Page 6

CHAPTER

SIX

After another fifteen minutes or so of heading through the market, it becomes more and more obvious that everyone else navigating the crowds is being jostled and having to squeeze through. But not us. It’s like Solan has an invisible shield or something around him, one that repels and creates a path for us.

Not gonna lie, it’s kind of cool in an “I’m really trying not to freak out” way. And to be honest, I’m tired of that reaction, of being scared and running on fumes. It’s a version of myself that I don’t recognise. I’m not a fan at all.

Life has taught me to take the shit thrown my way on the chin—that’s if I can’t dodge it first. My dad was a firm believer in standing up and taking action. He was incredible that way. Sure, he could be a miserable old coot, too, especially when times on the property were tough, but he persevered. He didn’t constantly question and tie himself up in knots. He simply dealt with his lot the best way he could.

It’s the reminder I need to stop questioning everything. Admittedly, I suspect Dad never experienced anything like this, but with worry being my constant, it’s time to shake it off. I’ve never worked well under a cloud of stress.

“So,” I start, determined to win this internal battle I have going on, “you think Harith will be able to help in some way?”

Solan side-eyes me and nods once before returning his full focus to the path ahead, his subtle scan of the crowd continuing. It’s something he’s been doing nonstop since we entered the town. “Yes, Jack,” he responds, my name a low grumble that tightens my gut. “Information travels fast in Terrafeara, but even more so in Myra’s Crossing.”

“Any reason for that?” I’m curious about… well, everything. Sure, Solan’s managed to magic or some shit his found TV to work, but nothing else about the place screams technology or even hints at it that I recognise. Though I do recall Solan saying something about the cities having technology. What I didn’t think to ask was what kind.

“ Dracodines .”

I tug my brows low. Dracodines ? Am I supposed to know what that is?

As I part my lips to ask, he gently presses two of his large fingers against my chin, tilting my head slightly so I’m looking up at the rooftops. “Look,” he says softly, and I do, but I can barely concentrate on anything but his touch. It burns, a searing heat that should cause me pain. All it does is send goose bumps erupting on my skin and draw my breaths from me unevenly.

The creatures are birdlike in as much as they have wings. They’re a similar size to a seagull, but beyond having feathers on their two wings, that’s where the similarity ends. Rather than a beak, the Dracodines have long, sharp snouts that curve slightly downwards, resembling scaled talons. Their heads are covered in small, smooth scales that glint faintly in the sunlight, giving them an otherworldly sheen. Their wings, while feathered, have a distinct leathery texture near the base, and their talons—hooked and razor-sharp—grip the rooftops with ease.

But it’s their eyes that grab my attention, making my breath hitch. Each orb is a swirling mix of colours, shifting constantly as though liquid fire flows just beneath the surface. They seem too intelligent, too perceptive, like they’re not just looking but seeing everything, dissecting it, cataloguing it. The sight sends a shiver racing down my spine.

“They look….” I hesitate, searching for the right word. “Intense.”

Solan nods, his gaze flicking to one of the perched Dracodines before returning to our path. “They are. Dracodines are used to send messages across long distances. They mimic entire sentences perfectly, word for word, tone and all.”

“Like parrots?”

A faint chuckle rumbles from him, the sound warm despite the tense set of his shoulders. “Parrots? Perhaps. But more useful and far more dangerous.”

I glance back up at the Dracodine , and it tilts its head, almost as if it’s acknowledging my attention. The movement is unnerving, far too deliberate. “Dangerous how?” I ask, lowering my voice instinctively.

“They’re often used to spy,” Solan replies, his tone clipped as his eyes dart to the rooftops again. “The queen and her sovereignty, rival towns, even private individuals can train them to record conversations and carry them back to their owners. In some regions, they’re considered the ultimate tool for intelligence gathering.”

The Dracodine flutters its wings once, and I swear its swirling gaze sharpens on me for a heartbeat before it shifts to scan the crowd below. “And nobody notices these things eavesdropping?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.

Solan smirks faintly but doesn’t take his eyes off our surroundings. “They’re common enough here that most don’t give them a second thought. But that’s the trick, isn’t it? Something seen too often becomes invisible.”

I frown, studying the creature. Its talons flex briefly, and the subtle glint of something metallic catches my eye. “Wait—do they wear… jewellery?”

Solan shakes his head. “Not jewellery. Those are message cylinders. They’re attached to their legs to carry written missives.”

“Efficient,” I murmur, though I can’t help but feel unsettled by the thought of these creatures flying around with recorded voices or secret messages strapped to them.

“It is,” Solan agrees, his tone darker now. “But don’t trust a Dracodine just because it carries a message. If someone gets their hands on one, they can tamper with what it delivers.”

I stare at the creature for a moment longer before finally tearing my gaze away. “That’s… terrifying.”

Solan offers a small nod, his expression grim. “It should be. In the wrong hands, they can be weapons. In the right hands, tools. In either case, always be on the lookout for them.”

His words linger in my mind as we continue through the bustling streets. I cast one last glance at the Dracodine before it spreads its wings, the feathers flashing iridescent in the light, and takes flight with a single powerful leap. It vanishes into the sky, but its piercing, all-seeing gaze stays with me long after it’s gone.

“We’re here.” Solan’s voice is low. He flashes me a glance, his focus intent. Worry appears in his eyes, blatant enough that my chest tightens. If Solan is concerned, is he expecting something to go wrong?

Before I returned to the outback to support Dad and take over the family farm full-time, I’d spent years in Brisbane. Time working on the ranch, both growing up and since going back home, meant I had no choice but to work and think independently, think fast on my feet. When mustering especially. Sure, I had seasonal workers to support me, but that meant I had additional responsibility. Decisions could mean the difference between life and death. Okay, that sounds a little more dramatic than it likely is, but ranching life could be dangerous.

Before returning to the outback, I’d worked as a firefighter in Brisbane. Fires don’t wait for you to figure things out. You make decisions fast—whether it’s kicking down a door or deciding which way to direct your crew to keep them safe. And it’s not just about the fire itself; it’s the people.

You learn to read panic in someone’s eyes or hear it in their voice. Not everyone reacts logically when their world is literally burning around them. That’s where reading the room becomes as important as knowing how to handle a hose or an axe.

But it was my time as a firefighter that really taught me the significance of thinking fast and staying on my feet. Not only that—the skill of noticing the tiniest details in the heat of the moment and acting without hesitation.

I shake off the creeping unease and glance at Solan. “Should I be worried?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

His lips twitch—a faint smile or grimace, I can’t tell. “No,” he says, but the way his hair ripples in an almost-imperceptible wave tells me he’s not as confident as his words suggest.

Reading a situation is one thing. Reading a monster with sentient hair? That is a whole new challenge.

Solan pushes open the heavy door, and I follow him inside, stepping into a building that smells of something earthy and slightly spicy, like freshly cut wood and warm pepper. The walls are crafted from a material that looks like wood but shimmers faintly, catching the light with an almost-metallic sheen. It’s larger inside than I’d expected. The space is open, high ceilings arching overhead, with beams that stretch across like the ribs of a great beast.

To my surprise, it feels more like an office than a store. A long counter with polished surfaces stands at the far end, and scattered throughout are desks, some piled with neatly stacked parchment, others with odd contraptions I can’t even begin to identify. This isn’t just a merchant’s shop—it’s some kind of hub for activity, far more organised and official than the dusty, ramshackle trading posts I’d imagined.

A smaller creature—not a Glowranth—sits to one side, perched on a stool that seems slightly too large for its compact frame. Its skin is a mottled mix of blue and green, textured like tree bark, and its three round eyes blink in unsettling succession. Those eyes keep darting towards me, curious but not hostile. My hackles don’t rise, and I let myself relax. It’s clearly wary, though I can’t tell if it’s because of me specifically or just their general behaviour.

Solan strides towards them, his gait confident but not rushed. His voice takes on the rhythmic cadence I’ve heard while walking through the township, speaking in the language I assume belongs to the Glowranth. It flows smoothly, musical but with sharp edges, like the hum of a song interrupted by snaps of static.

The small monster nods rapidly, its gaze flickering to me, then back to Solan. I watch their exchange, trying to piece together the meaning from their tones and expressions. The smaller monster looks unsure, then placated, though its wide-eyed glances my way don’t stop.

After a brief exchange, Solan gestures for me to follow him into a back room. I trail behind, stepping into a quieter space that smells faintly of ink and some kind of herbal musk. The walls are lined with shelves stuffed with parchment-like books, their covers worn and their edges uneven. The floor is a patchwork of mismatched rugs that are soft underfoot.

Behind a low desk sits someone who I assume is the chief merchant, and immediately, I know this isn’t your average shopkeeper. He’s a Glowranth, his luminous, iridescent skin casting a faint, warm glow that shifts subtly with each breath he takes, like sunlight refracting through a thin veil of mist. The surface of his skin shimmers with faint hues of gold and violet, as if alive with its own energy. He’s engrossed in writing, long, sharp fingers moving deftly across a sheet of parchment, the fluid motion as precise as it is practiced.

The merchant looks up as we enter. His gaze locks on Solan first and then shifts to me. A flicker of recognition flashes in his intelligent eyes, his expression sharpening. The curve of his lips hints at a smile, though it’s tempered by something serious.

His gaze travels over me, and I know immediately that my disguise isn’t fooling him. I resist the urge to fidget, instead standing as straight as I can, though my insides twist with nerves.

“Solan,” the merchant greets, his voice deep and smooth, but there’s an urgency in his tone as he continues in the Glowranth language. The two exchange words quickly, their voices quiet but intense. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but the merchant’s eyes widen briefly as he takes me in again, his expression shifting from cautious to concerned. Then, surprisingly, something softer takes its place.

The merchant leans back in his chair, his skin shimmering like moonlight rippling over a smooth dam, and switches to rough but comprehensible English. “You are welcome,” he says, his tone surprisingly warm. “I am Harith. We felt the shift but had not yet heard where it took place. There is news that the Prince Aelith is missing… as is his bodyguard.” He tilts his head slightly, watching my reaction.

Panic seeps through me at his words, threatening to buckle my knees. Harith leans forwards, his face darkening. “The royal guard searches. It is… not good.”

My chest tightens as worry flares. “I left my nephew behind… at Solan’s,” I blurt, my voice cracking. “He’s just a kid. I didn’t have a choice. Is he in danger?” Even as I say the words, I want to go back in time. What the fuck was I thinking, leaving him alone in this strange world? Fuck.

Harith’s expression hardens instantly, and dread clenches my stomach like a vice.

“They will care,” he says grimly. “A human child linked to the shift? The royal guard will take him to the queen without hesitation. They will assess his skills, determine how he can serve society. See what he knows about the prince.”

My heart pounds. “He’s twelve,” I snap, panic sharpening my tone. “What skills? All he does is eat, fart, and tell jokes so bad, they make you want to crawl under a rock. Sure, he can ride and shoot better than most adults, but he’s a kid .”

Harith doesn’t flinch. “They will not see a child. They will see potential. And potential is something they do not waste.” His gaze flicks to Solan, who stands stiff, his face carved from stone but his worry glaringly clear.

“No,” Solan says firmly, stepping closer to me. His deep voice is steady, a stark contrast to my fraying nerves. “Jamie is smart. He will endure.”

My throat tightens, and Solan reaches out, cupping the back of my neck with his broad hand. The warmth of his palm seeps into me, anchoring me in the moment. I close my eyes for a beat, pulling in a deep breath that does little to calm me.

“Going back isn’t safe,” Harith says. “The royal guard will expect it. You would be walking into their trap.”

“We need a plan,” I say, the tremor in my voice betraying my fear. We were meant to be heading back today to be with him. He can’t be left alone. My eyes dart to Solan while my brain becomes overloaded with questions. The most pressing is why will the royal guard be expecting it? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. What I say instead is “Jamie’s capable.” Fierce resolve settles in my chest. Anything else is too dangerous. Too debilitating. “He could ride a horse before he could tie his laces. He could shoot a rifle before he could spell complicated. But he’s still just a kid.” The last words spill out unbidden. Fuck.

Solan’s grip tightens slightly, and his hair ripples like a flame with renewed access to oxygen. “We will find a way,” he says, his voice unyielding. The sheer conviction in his words grounds me more than his touch.

Harith nods slowly, his expression clouded with thought. “There are… contacts I can reach out to. Those who might help. But it will take time. For now, you must stay hidden.” He glances between us before fixing Solan with a pointed look. “And you, Solan…. You know what is required.”

Solan’s jaw flexes, his entire frame going rigid. “I know.”

I look between them, unease churning in my gut. “What? What does that mean?”

“We protect you,” Solan says, his tone like iron, his eyes taking on a glowing sheen, a testament to the fire beneath. “No matter the cost.”