Mana shot through her fingers as darkness swallowed her. Not the warm, velveteen darkness her mother’s thread brought. This was heavy and churned like a flooded river. Her hands burned. Her chest ached to breathe. Buzzing racked through her body until it raged in her head like hornets ripped from their hive–taken without permission.

  Intruder. The buzzing hissed and Syra’s breathing faltered as the void coiled tight around her chest.

  “I’m not…I mean I'm–”

  If not, then who?

  “S-syra. I’m Syr–”

  Liar! The intruder lies!

  "Shit, wait. That’s...not what meant."

  The void cinched around her neck and she wheezed as her throat closed.

  “Nam…Namarani.” Her Name was barely a whisper, but it sent shivering echoes through the void.

  White light pulsed from her chest and streamed out into the blackness. Air rushed into her lungs as the coils slackened.

  Yes, we know that Name. A strong Name. Beloved Name.

  She couldn’t see her body. But as light poured out of her, she felt the coils warm against her like a firm embrace.

  Come, Namarani. He has been waiting.

  Come.

  Come.

  “Come now, little one. It is late and your eyes have sleepy tears.”

  The brightness of the void faded and Syra squinted against the warm light of a fireplace.

  “Not yet. I almost…got it.”

  The whine of a child made Syra pull away from the small bundle that sat at her feet. As her vision cleared, Syra gazed down at a young girl of around eleven with messy brown waves and an even messier glob of glass hovering between her glowing palms.

  Is that…

  Heat filled the glass with a bright orange glow and the girl’s face contorted as she strained to mold the floating figure into a serpentine shape.

  Oh goodness, it is. An embarrassed grin curled up Syra’s face as she watched her younger self struggle to flameweave a glass dragon. Did I always look this constipated?

  With a few deep breaths and a groan or two, the glass softened just enough to be pliable.

  “Alright. Belly first, then a small blob for the head. Stretch the neck, then stretch the tail. Then tiny little nubs for the tiny little legs. And now we pull it flat and thin for the wings.” Sweat beaded up on the girl’s forehead as she pinched and pulled the air with delicate fingers. But soon her palms were growing as red as her sleep-starved eyes, and she winced from the heat.

  “That’s enough for now.”

  A warm voice came from behind Syra and she spun to watch Valen glide past her and kneel beside the girl.

  “I said not yet.” The girl turned away from him with the figure out of reach. “I just have to…make this part a little hotter and–” She let out a tiny cry as her palms began to burn from the surge of heat and mana.

  “Syra, stop!” Valen reached around the girl’s shoulders and grasped her wrists, redirecting the heat into himself without flinching. “Just stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

  “Bashta!” Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes as the glow of the glass faded to a cold sheen. “Why can’t I do this?” With a shriek of frustration, a bolt of mana surged down her arms, knocking Valen’s hands away and shattering the glass figure.

  Silence filled the girl’s mouth as she stared down at the broken pieces in front of her.

  “Oh, dear,” said Valen, half surprised and half knowing what came next. He softened as her faint whine broke down into sobbing.

  “It’s alright, little one. It’s just glass.” He plucked the hot glass shards from the rug with a glowing hand, revealing a burnt patch that made him pause. “And a hand-woven Kiithrani rug.”

  This only made her sobbing harder and Valen hurried to stash the shards on the stone windowsill.

  “But it’s fine, truly! I mean, it’s a rug. We walk on it all the time, so it’s plenty dirty already. I bet no one will even notice.”

  The girl paused for a sniff, “You think?”

  Valen shrugged, “Who else besides us comes in here anyway? Now, give me those.”

  He pointed to her hands and she begrudgingly scooted over to him, dropping her raw palms into his. As the healing glow calmed both her skin and her nerves, the girl’s body slowly drooped and Valen chuckled.

  “Finally getting tired, little fuzzlebug?”

  “I’m not a–not a bug.” She groaned against a yawn, but the weight of sleep pulled her down to the rug by his leg.

  “No, I suppose not,” Valen whispered to himself as she dozed off. He brushed her hair away from her face with a gentle hand, but paused at the worn chord hanging at her neck with its broken stone tucked safely under her shirt. “A worm is not a bug, after all.”

  He placed his hand lightly atop her head and looked up through the window at the starry sky as if searching.

  “Nova, wherever you are, please know…I am trying.”

  A warm sting pricked Syra’s chest as the room filled with Valen’s soft humming of that familiar lullaby. Her mother’s lullaby.

  Why? Syra thought, her chest tightening at the soft look in his eyes as he continued the gentle pats on her head.

  Why couldn’t we just stay like this?

  “This isn’t about you.” A voice called Syra’s attention to the small mirror in the nook above Valen’s desk. “It isn’t about you, or me, or Nova. It’s much bigger.”

  That’s…Baba’s voice.

  As Syra approached the mirror, Valen’s humming faded and the scene around her shifted. On the desk, the map of the Kesh Raza stretched out with two half-drunk teacups on either side. Pacing the floor behind her, Valen leered into the mirror where Baba’s face drooped in frustrated defeat.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I know that.” Valen paused his pacing to brace himself against his chair. “But, must she be involved in all this?”

  “That is a question for Alder. And you already know the answer.”

  Valen gripped the chair as if he were to throw it.

  “She’s not a tool, Baba! She’s a girl–a woman, with a whole life in front of her. Friends, a career, a bloody fiancé even.” He shook his head with a bewildered grin, then let himself fall into his chair. “A whole family, Baba. Two if it wasn’t for me and Alder’s damn machinations.”

  “Watch your tongue, boy. He is your elder and mentor.”

  “And your student.” He glared into the mirror. “Did you not think to teach him compassion? Or diplomacy? She could’ve united us, Baba. Humans and dragons, maybe even the fae and nords if–”

  “This kingdom needs more than a pretty face with prettier words, Marrak.” She leaned towards the mirror and the feathers of her scarf seemed to rise. “You’ve seen the state of things. The crumbling houses, the disease, and more throwaways than coin to feed them. You’ve heard their protests outside the wall, and we’ve both seen the bodies pulled from floodwater two weeks too late. You’ve seen your own petitions come and go across the council hall only to be tabled and never discussed. This is how it starts, Marrak. I saw it in Southwater. I saw it in M?r Vanadür. It’s going to take more than a royal wedding and treaties to settle the anger here. It’s going to take–”

  “A storm?” He sneered and Baba’s eyes dulled. “Like in Southwater? Wipe it clean and start over? Leave it to fend for itself–”

  “Don’t get cocky, boy.” A blue light pulsed in her eyes like frosted glass. “Mark me. If the Mali escape, it’s going to take way more than that, I’m afraid. Alder made no mistake about that.”

  The muscle at his jaw twitched, and he hung his head in his hands. His fingers gripped at his hair and his voice came out in a soft, broken whine.

  “She’s not ready.”

  “I’m sure the parents of those rebels of yours would say the same thing. We have no right to be picky. Nor can we afford to be.”

  Valen held his tongue as they reached an agreement in silence. He took a gentle hold of Syra’s teacup and stroked at the daisy where some of the paint was chipping off.

  “Sending her to war was hard enough. But this…this is betrayal. I know it’s our best way to get the shards, but she’s already lost Rigel and now just lost Aidan, and I–” his eyes squinted until water built up in their creases, “I can’t stand to see that face again–not like that. Not because of me.”

  Baba let out a long sigh, “You know I wish to spare her just as much as you–she’s Nova’s daughter for Draco’s sake. And frankly, I wish you’d just leave the whole family alone. But that isn’t happening. So, if you can find another way to sway her–to wake her up and fix this forsaken kingdom–then do it. But we don’t have much time. You heard Alder. And you’ve heard the whisperings yourself, have you not?”

  His eyes narrowed with a glint of fear inside them, “Aye.”

  “Then all we can do is guide her through this.”

  Valen stood from his chair and steeled himself, his face taking on the stern and calculating look Syra knew so well. “Then I better go speak with Rogan. I have a bargain to make…and a rebellion to start.”

  The light from the mirror died and the scenery blurred as Valen hurried out his chamber door.

  “Wait!” Syra called after him and chased him into the hallway. “What did Alder say? What the hell are Mali?”

  But only the wind howling against the windows answered her.

  “Damn it, Valen, I know you can hear me! This is your mind after all!”

  She chased him down the spiral stairwell barely keeping up with his long shadow. Outside the windows, a storm raged over yellow fields. Its thunder rumbled the stones with each step as if to protest her descent. Lightning flashed and she jumped as the shadows of dragons roared and battled in the churning skies.

  Oh, right. Syra paused on the step. He isn’t Valen anymore, is he? He never really was.

  She steadied herself and shouted down the stairwell, “Valkrios, enough! Quit running away and tell me what’s going on!”

  Another crash of lightning brought a shrieking roar as the shadow of a falling dragon drenched the stairs in darkness, and a mournful wail echoed down into its depths. Then all went quiet, save the muffled scratching of a quill.

  Syra followed the stairwell down with cautious steps as the floor turned from stone to smooth and sturdy wood. At the bottom, pale light seeped through an archway and the shuffling of pages grew louder. As Syra peered inside, green-tinted timberlight from arching roots brightened the massive study the size of the academy’s library. At one end, a large yet lithe Sylvani dragon curled himself in front of a desk formed from the root itself.

  Syra squinted to study the numerous rings on his S-shaped horns, “Are you...Ald–”

  “Alder!” Marrak’s draconic voice boomed and crackled with worry as a younger Ignis dragon rushed into the room.

  “Oh, good you're here. How did it go?” Alder twisted his long neck to face Marrak, but paused at his bleak expression. “Where's Nova?”

  Marrak’s mouth opened, but only a weak cry came out and his head fell low. Even the air around him seemed to cool.

  “She…Nova, she…got hit. The storm…we got too close. She got too close. We were so caught up in the fight we didn’t notice and–” his voice cracked. “The lightning hit her! It hit her and she fell. And we were so high…too high. I called to her–screamed for her–but she didn’t hear me. She just…fell and fell, so fast I couldn’t reach her. I couldn’t reach her. Alder…” his face broke and tears pooled at his eyes, “I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t–”

  Marrak’s sob was cut off by Alder’s forehead pressed against his.

  “Shh,” a soft, firm hiss rattled Alder’s throat. “Just breathe. Come, breathe with me.”

  A few long breaths lifted Marrak’s head but his voice still shook, “It wasn't supposed to happen like this.”

  “I know.”

  “It was just a simple border spat. Skyrays cross borders every year, but it...it went so wrong so fast. And it's my fault.”

  Alder’s chest puffed, “It is not!”

  “Yes, it is. I saw the sky. I should've just called the hunt off. Tried for better weather. And they all know it! The clan knows it. The nords know it. And Rigel…fuck, if you’d have seen his face. Draco knows if he’ll even keep our treaty now. And even if he does, the elders are already debating my banishment. Some ‘life for a life’ dribble like I called the lightning down myself.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Of course, not! I don’t have that kind of magic. But…they don’t understand that. Only Nova did. And you, I suppose. But now...now I have no home. And no Nova. Which is why I’m here. A bubbling slick of slag wailing like a wyrmling to his mentor.”

  Despite their size difference, this full-grown Ignis did indeed look like a droopy, overgrown wyrmling. And Alder raised his triangular head to meet Marrak’s with steady eyes.

  “I am sorry, Marrak. Truly. I know you two were…very close.” Alder gave him a knowing look.

  Marrak hesitated a moment, but nodded, “Aye.”

  “And Syra?”

  Marrak flinched as his voice caught, “I uh…Nova requested–insisted really–that I watch over her. To teach her, as there is no one else it seems.”

  A groan rumbled in Alder’s chest as he leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the glowing veins as if reading an ancient script.

  “That might be for the best.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Syra’s magic is only just awakening and already the Montari don’t know what to do with her. She’s very much like Nova in that regard. And like Nova, she’s going to need someone who can understand her.” His eyes narrowed at Marrak, “I’m sure you know what that’s like, right?”

  Marrak hesitated, “Yes, but wouldn’t Baba be a better fit?”

  “Baba is, unfortunately, playing shopkeeper at the moment and will be beyond distraught once she learns about Nova. I doubt she’ll eat for months. No place to train, let alone raise, a wyrmling.”

  Marrak took a long, contemplative breath, “We should wait, then. Let Syra recover. I've lost my friend, but she's lost her mother before she even breathed her first flame. She’s going to need time to grieve. We all are. And it’d be better for her to do that with family. Even if they don’t completely understand her magic.”

  “Grieving can take years, Marrak. And training much longer. As hospitable as it is, we don’t have the time. I don’t know how long my ward is going to hold, and now with Nova gone…we’re going to need her.”

  “Damn it,” Marrak hissed. “There has to be someone else who could help. Isn’t this what the Kesh Raza are for?”

  But Alder shook his head, “The sickness has taken half of Mirna–I couldn't even get an audience with Celetaer. The Kiithran are as distant as ever, and the nords are debating banning magic altogether. I can’t speak for the humans, though–that was Nova's purview.” He turned a curious eye to Marrak, “Do you think they’re up to it?”

  “Possibly? Nova did speak highly of them–their passion and ingenuity. Some are quite gifted with magic, actually. But,” disappointment soured his hopeful tone, “they have a nasty habit of fighting amongst themselves.” He clenched his stoney jaw, “They get so wrapped up in their own lives they can't see the lives of others around them. I…don't know if they'll be able to see the bigger problem coming.”

  Alder sighed, “Then we will just have to make them see. You will have to make them see.”

  Marrak huffed in surprise, “Me, sir?”

  “Yes, you. You spent just as much time in that academy as Nova. She was supposed to bring light to the situation and ‘get everyone on the same page’. But, sadly, that plan has changed. The Mali, however, grow louder every day. And I can't keep the ward intact forever. Soon, even Draco's seal won't be enough. If we can't get the others on-board, then it won't stay just a dragon problem. Do you understand that?”

  “I understand. But I’m just one mage, and an outsider at that. I can't just force them to listen to me.”

  “But you must.” The timberlight flickered in Alder's eyes like green flames as the elder dragon leered into him. “For Nova’s sake. For Syra’s future. Be it by shadow or steel, you must find a way. You don't have a choice.”