings, eating up the distance with impossible speed. Valeria watched in admiration as Sam guided Xasus through a series of maneuvers that had earned him his reputation—threading needle-thin gaps at full speed, banking at angles that should have thrown any other rider.
"Try to keep up!" Sam called with his trademark grin as Xasus surged ahead, their silver-scaled forms blurring between the towers. Valeria guided Lamara into a tight spiral around one of the war forges, knowing they couldn't match Xasus's raw speed but determined to make Sam work for his victory. Steam billowed around them, the heat making Lamara's wings shimmer like liquid silver in the moonlight.
They emerged above the industrial haze to see Sam and Xasus already circling the dining hall's distinctive dome, its copper surface stained red by the blood moon's light. There was a reason Sam's aerial prowess was legendary among the Reapers—watching him fly was like witnessing art in motion.
Lamara touched down with barely a sound moments after Xasus, her hooves dancing across the cobblestones as she settled. The exhilaration of the flight still sang in Valeria's blood as she dismounted, patting Lamara's neck. The Pegasus nudged her shoulder affectionately, breath warm against her cheek.
"One of these days, we'll catch you two," Valeria said, watching Sam slide from his saddle with his usual casual grace.
"Keep dreaming." Sam winked, running a hand through his windswept hair. "But you're getting better at those turns."
The thrill of flight slowly faded as they turned toward the dining hall's entrance. The familiar sounds of chaos and conversation leaked through the massive wooden doors, drawing them back to the ground-bound world of soldiers and secrets.
The chow hall buzzed with its usual chaos.
Ground troops filed through the massive wooden doors, their boots echoing off iron-banded walls as they formed a line that snaked toward steaming tables. The aroma of roasted meat dominated one end, where soldiers packed themselves shoulder to shoulder. The vegetable section sat nearly abandoned, bowls of untouched greens gleaming beneath oil lamps.
They found Bren Winhurst leaned against the back wall, casually picking at her fingernails with one of her signature red and black daggers. Even after years of friendship, Valeria marveled at how Bren could make such a simple action look like a threat. Maybe it was the blazing blue eyes that seemed to pierce through whoever they fixed upon, or the bright red hair pulled back in tight braids that emphasized the winged tattoos sprawling across her throat. Those markings weren't just decoration—they were a warning to anyone who got close enough to read them.
"Half an hour," Bren growled without looking up from her dagger. "I've been standing here for half an hour waiting for you two. They have chicken today, you know." Her fingers tightened around the weapon's hilt.
"Had to track this one down first," Sam said through a mouthful of meat, somehow having already snagged a piece of chicken on their way in. He flashed that signature grin of his, sharing a knowing look with Valeria.
Bren went still, her eyes narrowing on Sam's busy jaw. "Is that chicken?" The words came out in a whisper that promised violence.
"I grabbed it passing the serving table," he said, stuffing the last bite in his mouth. "Want some?"
"You're offering me your half-eaten chicken?" Bren's hands smoothed down her brown leather uniform, a gesture Valeria recognized as her trying to contain herself. The intricate Pegasus tattoo on her hand seemed to ripple as she flexed her fingers. "When I get back from that line, if there's none left, I'm going to jam my boot so far up your ass the healers will need a week to get it out."
"Why didn't you just grab some when you first got here?" Valeria asked, fighting back a smile at Sam's suddenly worried expression.
"You know I don't like eating alone," Bren muttered. "Makes me uncomfortable." She shouldered past them both, pausing only to pat Sam's shoulder in what might have been either a threat or forgiveness.
"She was joking about the boot thing, right?" Sam's confident smile wavered as he watched Bren stalk toward the food line, her eyes fixed on the remaining chicken.
"No, I'm pretty sure that was a promise." Valeria couldn't hold back her laugh this time. "Come on, let's get in line before everything's gone."
They found a spot at one of the long tables after filling their plates. Bren seemed satisfied with her haul, shoveling juicy meat into her mouth with occasional spoonfuls of carrots between bites.
"Think the chicken's better this week," Bren managed, spittle flying from her mouth as Sam and Valeria watched her decimate her meal.
Sam lifted his cup of wine, hiding his words behind it as he whispered to Valeria. "No wonder she doesn't like eating alone. She's a beast."
Valeria smiled, still amazed at how much food her friend could put away. Bren might have been smaller than most in the Reaper division, but she made up for it with sheer force of will and a bad attitude.
"Oh no, birds! Better hold on tight, Valeria." The voice cut through the din of the hall. Erik Falk passed by their table, his friends laughing as they pointed at her holding a chicken leg. Sam and Bren both stopped eating, glancing at Valeria who had gone completely still.
Erik was a disease, the kind of person who truly enjoyed getting under anyone's skin. Being General Wesbeck's nephew only made him worse—he thought he was untouchable. His scraggly hair scraped across his forehead as he moved, his toned forearm flexing with each burst of laughter. But his skin was clear of markings, no black intricate lines or patterns, just bronze skin showing from beneath his leathers.
Last month's training incident still burned in Valeria's memory. A flock of birds had hit her and Lamara during formation patterns, knocking her from the Pegasus's back. She'd been lucky they were running low-ground drills—a twenty-foot fall instead of a hundred. Still spent six days with the healers getting her shoulder pieced back together.
Bren quickly threw the rest of her chicken on her plate and rose to meet the soldiers standing behind them, Sam at her back in an instant.
"Oh look. Her bodyguards." Erik said, still laughing at his earlier joke, bent over with one hand on his friend's shoulder as if he was going to fall over laughing.
"Do you want to walk out of here or have them carry you out?" Bren said, a fierce calm settling over her words.
"And what are you going to do, Winhurst?" He said, rising from his bent over position, the smile still lingering on his face.
"How about I pull your balls out through your throat so you can sit and pee like a good little girl?" Bren said, snorting at her own words. Erik's face went serious and he moved to stand in front of her.
"Do you know who you're talking to?" He said, his voice going low as he growled the words at Bren.
"Do you?" Bren shot back, moving closer to him, her face sitting inches from his.
"Touch me and you won't fly for a month. You'll shovel shit until the sun goes down." Erik laughed again, turning to give a high five to one of the soldiers he had entered with.
"Speaking of shit," Sam interrupted, moving to meet Bren next to him. "I heard the reason you didn't get marked is you shit yourself when the needle touched your skin." A smile widened across Sam's face as Erik's face turned red.
"I haven't decided on a mark yet," Erik shot back, his friends going silent at Sam's words as they rubbed at their own markings, an array of hooves and wings lining each of them along forearms and cheekbones.
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Bren interjected, the same cruel smile sitting on her face.
"Come on you guys." Valeria shot up from her seat. "He's not worth it."
"And what would you know about it, freak?" The words struck Valeria like a slap. She went deadly still, narrowing her eyes on him.
"Maybe you should leave before I give you a mark of my own," Bren said, her hand moving to the dagger at her hip. Heat pulsed in her palm as sweat beaded down the blade's hilt.
Erik gave her a slow, wicked grin and backed away toward his friends. He exchanged high-fives with them but stopped to glance over his shoulder. "It's too bad you prefer pussy," he said, giving her a wink. "Because I could show you what a real man is capable of." His gaze slid to Sam, whose eyes blazed at the words.
The insult echoed through Valeria's ears and hit Bren like a physical blow. Valeria watched her friend's armored facade crack slightly, her shoulders dipping. The whites of her eyes burned a dark amber as rings of gold encased her irises. A beam of white-hot light shot from a lamp above the chow hall, burning a pattern up Erik's arm—one straight line from wrist to elbow.
Erik froze as the beam touched his skin, grabbing his arm as he fell to his knees. His bowels released in his flying leathers, the stench of raw sewage filling the air. His friends stumbled backward, holding their noses at the foul scene as he knelt there, his skin seared and his insides leaking onto the floor.
Bren and Sam whirled to see Valeria sitting down at the table with a large grin on her face, taking a small bite of her chicken. Her eyes never left the man who had dared to insult her friends.
The chow hall had gone silent. Even the clatter of plates and mugs had ceased as everyone stared at the scene before them. Erik's whimpers echoed off the iron-banded walls as he clutched his arm, the fresh mark still smoking slightly. His friends stood frozen, torn between helping him and maintaining their distance from the mess he'd made.
Sam was the first to break the silence, letting out a low whistle. "Well, looks like you got your mark after all, Erik." He tilted his head, studying the straight line burned into Erik's flesh. "Simple. Clean. Really brings out your eyes."
"You..." Erik choked out the word between pained gasps. "You'll pay for this. My uncle—"
"Your uncle," Bren cut in, twirling her dagger with renewed confidence, "might be interested to hear how his nephew got taken down by a lamp malfunction. Especially after harassing a Gifted." Her smile grew sharper. "Or we could just call it your first marking ceremony. Your choice."
As they watched Erik's friends drag him away, leaving a trail of boot prints through the mess he'd made, Valeria's thoughts turned to tomorrow's mission near Ashemel. Somehow, dealing with elven scouts seemed simpler than the politics of Centrex. At least the elves were honest about wanting to kill her.