Page 31 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

I ris

The garden courtyard feels like a sanctuary.

The area is dotted with weathered stone benches and wild herbs that someone—perhaps Viktor—planted with meticulous care but now grow however they please.

Rosemary and thyme perfume the cool air, mixing with the distant scent of coffee brewing somewhere inside the Aurora Collective’s buildings.

I need this quiet. Need the space to think before I face the others.

The empty bed this morning shouldn’t have surprised me.

Riven’s an assassin, not a boyfriend looking for morning-after cuddles.

But the cold sheets where his warmth should have been…

it stings more than I want to admit. If last night meant something to him, would he really just disappear without a word?

Then again, maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe the stress finally got to me, and I dreamed up the perfect distraction from my actual problems.

Cut it out, Iris. The mission hasn’t changed.

Except everything has changed. The fight with Viktor and the others yesterday still burns in my gut.

Their justification for how they forced me to leave Riven behind, their patronizing concern about my “reckless” behavior, their interference in my efforts to save Kieran—like they know better than I do what my brother needs.

What I need.

I’ve spent years searching for any trace of him, and the moment I finally have a real lead, they want to slow me down. I can’t allow that to happen again. I need them to take this seriously.

Footsteps on gravel interrupt my brooding. Light steps, hesitant. Not Riven—his approach sounds different, more controlled. Not Viktor either, who moves with definite purpose.

“Iris?”

I turn to see Ember Arrowvane hovering at the courtyard entrance. Her voice carries uncertainty, like she’s not sure she should be here.

“Morning,” I say, not exactly welcoming but not hostile either. “You’re up early.”

“I haven’t been sleeping much.” She moves closer, settling on the stone bench across from me without invitation. There’s something different about her today—a tension in her shoulders, purpose in the set of her jaw. “The dreams are getting stronger.”

Dreams. Right. The prophetic visions she mentioned at the party… before my whole world imploded. I’d filed that information away as interesting but not immediately critical, the way you do when you’re focused on more pressing concerns like survival and rescue operations.

“The ones about the chamber?” I ask.

Ember fidgets with the sleeve of her sweater, a nervous habit that makes her look younger than twenty-one. But when she meets my eyes, there’s nothing childlike in her expression.

“Actually, I’ve been dreaming about you,” she says quietly. “And your brother. And the king made of stone.”

Every muscle in my body goes still. About me and Keiran with the Sleeping King? My mind races through possibilities, none of them good.

“Tell me,” I say, abandoning any pretense of casual interest.

Ember’s fingers stop their restless picking at her sleeve. “It started about two weeks ago. At first, I thought they were just nightmares—dark corridors, chanting voices, the smell of old stone, and something else. Something that made my skin crawl.”

The shadows around my feet respond to my sudden attention, curling tighter against my ankles. “What did you see?”

“Underground chambers carved from black stone. Ancient symbols covering every surface, glowing faintly red like they’re lit from within.

” Her voice grows steadier as she talks, losing the nervous edge.

“There’s a massive room at the center, circular, with steps leading down to a raised dais. And on that dais…”

She stops, swallowing hard.

“What’s on the dais, Ember?”

“A stone figure. Huge, maybe twelve feet tall. It looks like a man but… more. Broader shoulders, longer limbs, features that are almost human but not quite.” Her eyes take on a distant quality, like she’s seeing it again. “Completely still. Like a statue that was once alive.”

“The Sleeping King.” My mouth goes dry. “You think they’re trying to bring him back to life?”

“That’s exactly what they’re planning to do.”

I lean forward, every instinct screaming that this is important. “How?”

“A ritual. Blood magic, but not the simple kind. This is old—older than the clans, older than the treaties. They need a source of immense power to bridge the gap between death and life.” Ember’s hands clench into fists. “Dragon power. Specifically, your family’s power.”

“My family’s power?”

“Your shadows, Iris. They’re powerful.”

I remember what Viktor said in the meeting. How we can bridge the gap between realms.

The pieces click into place with horrible clarity. “That’s why they took Kieran.”

“Yes, but here’s the thing—I don’t think they realized at first that you share his abilities. In my dreams, I see them discovering this later, getting excited about it. Two Asguard dragons working together would exponentially increase their chances of success.”

“Why do you think you’d be seeing these things?” I tilt my head, wondering if these are just the wild imaginings of a young woman with a vivid imagination.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “To be honest, I’ve been reluctant to mention them again, after the mess that happened the last time, when…

” She doesn’t need to go on. She means the mess when I went off on my own.

“Anyway, I was worried everyone would think I was just looking for attention, you know?” She gives a wry shrug.

“God knows I’ve had enough of that lately. ”

“But now you’re telling me?”

“Because I think this is serious, Iris.” Her expression is earnest. “And I think it’s going to happen soon. I figure that if I’m wrong, no harm done. But if I’m right, we’ll catch this thing before it can happen.”

“How much time do we have?” I ask.

“Not long. The ritual needs specific conditions—a dark moon aligned with the sun.”

I frown. “You mean, like an eclipse?”

“Yes.” She nods, holding out her phone. “And there’s one coming up. I Googled it. It’s called a Blood Moon Eclipse. It’s a total lunar eclipse that coincides with a full moon, making the moon look red. It’s said to enhance magical powers.”

“Shit,” I say. “When’s it set to happen?”

She gnaws her bottom lip. “Three days.”

“Three days?” My stomach drops. Not nearly enough time to plan a proper assault, especially when we now have an inkling of what we’re going up against.

“These visions—how detailed are they? Do you know where this is happening?”

“In the Sleeping King’s chambers,” she says. “Just like when you saw your brother in the video, remember?”

I nod, recalling the moment at Ember’s party when I got the video. “So, back in Romania.”

“Yes. The same compound where you found Kieran before, but deeper underground. There are natural cave systems beneath the facility that have been expanded over centuries.” Ember’s voice drops low.

“I’ve seen the ritual from beginning to end.

I know how the incantations work, what they plan to do once the king awakens. ”

She pauses, and something raw flickers across her features. “I’ve seen what happens to Kieran if they succeed.”

“And?”

“The ritual doesn’t just resurrect this ancient king. It requires a life to give a life. Kieran dies so he can live again.”

I suck in a breath. Not a ransom situation. Not a prisoner exchange. A death sentence with mystical trappings.

“But that’s not the worst part,” Ember continues. “In my dreams, I see Kieran fighting it. Even with everything they’ve done to him—whatever conditioning they’ve used—part of him is still fighting. He doesn’t want to go through with it, Iris. You have to believe that.”

Something clenches in my chest. Relief that my brother might still be salvageable, mixed with fury at what they’ve put him through. All this time, I’ve been holding onto hope that he could be saved, that somewhere inside him, my real brother still exists.

I’ve been right.

“You’re certain about this?” I ask.

“I see it every night. The same sequence of events, the same people, the same places.” Ember moves closer, urgency radiating from her.

“But there’s something else. The visions aren’t just showing me what’s going to happen.

They’re showing me what could happen. Different possibilities, different choices. ”

“What do you mean?”

“In some versions, we arrive too late and the ritual succeeds. In others, we save Kieran, but the cost is too high—other people die, or we trigger something worse.” Her expression grows intent.

“But there’s one version where everyone makes it out alive.

Where we stop the ritual and save both Kieran and prevent the Syndicate from waking the king. ”

“What’s different about that version?”

Ember’s smile is sad and knowing. “The approach changes. Instead of a rescue mission, it becomes something else entirely. But I can’t see all the details clearly—too many variables, too many moving pieces.”

I study her face, looking for signs of doubt or fear. Instead, I find determination that reminds me unsettlingly of myself at her age.

“There’s something else,” she says, her voice urgent.

“In every vision, I see the same moment right before the ritual begins. Kieran looks up toward where they’re keeping observers, and for just a few seconds, his eyes clear completely.

He mouths something, but I can never quite make out what it is. ”

“What do you think he’s trying to say?”

“ I’m sorry .” Her words are soft but certain. “I think he’s trying to tell you he’s sorry.”

The emotional sucker punch nearly knocks the breath out of me. The possibility that some part of him is still fighting, still aware enough to feel guilt about whatever he’s been forced to do…

I force the feeling down, tuck it away like I’ve learned to do with anything that threatens my focus. There’ll be time for emotions after we get him out.

“This changes everything,” I say, standing up. “We need to tell the others immediately.”

“Iris.” Ember catches my arm as I turn toward the building. “Are you going to be able to work with them? After yesterday? I heard what happened.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I say. “If you’re right about the timeline, we need to take this seriously. That means swallowing my pride and accepting their help.”

“And…” She pauses, gnawing on her lip again. “Do you think they’ll take me seriously? About my dreams, I mean.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” I frown.

“Because they hardly know me, really.” She shrugs, but there’s nothing nonchalant about it. “It didn’t go well last time. And they probably think I’m just a kid with a wild imagination.”

“Oh, honey,” I say, “you’re so much more than a kid.” I reach out and squeeze her shoulder. “And trust me, this is a place that takes powers like yours seriously. If you’ve been having dreams, they’ll want to know all about them.”

She gives a tight smile and straightens her shoulders. “Then let’s go tell them.”