Page 35 of Unseen Eye (Aetherian Chronicles #1)

I find myself standing in the middle of a city, my feet fused to the ground as if turned to stone.

I try to move, to escape, but I can’t. Above me, drakos circle, their enormous wings casting shadows over the burning ruins.

One by one, they dive, unleashing torrents of fire that leap from building to building, devouring everything in their path.

The flames spread like a ravenous beast, licking up walls, racing across rooftops, consuming the city in a fiery cascade.

Smoke thickens the air, suffocating, choking, the scent of charred flesh lingering.

I want to scream, to cry for help, but no sound escapes.

A drakos breaks away from the chaos, its gaze fixed on me.

It plummets toward me, faster than I can think, and the heat sears my skin before the flames even reach me.

My heart hammers against my ribs, panic closing around my throat.

I try to scream, to move, but I’m paralyzed, frozen in terror as the beast closes in.

Just as it opens its jaws, ready to engulf me in fire, a scream rips from my chest.

I jolt awake, gasping, my body shooting upright in bed. My throat feels like sandpaper, raw from the scream. “Eva,” a voice breaks through the haze, making me flinch. I turn sharply, still disoriented. And there he is—Callon.

He’s standing at the edge of the doorway, silhouetted against the low light from the hallway.

His sharp features are softened in the dim glow, and there’s something different about him, something almost..

. gentle. His hair, usually perfect, has fallen messily across his forehead.

He doesn’t look like the untouchable warrior I’ve seen.

Instead, there’s a quiet concern in his eyes, a hesitation in his stance.

He’s holding a glass of water, unsure whether to step closer.

“Callon?” I manage to croak, my voice weak.

He sets the glass down on the nightstand, moving toward me with uncharacteristic caution. “It was just a dream,” he says softly, crouching beside the bed. His hand hovers near mine, close enough to offer comfort, but not close enough to intrude. “You’re in Coire. You’re safe.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, grounding myself in the sound of his voice. Slowly, my breathing steadies, the terror of the dream loosening its grip. Callon hands me the glass, his movements deliberate, careful. “Here,” he murmurs. I take it, the cool water soothing the dryness in my throat.

“Thanks,” I mutter, embarrassed by my reaction.

We sit there in silence for a while, the stillness between us feeling less like awkwardness and more like quiet understanding. Callon doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. He’s always been distant, impossible to read, but right now, there’s a shift between us. Something unspoken.

I catch him glancing at me, and for a brief moment, I see past the hardened exterior. He feels... real. Not the strategist, not the fighter, but someone who, for once, doesn’t have all the answers.

Finally, he stands, his eyes lingering on me a moment longer. “Get some rest,” he says gently. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything.” He turns to leave, his footsteps soft, almost hesitant, as if he doesn’t want to break the quiet.

The door closes softly behind him, but his presence lingers, a quiet echo in the room.

I settle back into the pillows, the remnants of the nightmare still curling at the edges of my mind, but somehow, the fear feels less suffocating.

The city in flames, the drakos—they’re fading into the background, replaced by the memory of Callon’s cautious steps and the soft concern.

***

That morning, I meet Theo in the barracks, stifling a yawn as he drones on about the history of the place. Normally, I’d be interested, but today all I can think about is coffee.

Theo finally notices me dozing off. He raises an eyebrow, and I shrug. “I didn’t get my coffee this morning,” I explain, as if that explains everything.

Theo laughs. “You sound just like Izzy now. First floor, all the way down the hall, take a right, then a left. You’ll find the kitchens. Ingrid makes a mean cup of coffee. If you hurry, you might get back before Izzy shows up. I’ll finish setting up.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” I say with a grin as I turn and head back through the courtyard and into the castle. After a few wrong turns and scaring a maid half to death while asking for directions, I finally find the kitchens and the bustling activity within.

The moment I step in, the rich aroma of coffee hits me first, warm and inviting, cutting through the faint scent of freshly baked bread.

The space is alive with the bustle of breakfast preparations—pots clatter, knives chop with rhythmic precision, and the hum of conversation mingles with the sharp commands of the head cook.

The large, rustic room has a comforting warmth, with wooden beams stretching overhead and well-worn stone floors.

I stand there awkwardly until a woman approaches with a friendly smile and graying hair pulled back into a neat bun.

“Good morning,” she says. “Can I help you with something?”

I return her smile. “Theo says Ingrid makes a mean cup of coffee.”

The woman laughs. “Of course he would say that, and he’s right—I sure do. Follow me.”

I weave through the organized chaos, narrowly avoiding a collision with a young girl rushing past with a basket of eggs.

A burly man kneads dough in a steady rhythm.

Nearby, an older woman tends to a massive griddle, carefully turning over golden-brown pancakes, their smell blending with the rich aroma of sizzling bacon.

“You must be Eva,” Ingrid says as she starts preparing my coffee. “You just missed Cal. He mentioned we had a special guest. Tell me, what do you think of Coire so far?”

“I haven’t seen much of it,” I admit. “We arrived late last night and I haven’t left the castle yet.”

Ingrid continues making my coffee. “Well, that simply won’t do. You tell Theo that if he expects me to keep making his coffee, he better show you around. Coire is absolutely beautiful, and that’s not me being biased.”

“I’ll make sure he knows,” I reply, laughing.

“Here you go, hun,” Ingrid says, handing me a steaming cup. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. “Oh my gods, Theo was right. This is amazing.”

Ingrid smiles at my reaction. “Good. Now go kick Theo’s ass. That boy could use a lesson in manners. And remind him about the tour. If he doesn’t show you around, I’ll have to knock him over the head with my frying pan again.”

Chuckling, I store the mental image of Ingrid wielding a frying pan against Theo.

By the time I return to Theo, he’s already chatting with Izzy. The barracks are buzzing with activity as guards spar around us.

“What? You didn’t bring me one?” Theo asks, pretending to be hurt, though I can tell he’s more amused than upset.

“Ingrid sends her regards,” I counter, setting down my empty cup. “She says if you don’t behave, she’ll knock you over the head with a frying pan”—I pause for dramatic effect— “again.”

Theo’s eyes widen, and for a brief moment, he looks genuinely alarmed. “She told you? That woman and I are going to have a serious talk.”

Izzy bursts out laughing, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, Theo,” she says, shaking her head. “Will you ever learn not to piss off the cooks?”

I watch the two of them for a moment, realizing how much more I’m starting to like Izzy. Her laughter is infectious, and I can’t help but feel a little lighter in her company.

“Now come on,” Theo says, his expression turning serious. “Your training starts now.”

Theo tosses me a sword, which I catch with ease, a practiced move. “Since I missed yesterday’s spectacle, I need to see where you are in your training. Izzy says you’re a natural, but that’s not saying much,” he adds, receiving a sharp glare from Izzy, who now also has a sword in hand.

“I’m sparring with Izzy?” I ask, slightly surprised, glancing between them.

“Duh,” Izzy replies, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Why else would I be out here instead of in bed?”

Theo rolls his eyes. “Izzy doesn’t train as much as the rest of us. So, if you’re as good as she says you are, it should be a fair fight.”

“Hey!” Izzy protests, clearly not thrilled with being called out. “Whose side are you on?”

Theo half-grins and shrugs, clearly amused by the sibling dynamic. “Sorry, sis, just telling it like it is. And remember,” he adds, a touch of seriousness creeping in, “no affinity, just swords. Let’s keep it fair.”

“I’ll show you fair,” Izzy mutters under her breath, and before Theo can react, a gust of wind blasts him, knocking him flat on his ass.

“Showoff,” Theo grumbles, rubbing his elbows as he struggles to get back up. “Now, begin.”

Izzy and I raise our swords, circling each other.

The pressure growing every second to prove myself.

Izzy starts off on the offense, quick and confident.

I block her first few strikes with ease, but she’s fast—faster than I expected.

My instincts take over, and I counter with a combination I learned from Kendry’s lessons.

His voice echoes in my mind, “Find your center, Eva.”

The clang of our swords rings in my ears, a steady rhythm that’s almost calming.

It’s like I’ve slipped into a different mode, where my body moves on instinct and my mind drifts, detached—a rhythm that feels effortless yet completely unshakable.

I feel the tension in my body relax just enough to let me move fluidly, like I’ve done this a thousand times before.

“Good,” Theo calls out, his voice a mix of approval and challenge.

Izzy uses Theo’s praise as a distraction and attacks again, aiming low. I barely manage to block in time, forcing her to stumble forward. Seizing the opportunity, I go low and sweep her feet out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground.

“Atta girl,” Theo remarks.