Page 48

48

Rhea

T he air itself vibrates, a low, guttural thrum that crawls into my bones. Above the jagged peaks, the sky darkens, not with clouds, but with a writhing, black mass. The next wave of screeches slices through the air, ear-splitting, a cacophony that makes my teeth ache.

Ominous. That’s the only word for it. Then they crest the ridge.

Screechclaws. Harpies.

My breath hitches.

They’re not the distant shadows I’d imagined, but a real, tangible horror. They’re a swarm, a living storm of ragged wings and twisted bodies. My stomach plummets. Feathers, oily and black, cling to emaciated legs, leaving the torsos exposed. Their faces, a grotesque parody of humanity, are contorted in snarls, razor-sharp yellowed teeth bared. And if their talons, claws, and teeth weren’t enough, they carry long swords strapped to their painfully thin waists. Their eyes burn and lock onto us, burning pinpricks of feral hunger.

As we fly forward, I increase the tension on Zephyros’s Tethers. Cold fear pierces me. I glance around. Vaylen’s jaw is set, his eyes narrowed, but I see the flicker of unease in their depths. Even Fragor, so powerful, shifts nervously beneath him. Silas’s face is pale, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. Omari’s lips are pressed into a thin line, ice coating her boots.

We’re all new, untried, and facing a nightmare made flesh. The screeches intensify, a deafening wave of sound that threatens to shatter my eardrums. The harpy horde descends, a black avalanche of claws, teeth, and fury.

At the forefront of the flight, a creature unlike the others soars, larger, more powerful.

The Matron? What is she doing here? She’s their leader, the highest in their hierarchy. Why would she abandon Cinderhold for Hearthdale? It makes no sense.

This harpy exudes pure, malevolent energy. Her feathers are the color of midnight, streaked with blood red. Her eyes, burning coals in the gloom, fix on us with chilling intensity. Monstrous leathery wings sprout from her back, beating the air in a rhythm that echoes the pounding of my own heart. Her talons are the size of daggers and glint menacingly. This is no mere beast. This is a force of nature, a harbinger of death.

And she’s coming for us.

My body trembles. We’re not ready for this.

As we fly to meet them, the harpy matron lets out a screech that shatters the air, and the horde surges forward. A wave of panic washes over me. This is it. We’re going to die. I glance at Vaylen’s grim face and find that his blue eyes now hold a fierce determination. Then, he’s speeding forward, Fragor soaring towards the heart of the horde.

Beside him, Prime Emberstone, on her fiery dragon Ignis, follows. He roars and a torrent of flames erupts from his maw. Vaylen, in perfect synchronicity, unleashes Wind Blast, channeling it into Fire Storm. The flames ignite, twisting and dancing, a maelstrom that engulfs the leading harpies. They scream, their feathers ablaze, then dozens plummet from the sky like burning meteors. The air grows thick with the smell of singed feathers and burning flesh.

To my utter disbelief, the Matron remains untouched. She soars through the heart of the Fire Storm, her wings beating furiously. The sight chills my bones, but we’re not powerless. We can do this. We can fight back. We’ve trained to face them.

A surge of energy courses through me. I scan the chaos, my eyes locking onto Silas. We haven’t seen eye to eye lately, and there’s been a wall of unspoken resentment between us. But now, with the harpies swarming, there’s no room for anything but survival. I send a silent plea for unity. He hesitates for a heartbeat, then nods, a flicker of understanding passing between us.

I give him the hand signal for Fire Storm.

He spurs his dragon, Agnisar, forward. The scales at his throat glow with renewed heat. I guide Zephyros into a tight turn, positioning us beside him. Silas unleashes a torrent of fire along with his dragon, a blazing wave that washes over the harpies.

At the same time, I channel my wind, not to scatter the flames, but to amplify them. This is my first time doing this, we didn’t have a chance to practice combined attacks, but Zephyros guides me, sending quick instructions through our bond. I weave a powerful gust, focusing it into a tight, swirling vortex that wraps around the fire. Beneath me, Zephyros glows, same as my body. The flames explode, the wind feeding them, turning them into a raging inferno. The harpies caught in the blast shriek, their forms consumed by the enhanced fire, their charred bodies dropping to their rocky graves. The attack is effective, a testament to the power of our combined elements.

The air crackles with heat and the increased smell of burning feathers, but the Matron seems undeterred. She still urges her horde forward. She doesn’t seem worried in the least. Her strength is in her numbers, and she appears bent on destruction, a strange stance to make for a town they have already disseminated. What are they after?

The battle becomes a chaotic whirlwind of elemental powers. Omari, perched atop Fulminar, unleashes bolts of lightning, each strike sending arcs of crackling energy through the harpy ranks. The air fills with the sharp ozone scent of her power. The harpies convulse, falling as the electricity courses through their gaunt figures.

A tier below, I spot Jordrax and his rider Caspian Stonefist. They speed close to the ridge, harpies hot on their trail.

Goddess, they’re not going to make it!

A surge of panic hits me, but then Caspian whirls to face his dragon’s tail, Tethers adjusting masterfully. As expertly as a seasoned Skyrider, he sends a wave of earth power toward the rocky slope, dislodging large boulders and sending volley after volley hurtling into the swarming harpies. Rocks smash into the dense formation, scattering the creatures and sending them tumbling. Yet, for every harpy that falls, two more seem to take their place. The sheer number is overwhelming. They press closer to Caspian, their screeches growing louder, more insistent. Their talons glint like razors, reaching, ready to tear. One harpy, her eyes burning with rabid hunger, dives towards Caspian, a sword in her grip.

My heart leaps into my throat. Caspian, focused on hurling rocks at the advancing harpies, doesn’t see the one diving towards him. The harpy screeches, flips, and extends her talons, aimed for the Skydune. Jordrax roars and banks in the opposite direction, but the harpy flies fast, a projectile. It’s going to reach them.

—Caspian, he needs us! I say.

Zephyros reads my thoughts in a flash and with my knowledge of Caspian’s position veers downward, headed directly for him.

—Wind Spear, Rhealyn , Zephyros instructs.

—I can’t. Wind Blast will work.

—No! You’ll unmount the human and send him flying against the rocks.

Zephyros might be right. But I can’t.

—Wind Spear will fail me again, I say. He’ll be as good as dead.

—No, he won’t. You can do it.

I disregard his instructions and release Wind Blast, carefully aiming it at the harpy. The attack catches the creature’s wings from the back. She shrieks, her momentum broken, and goes tumbling head over talons. I think I’ve succeeded, but she crashes into Caspian with enough force to break his Tethers. The harpy spins out of control toward the side of the mountain, crashing to her death, while Caspian plummets to the ground, his body a dark, limp shape, while Jordrax, unbalanced, struggles to avoid a collision with the jagged peak.

“Caspian!” I cry, fear clawing at my throat.

I don’t hesitate. I yank on Zephyros’s Tethers, steering him into a steep dive. The wind screams in my ears as we plummet towards the earth. I spot Caspian falling, eyes closed, unconscious. Just as he’s about to hit the ground, we reach him. With a precision I didn’t know he possessed, Zephyros angles himself beneath Caspian, positioning one massive wing under my mate and catching him in its broad expanse. With a controlled descent, we land gently on the rocky terrain.

Zephyros carefully tilts his wing, allowing Caspian to slide off and onto the ground. I leap down, heart pounding. Caspian lies still, his face pale. I kneel beside him, gently cradling his head in my arms.

“Caspian? Caspian, can you hear me?” I whisper, my voice trembling. He’s a good man who carved his path in the Academy through arduous work, accompanied by quiet determination.

His eyes flutter open, and he blinks, gaze unfocused. “Rhea?” he murmurs, voice weak. He has a bleeding gash on his side. The harpy must have sunk her claws into him. Damn beast!

“You’re hurt,” I say.

He looks down, frowning. “It’s not bad.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just get my health pack, and I’ll be back on Jordrax in no time.”

Just as he says this, his dragon lands, concern etched on his massive face. I approach him.

“Jordrax, I need Caspian’s health pack,” I say.

The brown dragon nods and bends his knee. I run up his side, reach the saddlebag, quickly retrieve what I need, and return to Caspian. When I get there, he’s already opened his jacket to inspect the wound. It’s not as bad as I thought.

“Here.” I set the pack down. We’re trained to tend to our own wounds. He’ll be all right.

“Go! I’ll join in five.” He’s already pulling out a binding to wrap his stomach.

Something thuds a few feet away. We both startle, heads snapping in the direction of the sound. A harpy, wings singed and smoking, has crashed to the ground. My heartbeats mark several seconds as Caspian and I stare, unblinking. It doesn’t move.

“Is it dead?” Caspian whispers.

“Stay here. I’ll check.”

I reach into my boot, pulling out my dagger. It’s a small blade, but sharp, honed for close combat. Taking a deep breath, I approach the fallen harpy. Her eyes, glazed and vacant, stare up at the sky. Yet, one of her hands twitches. I hesitate, then plunge the dagger into her heart. The creature lets out a final, guttural gurgle, then stills.

As I withdraw the dagger, I can’t help but stare at the harpy. Up close, I learn the creatures are even more grotesque than I’d imagined. Their yellow-green skin is covered in a viscous fluid, sickly and foul-smelling. Their feathers are oily and matted, also reeking of decay. And their claws… they’re longer than my hand, curved and razor-sharp. I shudder, a wave of nausea washing over me. These harpies aren’t just monsters. They’re… something else. I don’t know what, but they make my soul cringe.

I turn away, the sight of the monster seared into my memory. Caspian watches me, face pale. I force a smile. “It’s dead,” I say, voice trembling slightly. “You’re safe.”

But as I glance back up, I know there’s no safety. The battle is far from over. Nodding, I leap back onto Zephyros, a renewed determination burning in my chest. Damn Screechclaws. They’ll pay for this!

I rejoin the fray, soaring back into the chaos. The air is thick with the stench of burnt flesh, ozone, and fear. Dragons and harpies zoom through the air in a cacophony of roars, screeches, and the crackle of lightning. I spot Vaylen, his face grim as he directs the battle, and Omari, her lightning strikes illuminating the sky. And then, I see Silas.

He’s locked in a desperate struggle with a harpy, her long sword raking at Agnisar’s hide. Silas’s features are contorted in fury as he runs along his dragon’s spine, shooting Fire Balls. The control over his Tethers is amazing. One of his attacks passes an inch from the harpy’s face. The monster pushes away from Agnisar and shrieks tauntingly. I peer at Agnisar for signs of injury, but he seems fine. It’d take more than a few sword blows to cut through a dragon’s hide.

Silas releases Fire Blast, a steady stream of fire. His opponent easily avoids the volley, seeming to mock him. Another harpy appears behind him, aiming for his unprotected back. My blood runs cold.

With a battle cry, I guide Zephyros in his direction. I unleash a Wind Blast, a focused gust that strikes the harpy from the side. The creature shrieks and, wings twisting at odd angles, tumbles from the sky. I pull Zephyros up, circling back to Silas just as he delivers a huge Fire Blast straight at the other harpy, turning her to nothing but ashes.

That was excessive. He needs to save his energy for… for the large group coming at us!

“Behind you!” I scream, pushing my words toward him with Wind Blast.

He glances over his shoulder, and the sheer sight sends him to one knee.

“Fire! We need fire,” I shout as, reading my mind, Zephyros circles, gaining the right angle to attack.

For a moment, I fear Silas won’t rally, but he jumps to his feet, runs back to Agnisar’s head and gets in position.

We launch our attack. I channel my wind, focusing it into a swirling Vortex that wraps around a roar of flames from Agnisar’s maw. The fire intensifies, engulfing the wave of harpies. Most drop to the ground, until only a few remain.

The horde, though thinned, still swarms like a hive of angry bees, the individual creatures proving harder to target as they dive toward us with outstretched talons. Silas and I use Wind Blast and Fire Blast to drive them back, our attacks growing more precise with each enemy we manage to take down.

More harpies come, and though relentless, they’re starting to show signs of fatigue. Their screeches are less frenzied, their movements less coordinated. We press the advantage, Silas and I working in tandem. Yet, they still come. One by one, we pick them off, a frustratingly slow process. Each harpy slain is a victory, but the numbers seem endless.

The battle drags. It’s a relentless grind against a relentless enemy. The sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the peaks. The air is thick with smoke.

After what must be hours of fighting, Silas and I chase the last of our thinned-out enemies, and for the first time in a while, I have the opportunity to glance around. Everyone fights in isolation or groups of two. Dakar and Emberstone cut through the sky, riding the powerful Fire Blast their combined powers generate. The senior Skydune is with Caspian and the senior Skybolt has joined Omari—the veterans protecting the new members of their Clutches. But where is Vaylen?

I keep scanning the battlefield. The scene of utter devastation. The ground is littered with the bodies of fallen harpies, their grotesque forms twisted and broken. Patches of scorched earth mark the spots where flames raged, and the air still crackles with the residual energy of the Skybolt’s lightning. The once-pristine lake reflects the fiery sunset, its surface disturbed, rippling with the strong gusts from dragon wings.

But the sight that truly snatches my breath away is entirely different.

I finally spot him. Vaylen!

In the distance, I see Fragor’s silver shape. He’s being pursued by the Matron, her massive form a terrifying shadow against the setting sun. A cluster of harpies swarms around them, their screeches audible even from this distance.

My heart leaps into my throat. He’s in danger.

Fragor flies at breathtaking speed, while Vaylen releases Wind Spears, volley after volley of them, while he and Fragor glow with power. The Matron, swift and powerful, easily avoids the attacks, her attention doggedly set on Vaylen while her soldiers fall to Vaylen’s attacks behind her.

I spur Zephyros on. Silas roars in agreement, and we fly toward Vaylen, a blast of wind and fire cutting through the few remaining harpies in our path. I push Zephyros to his limits, my eyes fixed on Vaylen and Fragor. They are too far, but we’re moving fast. Determination fuels my speed.

The Matron, sensing our approach, lets out a blood-curdling screech. She dives, a blur of black feathers and talons, aiming straight for Vaylen. Fragor roars in alarm. The Matron strikes, her talons raking across the dragon’s back as she sails into Vaylen. Slamming into him, she wraps her arms around him, the force of the impact severing his Tethers. I cry out as he plummets towards the ground, the harpy clinging to him like a monstrous parasite.

They fall, a tangled mass of limbs and feathers, and disappear into the deepening twilight. My heart twists. I can only watch in horror as wind whistles in my ears in my desperate dive to reach them.

* * *

I kick Zephyros into an even steeper dive. The wind howls past my ears. My heart hammers, a frantic drumbeat against the screams of impotence inside my head. I have to reach him. I have to save him.

But deep down, a cold dread settles in my stomach. They are falling too fast. Past the clouds, the ground is rushing up to meet them. I know, with a sickening certainty, that I won’t make it in time.

Zephyros strains, his powerful wings beating with desperate urgency, but it’s not enough. Vaylen and the Matron are still falling, a chaotic swirl of struggling limbs and snapping jaws.

The clouds whip past in a dizzying blur, and as we break through, a flicker of relief ignites within me. The lake! Its surface, reflecting the fading light, is directly below us. There might still be a chance.

Vaylen’s and the Matron’s forms tangle as a dagger flashes and teeth snap. They plunge into the water, disappearing beneath the surface with a resounding splash that echoes across the mountains. The lake’s surface ripples, then stills, leaving no trace of their struggle.

Zephyros and I hover above the water. My heart is in my throat. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant cries of the remaining harpies.

Vaylen, come on! Where are you?

Is he…? No! I can’t bear to finish the thought.

My decision is instantaneous. I can’t wait. I have to go after him. I kick off my boots, shed my heavy leathers, and without a moment’s hesitation, I leap from Zephyros’s head, plunging into the icy depths of the lake.

The shock of the icy water steals my breath. I fight against the current, kicks and strokes hard, my eyes straining to pierce the murky depths. I’m thankful for my goggles, which allow me to keep my eyes open. Still, only the fading light filters through the water, casting long, distorted shadows. I search frantically, my lungs burning, my vision blurring, until I remember something.

I’m afraid it won’t work, but the air bubble I conjure forms around my head. I gulp in air and keep swimming. Then, I see him. A dark shape, sinking slowly towards the bottom. Vaylen!

I swim towards him, my arms and legs aching. As I reach him, my arms wrap around his waist, and I extend the air bubble to encompass him. His eyes are closed, his body limp. He’s unconscious. The Matron is nowhere to be seen. I kick with all my remaining strength, trying to pull him up towards the surface.

My vision swims, but I can see the faint glimmer of the surface above. With a few final, desperate kicks, I break through, Vaylen still limp in my arms.

Zephyros stands by the shore, his massive form a welcome sight. He lowers his long, powerful tail, the silver scales glistening in the fading light. I manage to grab hold of it, my fingers clinging to the rough surface. With a powerful tug, he pulls us through the water, dragging us toward him.

He gently deposits us onto the rocky bank. I roll Vaylen onto his side, thumping on his back to expel the water from his lungs. It pours out of his mouth in bursts. I hold my breath, waiting, praying. Blood seeps through his torn leathers, quickly soaking the ground.

“Come on. Come on, Vaylen!” I beg, holding his face in my hands.

He coughs, sputtering, gasping, eyes wide and frightened. But alive. He’s alive!

I press my forehead to his. “Thank the Goddess.”

We stay like that for a long moment. His breaths even out, and he slowly sits up.

“What… what happened?” he asks.

“The Matron took you out,” I say. “You fell in the lake.”

He frowns. “You… got me out?”

I nod.

Forgetting all about that in an instant, his eyes rove over me in a frantic sweep.

“Are you hurt? Did she… did she get you?” His voice is rough, his hands reaching out to grip my arms, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, my own hands covering his. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Relief washes over his face, a visible wave that eases the tension in his shoulders. He pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me in a tight embrace, his grip almost desperate. I can feel the rapid beat of his heart against mine, our bodies attempting to warm each other and get rid of the lingering chill of the frigid water.

“Thank the Goddess,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against my now tangled hair. “I couldn’t see you. I didn’t know how you were faring. Everyone got separated. The battle… it all happened so fast.”

I hold him tighter, burying my face in his shoulder. “I’m fine, and you’re fine.”

We gently pull apart, the relief in Vaylen’s eyes mirroring my own. We get to our feet, the ground unsteady beneath us, and begin to assess the situation. The battlefield is silent now, the screeches of the harpies replaced by an eerie stillness. The last rays of the setting sun highlight the devastation. I get to Zephyros and retrieve a new pair of leathers and boots from the saddlebags and get dressed.

Then, one by one, the dragons and their riders begin to return. Zephyros lets out a low rumble, a greeting to his kin. Agnisar lands nearby, Silas astride him, his face grim but relieved. Omari and Fulminar touch down a moment later, Omari’s lightning-charged hair still crackling with residual energy.

Others follow, some limping, some with wounds that tell tales of the fierce battle. There are groans of pain, but also sighs of relief, the shared acknowledgment of survival. We endured no losses, which is a great relief and a damn miracle. I can tell Vaylen agrees by the way he looks at everyone in awe.

We gather together, tending to each other’s wounds, sharing water and rations. The mood is somber, but there’s also a sense of camaraderie, forged in the heat of our first battle together. We have faced death together, and we lived.

Vaylen surveys the scene, his gaze lingering on the wounded, his expression a mixture of pride and concern. “This was… unexpected.”

Prime Emberstone nods in agreement.

“It makes no sense why the Screechclaw would fight so fiercely,” he goes on. “And the Matron… she doesn’t join a fight unless it’s important. We didn’t even know she was here. This is…” he trails off, shaking his head.

“It’s all her fault,” Silas says.

I look up to find he’s pointing at me.

“ And her stupid, useless dragon,” he adds.

My mouth falls open. I fucking saved his life, and this is how he repays me?

“Yes, it’s her fault,” a senior Skybolt, whose name I don’t know, says, “What the fuck was all that racket she and her dragon made? I knew coming here with these kids was a mistake.” He holds a bloody bandage to his head, glowering at me.

Others seem to stir from their exhaustion, ready to throw me to the wolves, but Vaylen takes a step forward, a hand raised to silence the complaints.

“We didn’t come here to fight each other,” he says. “Did we?”

Faced with the High Prime, the angry Skybolt backs down, though not without sending one last glare in my direction.

“Now, focus on regrouping.” Vaylen’s tone leaves no doubt that this is an order. “Get yourselves together. This battle and the Screechclaws’ behavior wasn’t normal. We need to fly over that peak and find out exactly what’s happening. Our mission is far from over. You must prepare yourselves for what awaits on the other side. It won’t be easy. Like I said… the town is destroyed, but the hardest part will be the sight of our friends.” He swallows thickly. “The Screechclaws set them up in a gruesome display. There’s nothing else I can say to prepare you.”

My fists clench as my imagination paints horrific strokes worthy of nightmares. I shove the images aside and start a quiet chant instead.

They’re in a better place now. They’re in a better place.

When everyone disperses, following orders, Vaylen glances in my direction. I think he’ll come over and talk to me, but instead, he gets to work. The mission takes precedence, and what else can I ruin at this point?