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Alina’s breath caught as the first of the horses entered the arena.

They were unlike anything she had ever seen—massive, their muscular forms sleek and powerful, each one gleaming in a different colour, as if forged from elements of the sky itself.

Then came the riders.

House of Wings moved as a single unit, each warrior distinct yet unified.

No two valkyrians looked the same—every shade of skin, every texture and colour of hair was represented among them—but they all shared a single mark of their people.

White ink, swirling like ancient constellations, covered their bodies in intricate patterns, symbols traced upon their skin from the moment of rebirth.

Even their faces bore these markings, whispers of a language Alina could not begin to decipher.

And then came the princess.

She was the last to enter, her presence undeniable. Her wild curls framed a face of sharp beauty, the white markings across her skin stark against her warm complexion. She carried herself with the grace of a ruler, her back straight, her hands steady as she guided her steed into place.

The valkyrians arranged themselves in a perfect line, their horses stamping the dry earth in steady rhythm. They faced the drakonian king, unwavering, unshaken.

Alina leaned forward, heart hammering.

Then, without hesitation, the princess stood atop her horse’s back.

With a single, soft click of her tongue, the creature obeyed, its powerful muscles coiling beneath her as it unfurled its massive wings. The sheer size of them stole Alina’s breath away.

She was no stranger to flight. She had spent her life surrounded by dragons, had grown up in a kingdom where the sky belonged to them. And yet, as the horse began to move, galloping in a wide circle around the arena, its wings unfurling to catch the air, a gasp escaped her lips.

It was a different kind of flight—wild and unrestrained. The princess rode without saddle or reins, her fingers tangled only in the thick, untamed strands of the beast’s mane. And then, with a final push, the horse took to the sky.

The arena erupted in applause.

Alina barely noticed.

Her eyes remained locked on the figure soaring above, on the way the princess maneuvered effortlessly, as though born to the wind. Would it feel different, she wondered, to fly upon a horse rather than a dragon?

As a child, she had whispered prayers to the Sun God, begging him to take her away—to steal her from this place, to carry her across the sea to the island in the sky. But the years had passed, and her prayers had gone unanswered.

Eventually, she had stopped pleading.

‘Want to see a trick?’

The voice was close—too close.

Alina started, nearly jolting in her seat. She had been so mesmerised by the valkyrians that she had failed to notice Kai Blackburn moving behind her. He had leaned in, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. If she turned even slightly, their lips would be nearly touching.

Heat crept up her neck.

‘Do not even think about it,’ Haven warned, her voice flat.

Alina flicked her gaze between them, curious.

‘What trick?’ she asked.

Kai’s dark eyes glinted with something undeniably mischievous.

‘My horse is faster,’ he whispered.

‘Kai, do not—’ Haven’s warning was lost in the chaos that followed. Before Alina could react, Kai had bolted forward .

And then—he jumped.

Alina’s breath caught in her throat. Instinct took over, her arm darting out as if she could somehow stop him. But it was too late. She shot to her feet, rushing to the edge of the balcony, bracing herself for what she might see below.

Kai was falling.

Then, as if summoned from the depths of the abyss, smoke erupted beneath him, twisting, expanding, until it coalesced into something solid.

A horse.

But not a creature of flesh and bone.

It was a thing of darkness and nightmares, its form shifting with each heartbeat, its body forged from shadows and swirling smoke.

Alina’s eyes widened.

Kai landed effortlessly upon its back, his grip light, his body moving as if he had been born in the saddle of this ghostly beast. He cast a glance back at her, winking before galloping towards the valkyrians, weaving through those on the ground.

‘Show-off,’ Haven muttered, crossing her arms.

Alina barely heard her.

‘What is that?’ she asked, voice hushed.

Haven arched a brow, then softened as realisation dawned upon her.

‘You truly do not know,’ she said. Then, with a small sigh, she explained, ‘It’s called a shadow.

All wyverian royals have them. They are creatures that have passed on, yet choose to linger, forging a bond with us until we, too, must leave this realm.

When we die, they guide our way into the underworld. ’

A shiver danced down Alina’s spine the moment Haven raised her hand, and the bracelet coiled about her arm stirred with eerie life.

What had seemed mere adornment began to slither, revealing itself as a serpent unlike any Alina had ever encountered—its body wrought not of flesh, but of shifting shadows and, in her mind, the very essence of nightmares.

It regarded her with an unsettling curiosity, its gaze as weightless as mist and yet as piercing as a blade.

‘So… they’re dead?’

‘Yes and no,’ Haven spoke with quiet simplicity, her gaze lingering upon the shadow-serpent with a kind of tender reverence—an adoration reserved not for a creature, but for an extension of her very soul. ‘Their natural bodies have long since faded, but they continue to exist in shadow-form.’

A chill crawled down Alina’s spine.

‘Can wyverians do that?’

Haven’s lips curled into something that was not quite a smile.

‘No. No one has been able to shadow-walk. Only one wyverian ever did, centuries ago. They say he had a wyvern as a shadow—something that has never happened since.’ She shrugged.

‘They are only stories. Who knows if they are real or not?’

‘But you are hopeful,’ Alina mused, watching her carefully. ‘That someday wyverians could shadow-walk?’

Haven did not answer. Instead, she turned her gaze towards her brother, watching as he galloped across the arena, riding atop his living darkness.

Alina followed her gaze. It looked like a painted scene—like the heavens had opened, allowing the angels to descend, only for a demon to lurk in the mist below.

And yet—

Despite the sharpness of his fangs, the twisted, rotting horns, the body built for destruction—

She was not afraid of him.