Page 3

We stopped for the night at a Serpent hostel in Otin, a nomadic land that had once been a vibrant town decades ago. Now, nothing stretched across the village for miles except for the bunker where we’d spend the night.

The setting sun dimmed low, but the slivered orb above our country grew with each mile we flew. It seemed odd, like a shield of iced winds barred the light from cracking through the clouds.

Some Serpents bartered seeds; others offered stars in the night sky, giving hope to dreamers. Otin, however, lay in ruin, waiting for its collapse until they did. No one needed ice, which was probably why Father seldom made barters with other realms.

A barren land meant the worst had happened. Blood once stained these grounds. Now, only starved trees and parched plants rustled in the wind. People had lived here once .

I wondered how a land froze over. How the wind carried a different kind of sorrow. They said it began with six after the Forgotten fled.

Dust choked my lungs as we stumbled into the brick building, seeking refuge from the lightning storms gathering in the distance.

Inside, six bunk beds lined the walls, each with grey sheets and worn blankets. A stove sat beside a rusted sink, a kettle rimmed with burnt debris atop it.

“This can’t be a protected Serpent bunker,” I muttered. “I thought Serpents lived lavishly. Is it safe?”

Charles pulled a fern leaf from his pocket, scribbling “North Colindale” before pinning it alongside the palm leaves on the wall. A tradition.

“This is a barren land. Have some respect,” Charles said. “This could become our home if Father has no heir this year. Not everyone lives like you.”

The wind rattled the metal door. “I’m just asking. Why couldn’t the neighboring countries help?” Otin had fallen before Charles was born. My grandfather ruled then, but my father never explained why.

“Ask Father when you’re his heir,” Charles said, tightening the latch. “Lots of politics.”

Lorna sprawled across a bed, tying back her short blonde hair. She glanced at me, eyes hard. “Don’t let those assholes get to you. There aren’t enough female Serpents,” she whispered, nodding toward Knox. “No offense, but given your family’s history—”

I cut her off. “I won’t let anyone get to me.” I fell back onto the stiff mattress, groaning.

“Good. The Iced Valley’s kids of Winborrow are cutthroat. They won’t hesitate to kill you, Severyn,” she said, her voice quieter. “Charles rose the ranks slowly, working directly under the king. If you don’t make Serpent, Malvoria will find you a place as a guard. He’s worried about you.”

“I’ll find a way to stay alive.” I yawned.

Lorna wasn’t graceful. Her lips didn’t curve upward at a man’s glance. Instead, she flashed a dagger, then a sharp grin. Her parents were both guards. She grew up in Malvoria, born in Winborrow. Charles once said they wouldn’t work out—her parents wanted her to marry a Serpent.

Charles crossed the narrow rug, each step creaking. He extinguished the lantern before heading to bed.

“You’ve got a long day tomorrow, Sev,” he said, slinging his sword over his shoulder. “Rest before you forget what it feels like to close your eyes willingly.”

Knox was already asleep, unfazed by the world. I envied his ability to sleep through anything.

That night, I tossed and turned, sweat soaking my skin. The air was thick, stifling.

I woke an hour before dawn. The mattress groaned as I got up to shower before the others. Ice-cold, cloudy water sputtered from the taps. I braided my neval streak into my hair, knotting the end to keep it in place.

I knew my birthmark was different. Mother always claimed it was a slip of her paintbrush, but it never faded, no matter how hard I scrubbed. Klaus had one, too, though I was starting to forget his face as time passed.

Voices echoed in my ears as I splashed cold water on my face. After changing into a beige sweater Mother had knitted for special occasions, I left the bathroom to join the others outside. We prepared for the final flight to Serpent Academy.

Dew coated the shabby welcome mat. A perfect circular sun rose high, warming the land with its radiant heat .

Cully once told me the sun was meant to breathe. Ours, though, only warmed the land for three months a year. He said ours was borrowed. I never understood.

I shoved the cloak into my bag, unwilling to feel the sun’s harsh rays as we climbed higher into the sky.

Charles joined me for breakfast, crossing his arms over his knees as he chewed oats, tossing a few bites to Setrephia and Julian.

“Big day today, little sister,” he said with a thin grin.

I nodded, dropping my spoon into the chipped bowl. “I’m going to die, Charles. I’m scared.”

“I was scared once.”

Knox mounted Julian eagerly, tapping the griffin’s mane. “The wind’s not getting any younger.”

“How much longer?” I asked as Charles slammed the bunker’s hatch shut.

Charles helped me onto Setrephia, and we took flight. Once in the air, he glanced at the peaks. “About six hours.”

The wind had settled overnight, but knots twisted in my stomach as we passed over three smaller countries. The sweltering heat beat against my scalp as we crossed the dunes of Ravensla. I stared at the endless hills and ponds, dragon-shaped sand sculptures lining the vibrant city.

Ravensla, the closest port to the academy, would be where the flightless travelers left. I wondered what it would be like to grow up under a bright sun, to never fear the cold.

Charles pointed to a group of cloaked figures. “Those are scavengers. They have no quells. More or less, they’re nomads roaming Verdonia. Stay away from them if you leave the academy.”

Trinkets hung from their frail bodies as they dragged their feet through the sand. They looked withered, nearly skin and bone .

A sour feeling twisted in my chest. “Is that what Mother is?” Her quell had dimmed two decades ago—no amount of Cully’s journals could explain it.

Charles’ tone snapped. “Mother was stripped of her quell at the academy. Don’t speak of her like that.”

“Stripped?”

Charles shuddered. “I’m warded against speaking about a lot of things, Severyn. I’d rather not risk us falling to our deaths. Let’s just say she was gifted a quell that wasn’t allowed.”

Charles kept his gaze fixed on the cloudless sky. “It’s rare. Mother was stripped the year Father claimed the Serpent title.” A vein twitched in his forehead as he closed his eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Please don’t tell Mother I did.”

A forbidden quell. My mother had a forbidden quell? How had I not known? “Charles, what was her quell?”

He hesitated, clearly weighing his words.

“Severyn, a quell doesn’t define a person.

I can wield ice, but I’m not Father’s heir.

It’s better if I don’t tell you. All you need to know is that Mother is not.

.. one of those street rats. The land we stayed in last night was attacked by a powerful force, and the scavengers are the civilians left behind. ”

“What powerful force?”

His tone lowered. “I can’t speak of them.”

The silence stretched between us. I thought of the Seekers—those whose written prophecies once foretold the future.

They’d been wiped out by the Herring family nearly three decades ago.

My mother couldn’t even predict her own children’s moods.

How could she have written the future? Surely… it had to be something far worse.

“Her eyes,” I stuttered. “They’re black.”

“Don’t let it consume you, Sev,” Charles said firmly. “Our family has secrets—many. I’ve protected you from most of them, even in my daily work. ”

During last year’s harvest break, Cully had told me about the dangers of forbidden quells. Most quells were tied to one’s realm—Winter’s being ice or some form of snow-wielding. But unnatural quells existed, born from darkness too potent for any one person to hold.

It started with six, they said. Six who defeated the Forgotten. Six Gods for each Season, including the shadows and light. Clearly, Charles couldn’t speak of the Forgotten who had killed the Gods.

Charles had sworn an oath to safeguard Verdonia as a guard, yet I didn’t realize how deceptive that promise was. I was his sister, but he still treated me like I was seven.

Setrephia glided over the ocean, her wings casting shadows on the dark waters below.

The black smudge from the previous day now loomed, churning with waves.

Her claws skimmed the sea before she tucked her wings and soared upward.

I raised my hand, feeling the breeze curl through my fingers.

A yell broke free, part joy, part terror. For a moment, freedom felt boundless.

Charles yanked me back, his elbow digging into my ribs. “You’re distracting her.”

I turned to face him, wind tousling his hair, sand sticking to his temples. “Do you ever have fun, Charles? Have you ever lived a day without being tense?”

Charles, always the golden child, shook his head. It was hard to imagine him laughing.

His voice softened. “Lorna and I enjoy moonshine once a month.”

The thought of Charles drunk was strange. “Will you and Lorna ever marry?” I asked. They’d been bonded griffin riders for years—it seemed inevitable.

Setrephia cried out, almost in agreement.

Charles chuckled. “My life’s too busy for marriage. Besides, her father wants her to marry a Serpent, not someone like me. ”

Lorna turned around, glaring. Apparently, their bond was open.

“Do you regret not staying at the academy?” I asked. Charles had been a perfect fit for a Serpent.

“No,” he replied. “I did what was right for Verdonia. I still work closely with Saani, who won Serpent the year I attended. You’ll meet her today. She’s a mentor now, keeping me updated on the dropouts. The title system places you where you belong. Most years, no title is earned.”

His guard demeanor shifted as Galthyn came into view, the island shrouded in smog.