Author's Note
Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of Sky Bound! In this chapter, we dive deeper into the world of the Reapers and their ongoing conflict with the elves. Through Valeria's eyes, we get our first glimpse of the mysterious events at Ironstead and the looming threat of General Grogg. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the dynamics between our core characters - Valeria, Bren, and Sam - as well as the hints about the larger mysteries unfolding.
Valeria couldn't sleep ahead of the mission over to Ashemel. She sat by the window in her dorm watching the sun rise from behind the crystal peaks, their translucent faces fracturing the golden light into rainbow shards that danced across the ornate room. The dark wooden posts of her bed turned bright almond in the warmth, casting long shadows across the floor. Below, Centrex was already stirring to life. The distant ring of hammers on iron echoed from the forges, a metallic heartbeat that mixed with the sound of wings as the dawn patrol returned from their night watch. Steam rose between the city's metal spires, while crystal reinforcements along the walls caught the sun's rays and threw them back like signals to the sky.
Her room wasn't anything special---a bed, a small desk, and a three-tier bookshelf where she had positioned books of military strategy, Pegasus flight theory, and the occasional story of Elven history. "Know thy enemy," General Wesbeck had always said when visiting the academy and speaking to the candidates, though his nephew Erik never seemed to take that particular lesson to heart. The manuals were well-worn, their spines cracked from countless late nights studying flight patterns and aerial combat techniques. Her father had always said knowledge was as important as skill---a lesson she'd taken to heart even before joining the Reapers, even before she understood just how much that knowledge could cost.
***
The morning ritual was as familiar as breathing. First the base layers---soft leather worn smooth from use, then the reinforced chest piece, each buckle checked three times as her instructors had drilled into her. Flying leathers next, the wolf pelts positioned carefully around her neck and hands. The sky always seemed to be cold, even during the stifling summer months, like the mountain's icy breath was trying to hold them back from something. Her father's iron pendant pressed against her collarbone as she adjusted her collar. She paused, running her thumb over the familiar metal, before tucking it safely beneath her leathers. The cold iron felt heavier today, as if it too knew where they were headed.
Last came the weapons---boot knife positioned for quick access, sword balanced just right on her hip, the weight of it as familiar as her own arm. Each piece of gear had its purpose, its place, a routine developed through years of combat. Some of the newer riders rushed through their preparations, eager to get to the skies, but Valeria knew---up there, every detail mattered. One loose strap, one misplaced blade could mean the difference between coming home or joining the countless markers in the Reaper's memorial garden.
"Are you ready yet?" Bren called as she pounded on the wooden door leading into Valeria's room. "They're serving stew!"
Valeria smiled as she thought of last night's fiasco in the chow hall while she tightened the straps in her gauntlets, the leather creaking with familiar protest. "Coming," she said, staring in the mirror for a moment and smoothing out her uniform.
"You making your own clothes in there?" Bren laughed, a slight hint of annoyance lining her words.
"I happen to like looking presentable when we show up for formations," Valeria shot back, giving Bren a sweet smile as she surveyed her crooked braids and wisps of rogue hairs that lined her head as if she had slept in her uniform and just rolled out of bed at the first whiff of breakfast.
"Oh, fuck off. I don't need to look pretty to do my job. I could take on those Elven bastards in my underwear if I have to and the ending result would be the same---they'd be dead and I'd still be awesome." Bren gave Valeria a wink as she pulled a handful of shredded chicken out of her pouch threaded through her belt and popped it in her mouth.
"Ugh, Bren. Tell me you aren't seriously still eating that chicken from last night?" Valeria said, turning to make a vomiting motion with her finger down her throat.
"What? Chicken stays good for a couple days. It's been cooked, Vale, plus I like to think I have an iron stomach. That kind of stuff doesn't affect me." She popped more pieces of the white meat into her mouth, smiling with small bits of chicken hanging out.
***
Before Valeria could respond to her friend's disgusting habits, they were rocked from behind as two muscled arms wrapped around both of their necks. Valeria almost jumped back before realizing it was Sam appearing from behind.
"Morning, Ladies," Sam said. "Well, Lady," he continued, "Not sure if you qualify, Bren. Your balls are bigger than most of the men in the squadron." He chuckled, earning a wry look and a shoulder punch from Bren.
"Do you want to fly today? Because I could arrange another trip to the infirmary?" Bren said, shrugging his shoulders off. Sam smiled, remembering the first moment he had met Bren. He had made fun of her red hair, and she had punched him square in the nose, breaking it in three places. He had spent all of Yule having it fixed.
"You're never letting me live that down, are you?" Sam chuckled, taking his place on Valeria's left side just like in flying formations.
"No," they both said in unison, Valeria shaking her head at Sam who was still smiling.
"Besides, just because I have bigger balls than you or any of the other men in the squadron doesn't mean I'm not still a lady," Bren said, flashing a noticeably worried look at Valeria that she didn't seem to notice.
***
"Valeria." The voice rang like crystal through the hall, each syllable sharp enough to cut. Elena stood in an alcove, her silver-white hair catching the morning light like fresh snow. The raven patterns that shimmered across her skin writhed and shifted with each breath, their wings spreading and folding as if trying to take flight. Unlike the rigid wing tattoos of the military, these marks were alive with old magic---shadows given form beneath her skin. Like all the Gifted, she carried herself with an otherworldly grace that set her apart, each movement precise as a dancer's. "You missed the blood moon gathering."
"Oh great," Bren muttered under her breath. "Here comes the holy brigade."
Sam, however, straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, trying to achieve that tousled-but-sexy look he'd spent hours perfecting in the mirror. He flashed Elena his most devastating smile---the one he claimed had once made a priestess consider abandoning her vows. "Elena. You're looking particularly divine this morning. Those ravens of yours seem extra... fluttery today."
Elena didn't even glance his way. "The temple felt empty without you there. All of us noticed." Her ethereal features carried genuine concern. "The priests say the blessing's protection is more important now than ever."
"Let me guess," Bren cut in, rolling her eyes. "Morrigan herself descended from the heavens to bless you all personally? Did she bring snacks this time?"
"Bren," Sam warned, but Elena remained focused on Valeria.
"I couldn't," Valeria said quietly, her hand moving unconsciously to her father's pendant. The memory of him standing proud outside the temple each year as the priests blessed the blood moon children made her throat tight. Now those same windows felt like accusing eyes, watching her absence.
"Vale..." Elena stepped forward, but Valeria took a step back.
"I have my own protection," she said firmly, fingers gripping the iron pendant. "And we have a briefing to get to."
Elena's eyes sparkled with amusement as she stepped past Sam. She traced a finger under his chin, the touch light as a feather. "You're cute, Sam," her voice chimed like distant bells, "but I don't date Reapers."
"Worth a shot," Sam shrugged, his smile never faltering even as she glided away, her footsteps silent against the stone. If anything, the rejection just made his grin wider.
"Pretentious bit---" Bren started, but Valeria cut her off with a sharp look.
"Don't. Not today." She started walking toward the briefing hall, not checking if they followed.
"Hey," Sam caught up, his usual playful demeanor replaced with genuine concern. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Valeria said, but her hand remained on the pendant, thumb rubbing the iron surface like a worry stone. "Let's just get through this briefing."
***
They made their way through the vaulted corridors that led to the stables, the morning light streaming through high windows and catching dust motes in its beams. The familiar scent of leather oil and wing balm grew stronger, mixing with the crisp mountain air that flowed through the open archways. Even before they rounded the corner, they could hear the rustle of wings and the soft nickering of Pegasi greeting the dawn.
Lamara's pearl-white head appeared over her stall door the moment Valeria entered, her scaled wings shuffling with anticipation. Unlike some of the other mounts who dozed until called for duty, Lamara was always alert, always watching. She bumped her velvet nose against Valeria's chest in greeting, careful to avoid the iron buckles of her flying gear.
"Someone's eager for breakfast," Sam said, already ducking into the next stall where Xasus's mercury-colored hide seemed to flow like liquid metal in the morning light. The massive stallion had his head buried in a feed bag, apparently more interested in his morning meal than their upcoming mission. "Really? Today of all days you decide to be a glutton?"
"Leave him be," Bren called from further down the stable row where Casia's violet form could be seen, his golden-tipped wings half-spread as he enjoyed his own breakfast. "At least yours isn't trying to steal treats from the stable hands again."
As if on cue, Casia's head snapped up, ears pricked toward a young boy carrying a bucket of grain down the aisle. The look in the Pegasus's eye was purely predatory---not for the boy, but for whatever might be hidden in his pockets. Bren grabbed his bridle before he could make his move. "Don't even think about it, you oversized vulture."
"We should head to the briefing," Valeria said, giving Lamara one final pat. "Captain Corliss won't appreciate us being late." The Pegasus nudged her shoulder affectionately, breath warm against her cheek, before returning to her own breakfast.
"Save me some of that grain, you glutton," Sam called to Xasus as they left. The massive stallion merely flicked his tail in response, not bothering to lift his head from the feed bag.
"He has the same manners as you," Bren snorted as they headed toward the briefing hall. "Always thinking with your stomach, among other things."
Sam gave her a half smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."
***
The dorm halls opened into a vast area lined with stables sitting in the back, deep cherry wood rows of seats sat in the middle of the large structure filling quickly with vast amounts of riders and ground forces. The morning light filtered through high windows of crystal and iron, their panes arranged in patterns that cast wing-shaped shadows across the gathered soldiers.
"Take your seats, we have a lot to get through this morning," a voice boomed across the open expanse as Captain Corliss stepped in front of a dark metal podium that stood in the center, his scarred hands gripping either side of it. Even after twenty years of service, he stood ramrod straight, his broad shoulders straining against his formal leathers. The silver streaks in his close-cropped black hair caught the light, matching the wing patterns etched across his weathered face---a testament to decades of flying missions that had earned him command of the Reapers. Each scar told a story, and his riders knew them all---cautionary tales passed down through generations of recruits.
"Riders on the left. Ground troops on the right. Let's go, people," he yelled, clapping his hands in a hurried motion.
"There have been reports of Elven forces moving further west around Centrex. These forces are said to have originated from Ashemel," Captain Corliss said, turning a page in his briefing notes.
"What is the relevance of these movements?" One of the ground soldiers said, raising his hand in the silent arena. The captain looked visibly annoyed by the question, the scar tissue around his left eye tightening as he narrowed his gaze, a reminder of the crystal arrow that had nearly ended his flying career during the Battle of the Northern Pass.
"The relevance, Mr. Dahl, is that we have strong reason to believe that General Grogg is accompanying these forces." The name sent a ripple through the assembled riders. Veterans straightened in their seats, hands unconsciously moving to sword hilts and lucky charms. Even Sam's usual smile faded, replaced by the hard look he only wore when remembering particularly brutal battles. The General's reputation wasn't just built on victory---it was written in the blood of entire squadrons that had vanished into the forests around Ashemel, leaving nothing but broken tack and scattered feathers.
"As you all know, General Grogg has been staying close to the elven stronghold, so seeing him move out into the open leads us to believe this is not a normal supply run."
His boots clicked against the stone floor with measured precision, each step deliberate and controlled like everything else about him. The wing tattoos that curved from his temples to his jaw shifted as he clenched his teeth, a habit his riders had learned meant he was choosing his next words carefully.
"After the attack on Ironstead a few months ago," he continued, his voice taking on a harder edge, "we cannot afford to take any chances. The elves weren't just raiding---they were searching for something specific in those forges." A noticeable shift in Valeria's demeanor caught Bren's attention at the mention of the fortified weapons fortress. The way her eyes moved down to the ground, and the way she fidgeted with her fingernails trying to tune out the words from Captain Corliss.
"You okay?" Bren whispered, poking Valeria in the leg and pulling her back to reality.
"Yeah. I'm fine," Valeria whispered back. "Just thinking about the mission."
"Something to add, Ashwell?" Captain Corliss shouted, moving closer to the row of chairs to get a better look at Valeria. She stopped fidgeting with her nails and sat at attention, locking eyes with the captain as he waited for her answer.
"The weapons they took," Valeria said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Have we figured out why those specific ones?"
"An astute observation," he responded, though his expression remained guarded. "They targeted certain forges, certain weapons. We're still trying to understand their purpose." His hand moved unconsciously to his scarred wrist, where crystal arrow fragments had once burned deep.
"The forges at Ironstead aren't just producing weapons," he paused, his scarred hand moving to his wrist. "They're working on something new. Something that could change the tide of this war. And now the elves know it too."
"What are they working on?" A voice called from the back.
The captain's expression darkened. "That's classified. What matters is that the elves are desperate enough to risk direct attacks on our fortresses." His gaze settled on Valeria. "And some of us know exactly what that desperation looks like."
***
The silence that followed carried weight. Riders instinctively traced their wing tattoos, fingers following the intricate patterns that marked them as Reapers. A few of the newer recruits glanced toward the stables where their Pegasi waited, while veterans like Sam sat rigid, their faces masks of controlled focus.
From the ground forces' side came mutters about enhanced patrols and additional support. Asher sat among them, his fingers weaving patterns in the air that left trails of golden sparks. The fire-gifted had always been assigned to ground forces---their powers too volatile for aerial combat, too likely to startle the Pegasi or set their riders' leathers ablaze. As if sensing Valeria's gaze, he looked up, and for a moment the flames dancing between his fingers formed the shape of a raven in flight before dissolving into smoke. The burning bird's wings beat once, twice, before scattering into embers that sparked and died against the cold stone floor. Around him, the other soldiers shifted unconsciously away, their ingrained wariness of magic warring with their need for its protection. Fire-gifted were as dangerous as they were valuable---walking weapons that could turn the tide of battle or reduce their own forces to ash with a single misplaced thought.
"Dismissed," Captain Corliss barked. "Point riders, stay behind. The rest of you, prepare for tomorrow's flight. Dawn patrol over Ashemel isn't for the faint of heart."
***
As the others filed out, Valeria caught Sam watching her with unusual intensity. He knew what Ashemel meant to her, what memories that place held. Tomorrow they'd be flying over the same forests where her mother had fallen, searching for the same elven forces that had taken her. She could still see the crystalline arrows piercing the air that day, their translucent shafts catching the light before they shattered, sending razor-sharp shards through armor and flesh alike. And now, months after losing her father at Ironstead, she was heading back to where it all began.
Her thumb traced the iron pendant---all she had left of her father now. When they'd brought news of his death at Ironstead, they'd handed her an elven blade, claiming it was the weapon that killed him. But something about the story had never sat right with her. This time, she had questions of her own---about the weapons, about the forges, about what had really happened to her father at Ironstead, and whether any of it connected to her mother's fate at Ashemel all those years ago.
She just hoped she was ready for the truths she might uncover.