Page 31

Something is different about the wind up here now.

I feel it first in my bones, then in my blood, then in the very air I breathe. The storm that's followed me since I fled Millrath months ago has changed. No longer just my magic responding to fear and need, but something older. Something that makes my teeth ache and my child's magic pulse like a second heartbeat.

I know Ulric notices too. I see it in the way his golden hair stands on end, how his scales ripple beneath his skin more frequently now. The air around us has grown thick with power that neither of us fully understands.

"Your magic grows stronger," he says, but there's uncertainty beneath the mockery. "Or perhaps it's not yours at all. Perhaps it's the child's. My brother's heir, already showing such…promise. We’re running out of time to chat, dear Calliope."

The way he says that last word makes my skin crawl. I shift carefully, testing my bonds, keeping him talking. I got one good kick in at his face. Now we’re at an impasse, me propped back in the snow, bound hands holding me up, and him wiping blood from his split lip.

"You never did tell me about your parents,” I say, though I know the story. I have to stall. “About how they died. About why you hate him so much."

His laugh holds an edge of hysteria. “I can see what you’re doing.” He paces the narrow ledge, and I notice for the first time the ancient carvings beneath our feet—runes that pulse with faint light when his boots touch them. "You don't understand. You couldn't. You weren't there when they died—"

"Then help me understand." I pour every ounce of sincerity I can muster into my voice. The longer I keep him talking, the more time Arvoren has to find us. And something tells me we need to be found soon. The air grows heavier by the moment, charged with power that makes even my weakened magic sing in response. "Tell me what happened."

For a moment, something human flickers in his eyes—grief, perhaps, or what remains of it beneath the madness. Then his expression hardens, scales rippling faster beneath his skin.

"You want to understand?" Steam rises where his feet touch the ancient stone. "You want to know why he doesn't deserve any of this? Why he has to learn what it means to lose everything?"

The transformation begins before I can respond. His body swells, bones cracking and reforming as scales burst through skin. Within moments he towers above me, a dragon of impossible beauty and terrible fury.

But something's wrong. The sacred ground seems to recoil from his presence, the very mountain shuddering beneath us.

Wind howls through the peaks, but these aren't the mindless storms of my making. Voices ride the bitter air—whispers in languages I shouldn't understand, and I don’t, but somehow. I know they’re speaking of ancient pacts and broken promises. Of brothers turned against brothers, of sacred bonds corrupted by power and pride.

The gods are watching. I feel their presence like physical pressure, drawn by my child's unique magic and the blasphemy unfolding in their sacred place. Their interest burns like ice in my veins, terrible and beautiful at once.

I will never understand the gods, I know now. I’ll never know a life without the familiar crooning and screeching of them in my mind, either.

Perhaps it was always meant to be that way.

Ulric rears back, flames gathering in his massive throat. Before he can strike, something shifts inside me. Our magic surges, stronger than ever before, creating a barrier of pure winter between us. Ice spreads from where I kneel, forming patterns that echo the ancient runes beneath us.

The old blood stirs , a voice whispers, both in my mind and in the howling wind. It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening.

This child… Another voice, colder than the first. The rift. It will restore the rift. It can heal what has been broken for good.

Perhaps the kingdom would be better broken.

A new day dawns!

Or the end of everything. This voice burns like frost, almost gleeful. Such power cannot be contained. Cannot be controlled.

Ulric's flames crash against my shield of ice, but the barrier holds. Through our bond, I feel Arvoren drawing closer, his fury and desperation building with each passing moment. I just need to survive a little longer. Need to protect our child until he finds us.

"You can't kill me." The words emerge stronger than I feel, carrying the weight of prophecy. A laugh ripples up through my voice, sharp, mocking. "You know you can't. The gods won't allow it."

Ulric's dragon-laugh shakes snow from the peaks. "Gods? You think they care about us? About any of this? They abandoned us long ago, little bird. Left us to tear each other apart over scraps of power and—"

A crack like thunder splits the air. For a moment I think it's more of Ulric's blasphemy drawing divine wrath. Then I realize it's not thunder at all.

It's the crack of wings upon the wind. Coming fast.

The mountain seems almost to shudder beneath us, ancient stone groaning like a living thing. Ulric's massive form blocks out the weak sunlight, his scales catching what little light remains and turning it sickly, wrong. Steam rises where his claws touch the sacred ground, as if the very mountain rejects his presence here.

"You feel it too, don't you?" His dragon-voice fills the air with smoke. "The power in this place. The old magic." He laughs, and the sound sets my teeth on edge. "Did my dear brother take you here, little bird? Did he want to grind you into dust just like I do? We’re one and the same, Arvoren and I.”

I feel sick. I struggle against my bonds, but the cursed metal holds firm. Still, I feel myself growing stronger by the second, my magic returning to me like an old friend. I cannot be held for long.

"He would do this," Ulric continues, circling closer, voice monstrously contorted by the transformation. His massive tail sweeps across carved stone, scattering centuries of ice. "If it were he that lost. If he had been the brother left alone in this world. He’d want you dead, too. It’s the creature he is—it’s what the world made us. And you’ll be living with it forever, Calliope. You can’t deny it.”

"Your parents loved you.” The words emerge sharp as broken ice. "Is that why you hate him so much? Because he grew into the good man they raised him to be, and you didn’t?”

His roar shakes snow from the peaks, but I see the blow strike home. Scales ripple faster across his body as rage wars with old grief.

"You know nothing of that day!" Flames gather in his throat, turning his words to steam. "Nothing of what it means to watch everything you love burn while your perfect brother does nothing—"

"Or did they choose him over you?" I press harder, knowing I'm prodding an open wound but unable to stop. Every moment I keep him talking is another moment closer to salvation. "Did they see the monster in you even then?"

The fire comes fast and terrible, but something rises to meet it—another wall of pure winter, drawn not from my weakened magic but from the very air around us. Ice and flame collide in an explosion that rocks the mountainside, sending ancient snow cascading down distant slopes.

The old ones remember, whispers a voice like grinding stone. The sacred ground remembers.

I suspect the Windwakers have known this land for a very, very long time.

Ulric rears back, genuine fear flickering in his massive eyes as the ice beneath us pulses brighter. The air grows impossibly thick with power—not just the gods now, but the weight of centuries of ritual and sacrifice upon this land. Of oaths sworn in blood and fire, kept and broken.

"They're here," I breathe, understanding finally what this place truly is. What Ulric's rage has awakened. "You can’t hurt me. They’re here.”

"Lies!" But there's panic beneath the fury now. Steam pours from his jaws as he speaks, melting the ice that tries to claim his claws.

The pacts remain. This voice burns like frost, ancient and merciless. The bonds endure. Brother against brother, blood against blood. Some sins cannot be forgotten.

The wind rises, carrying voices that sound almost human—screams of the sacrificed, prayers of the faithful, oaths sworn and broken across centuries. Snow swirls around us in patterns that hurt to look at directly, forming shapes that shift between dragon and storm and something else entirely.

Our child moves within me, their magic responding to the ancient power that fills the air. I feel them reaching, connecting with forces I barely understand. The runes carved into the stone begin to sing, harmonizing with the storm in ways that make my bones vibrate.

"Enough!" Ulric's voice cracks like breaking ice. "Your gods can't save you. Your magic can't protect you. You'll die here, Windwaker, where so many others—"

The mountain itself cuts him off. Stone groans beneath us as ice spreads faster, crawling up Ulric's legs despite the heat pouring from his scales. The voices in the wind grow louder, more insistent, speaking in languages that taste like lightning on my tongue.

The child must live, they whisper. The blood must continue. The storm must break. A new day for the kingdom.

"You feel it, don't you?" I meet Ulric's massive eyes, seeing the fear beneath his rage. "What this place truly is. What you've done by bringing me here. By threatening your own blood."

"My blood?" His laugh sounds strangled now. "You think that thing you carry is my blood? My family? It's an abomination. A mistake. Something that never should have—"

But his words fade as something changes in the air—a shift in pressure, a new current in the endless wind. Through our bond, I feel Arvoren's presence like approaching thunder, like the promise of dragon-fire and fury.

My husband is coming. And all of Ulric's madness and magic won't save him from what follows.

Ulric's massive head snaps toward the horizon, scales bristling at some sound I can't yet hear.

"He won't reach you in time." His dragon-voice shakes loose more snow from the peaks, but I hear the lie in it. His tail lashes against sacred stone, scattering centuries of ice. "I'll finish this now—"

"Did you know," I say, keeping my voice steady despite my fear, "that Arvoren comes here sometimes? To speak to them?" The words feel right, though I don't know how I know them. "To beg forgiveness for what happened to your parents?"

"Lies!" But Ulric's wings mantle with agitation, stirring the strange mists that have begun to gather around us. "He never cared. Never mourned. Never—"

"He mourns them every day." The truth of it hits like physical pain—I see it now in my memory, all those times I caught him staring at nothing, hands clasped halfway to a prayer, lost in thoughts he wouldn't share. "Just as he'll mourn you, when this is over. When he has to—"

"Enough!" His roar splits the air like thunder, but there's something broken in it now. Something almost human beneath the dragon's fury. "You think you know him? Think you understand what he is? What he's done?"

"I know he loves you." The words emerge gentle despite everything. "Even now. Even after everything you've done. That's why this place responds to him. He can love, Ulric. You can’t. You never will.”

For a moment—just a moment—I glimpse the wounded boy beneath the monster. Grief flashes in those massive eyes, quickly buried beneath rage. But it's enough to know I've struck true.

"Love?" Ulric's laugh sounds like breaking glass. "Is that what you think this is about? Love?" His tail sweeps across the sacred ground, scattering ancient snow. "He never loved anything but power. Never cared for anything but his precious throne—"

The mountain itself seems to shudder at his blasphemy. Ice spreads faster now, crawling up his legs despite the heat pouring from his scales. The voices in the wind grow louder, more insistent, speaking in languages that taste like lightning on my tongue.

"Listen to them." I struggle to rise, fighting against whatever power binds my magic. I’m unbalanced, arms bound. "Feel what this place truly is. What you've awakened by bringing me here."

But Ulric is beyond reason now. Madness fills his massive eyes as he rears back, gathering flame in his throat. "The gods abandoned us long ago. Left us to tear each other apart over scraps of power and—"

A roar splits the sky, a sound of such primal fury that the very mountains seem to tremble.

Ulric’s massive, scaled head snaps up, eyes widening as another pair of massive wings blots out the sun.

"Brother," he whispers, and for the first time since he took me, real fear enters his voice.

Despite myself, I start to grin.