Page 57 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

The wind tore past me in wild, glorious rushes, but my grip on Misun’s golden thorns held steady.

Some of the ridges were warm, smooth with age; others were sharp and jagged like the crowns of kings, their gold bright against the white shimmer of his celestial scales.

Each one was a tether—solid, grounding—yet every beat of his wings made me feel weightless.

Below us, the world stretched endlessly.

Rivers glittered like silver threads. Forests rolled like an emerald sea.

The air was sharp and clean, filled with the tang of distant storms and the faint metallic heat that clung to Misun’s hide.

My legs couldn’t straddle his massive neck, but his scales and thorns were almost a perfect seat for me.

I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it—his magic wrapping around me like an unbreakable harness, strapping me down and holding me so tightly that there was no chance I’d ever fall.

It pulsed with a steady, living heat, each thrum in time with his heartbeat, as he said, “You are mine to carry, mine to protect.” Every muscle in my body tremored with the raw, unshakable truth that I was exactly where I belonged.

To my right, Zayn and Ninaria kept pace—two forces of beauty and danger, wingtip to wingtip with us.

Ninaria’s rose quartz scales caught the sun, scattering pink-gold light across the clouds.

Zayn sat astride her as if he’d been born to it, his long white hair whipping like silk in the wind, green eyes locked on me.

Our bond hummed, molten and alive. I felt him—every pulse of his magic twined with mine, threaded with Misun’s own deep, ancient power.

It wasn’t just a connection. It was an unbreakable weave, a song of flame, wind, and will that belonged only to us.

I let myself sink into it, my chest swelled with something fierce and unstoppable.

“You’re staring at him again,” Misun’s gravelly voice rumbled through my mind, tinged with long-suffering grumpiness. “Do you want me to give you two some privacy, or are we doing this in front of the entire sky?”

A laugh broke from my lips, carried away by the wind. “You’re jealous,” I said out loud.

“I don’t get jealous. I get annoyed. There’s a difference.”

Zayn smirked at me across the gap between our dragons, the look in his eyes telling me he’d presumed what Misun just said to me.

The mountains ahead shifted into something achingly familiar, and my breath caught. The cliffside.

The place I had once stood alone, staring down into the drop, wondering if I’d fall or if I’d somehow catch the wind.

I’d stood there in the cold, letting the thought of the end gnaw at me…

but also something else. The quiet whisper of wanting to fly.

I hadn’t understood it then—how could I?

I’d mistaken my sadness for fragility, for a crack in my armor that shame told me to hide.

But now I knew better. It had never been weakness—it was the quiet, defiant pulse of wanting to live.

Even in my darkest hours, when sorrow sat heavy in my bones, that whisper had been there, steady as a heartbeat, daring me to keep breathing.

It was a prophecy born from longing, woven from every tear I thought had made me small—when all along, they’d been proof I was still reaching for the sky.

Misun banked sharply, and the air tilted around us.

“I know this place,” he murmured, softer now, the weight in his tone as steady as the beat of his wings. “I saw it every time I tapped into your memories. It made me feel free when I’d been trapped for so long.”

He dipped lower, soaring just above the sprawling field where wildflowers still bloomed from my magic despite the winter’s chill.

The air was sweet with their scent, no snow on the ground, and my heart stuttered when I saw the stone at the field’s edge.

Mother’s cross—still standing tall among the blooms I had made blossom.

The wind stung my eyes, but I didn’t look away. I let my tears fall. My fingers tightened on Misun’s spikes as we passed, my throat thick with every word I wished I could say to her.

His massive toes brushed through the wildflowers as we skimmed the ground, petals scattering in our wake like offerings. Then he angled us toward the cliff’s edge, the horizon opening wide and endless before us.

“Hold out your arms,” Misun said, his voice low but carrying the same weight it had when he bonded to me. It wasn’t just a command—it was a vow. “You are mine to carry, mine to protect… but now, you do what you were born to do, Flameborn. You fly.”

I let go.

Arms spread, the wind caught me, filling every breath, every vein with something I had almost forgotten the taste of: life.

The weight I carried for so long slipped from my shoulders, tumbling into the void below.

The world wasn’t slipping from beneath me anymore.

I wasn’t falling. I was rising with it, leaving the shadows chasing me far behind, their reach shrinking with every heartbeat.

The higher I climbed, the smaller the darkness became, until it was nothing but a memory lost in the distance.

I soared into the sky I had once believed was forever out of reach. I laughed—wild, unrestrained—and Misun’s roar split the heavens beside me, not as a warning, but as a hymn of freedom. Like he felt it too.

In that moment, I knew. I had never truly wanted to die.

I had only wanted the pain to end. But now I understood; pain is not the enemy.

It is the fire that burns away what no longer serves you, the storm that shakes loose the chains you’ve carried for too long.

You have to walk through it, feel it, let it shape you—so you can finally let go, and rise.

And here, with the wind in my lungs and the horizon rushing toward me, I wanted. I wanted everything.

To fly.

To live.

To take what was rightfully mine.

The thrones of the Fae Courts waited.

And I was coming for them.

And when I claimed them, the realms would either bow… or burn.