Page 3 of Across the Stars (Cosmic Threads of Fate #1)

CHAPTER THREE

WATAI

Iskzo folded his wings and dropped from the branch in a sharp dive. Watai bit his lip, swallowing the shout clawing at his throat—no need to wake half the tribe with his glee.

Wind thundered past his skin, sharp enough to sting his eyes like a ring blade’s edge. His long fuchsia hair whipped against his back as he pressed closer to Iskzo, savoring the fierce rush of takeoff.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, letting his mind slide into Iskzo’s until their thoughts braided—one pulse, one will in the sky.

Through borrowed eyes, darkness fractured into light, and the familiar world below reshaped itself into something more .

Watai was no longer just a threadrider clinging to his mount—he was part of Iskzo now, breath and heartbeat braided with the z'myuzo.

Vision stretched farther, sharper, painting the world in colors more vivid than he was used to.

Lake Trinity opened beneath him in crystalline detail: fish darting through clear water, creatures gliding in the calm shallows, and the precise edge where the lake floor sheered into a black abyss.

Colorful, gem-bright shells speckled the coral-white beach, where three distinct biomes collided—jungle, mountains, and plains—each feeding the lake that bound them together.

From their descent, their gaze caught the tributary river slicing through long-grass plains and dense forest, its lavender thread winding all the way to the ocean’s edge.

Something tugged at Watai’s chest—maybe Z’myu herself, whispering a warning, steering them from the rapids that had tempted them moments ago. Their attention shifted to the jungle-clad mountains cradling the lake, shielding the tribe’s weavetree from wind and storm.

Six powerful wings snapped wide, muscles straining to hold them steady.

They tilted perpendicular to the violet waters, catching lift, and a cry of sheer delight tore from their throat as a cool spray kissed their scales.

They skimmed the lake’s surface, racing toward the mountains, exhilaration singing through every shared heartbeat.

“Do you feel it?” Watai pathed, a strange tingling unfurling in his chest. “The pull to follow the coast?”

“Not from me,” Iskzo teased. “Rainy season’s barely ended—too soon for our females to be in heat.”

“Then maybe my threadmate’s mount has matured?”

Hope flared—sharp, dangerous—before Watai could choke it back.

Could Z’myu finally be guiding him to his threadmate after all these years?

No one should be north of their tribe. The rains had only just ceased, and no clan would risk sending untested underlings so soon, not into those wild stretches.

It wasn’t unusual for cordmates to sense their bonds before a cosmic thread was sealed. Sometimes a cord felt its connection even before one of them found a mount, the youngling’s fragile link to a threadmate or cordmount guiding them to their own.

Maybe this strange pull was their cord, reaching across the sky toward another cordmount meant to complete their cosmic thread…

“The hatchlings from the last rainy season should be grown by now,” Iskzo noted, banking away from the Shimmering Sands toward Protector Peak. “We could see if the untethered Z’meuak will let us near their nests.”

Their six wings beat in perfect rhythm, one after the other—a rolling wave of power pushing them toward the rising sun cresting the mountain peaks.

Bioluminescent plants dimmed as daylight spilled over the jungle. Birds wove through the treetops, reptiles clung motionless to rough bark, and a pair of Z’myuw stalked the shadows, hunting as they climbed from the lake and skimmed over the mountain jungle.

From this height, nothing seemed amiss. Only the usual rainy-season debris littered the canopy—no charred scars from lightning, no shattered trees from wild winds. The mountain had always guarded their tribe’s land. Storm damage here was rare…but never impossible.

Excitement coursed through his veins, humming across the cosmic link to Iskzo—the tantalizing possibility of finding their cordmount and, through it, the threadmate who still waited somewhere.

But hesitation shadowed the thrill. If he found his threadmate’s mount first and forged the bond before they could, he might steal a piece of their trials, rob them of the discovery every rider deserved.

He owed respect to someone he’d never met.

Watai scanned the bay’s jagged coastline for the floating rocks above Protector Peak—the northern breeding ground of the Z’myuzo.

The islands rose in thick stone spires, webbed with vines that stretched and wrapped around hovering rocks, all of them reaching hungrily for the sun.

Below, waves smashed against the bases, grinding edges smooth over many generations worth of patient erosion.

Memory pulled him back: swimming the bay in freezing dawn light during his own trials, arms burning as he clawed for the nearest island.

The slick algae had turned every handhold treacherous, and by the time he reached the top, his muscles trembled from exhaustion.

He’d paused—just long enough to breathe—then climbed the final stretch and reached for his threadmount, heart pounding with hope.

As they neared Protector Peak, a chorus of Z’myuzo calls rose to meet them—thousands of voices, some wary, none aggressive. Bright shapes wheeled through the sky, welcoming the day or plunging toward the waves for fish.

Hatchlings clung close to their nests, wings quivering, too afraid to risk their first flight.

They were barely a third the size of the adults, their colors muted and dull.

The newly matured Z’myuzo blazed just as brightly as their parents, but their frames hadn’t filled out yet.

They could carry a rider’s weight—but nothing more.

Watai eased his mind back from Iskzo’s, pulling his senses into his own body. He needed his own eyes on the sky and his ring blade ready in case a sky hunter challenged them.

“Do you sense our cordmount?” Watai asked, blinking hard as he straightened in the saddle, instinctively finding balance.

Iskzo slowed his wingbeats, circling along Protector Peak’s outer edge—well clear of the untethered ones. They were guests here, and neither of them wanted to risk a single misstep that might accidentally irritate and offend the flock.

“I sense… something.”

Watai pressed his lips together and nodded. He understood without needing words. Something had brought them here…

He twisted in the saddle, eyes sweeping the untethered Z’myuzo for another tug—another hint to solve this riddle. Then his gaze snagged on something impossible: a black shape, hovering against Father’s Eye—the great marbled sphere of blue, purple, and white that watched over Z’Mynua and her people.

“Do you see that?” Watai pointed at the oddly shaped shadow—larger than any star in their night sky.

Iskzo banked hard, forcing Watai to lean the opposite way as those gold-green, swirling eyes locked on the distant shape. “That’s not natural.”

Dread slid through Watai’s chest like cold water. His tribe had never faced a sky hunter that size, and he refused to picture the devastation if such a thing descended on their people.

“We need to go. Now,” Watai hissed, tightening his grip on his saddle, muscles coiling for whatever waited. “Return us to our weavetree.”

Watai closed his eyes and braced as his cosmic thread yanked taut, snapping him across the distance. Space blurred, reality tilting—then steadied. In the next breath, they hovered above Lake Trinity, the great weavetree rising beneath them.