Crown of Ash and Light, page 49
Azura sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. “You sound like mom.”
I smirked. “That’s not an insult.”
She snorted, shaking her head before her expression softened. “Fine,” she muttered. “We prepare. But I swear, if I finally start enjoying a normal life and something ruins it, I’m throwing you in a river.”
I was about to respond—probably with something smug—when a loud bang echoed through the forest, shaking the quiet morning air.
It came from the back of the cabin.
We both snapped our heads toward the noise.
Instantly, the atmosphere shifted.
Elias and Stravos stopped fighting, both men turning sharply toward the sound. Seraphina—who had been setting a loaf of bread down on the table—froze, her hand hovering just above the wooden surface.
Then, without a word, we moved.
I was the first out the door, Azura right beside me, our hands already on our weapons.
Stravos and Elias were only seconds behind, their footsteps quick and silent, trained for combat despite the years of relative peace.
As we rounded the back of the cabin, the sight that greeted us made my stomach drop.
By the time we rounded the back of the cabin, the air felt strange.
And then I saw it.
The portal.
A swirling tear in reality itself, glowing faintly, hovering just above the forest floor. The air around it rippled, distorting everything like heat rising off stone.
And standing right next to it, looking entirely unbothered, was Therynna.
She dusted her hands off, her brows slightly furrowed in focused curiosity, as if she had just cracked open a book and found something mildly interesting rather than ripping open space itself in our backyard.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my grip tightening on my sword.
“...Therynna,” I said carefully, trying to keep my voice steady, calm, rational—even though the sight in front of me made every instinct in my body scream to shut it down now.
She turned, blinking at us. “Oh, hey.”
Hey?
Elias let out a sharp breath. “What. The. Hell?”
Stravos crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”
Therynna sighed, brushing some dirt off her dress. “Alright, fine. I won’t tell you.”
Azura groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Therynna.”
“What?” she said, exasperated. “It’s fine.” She gestured at the glowing portal casually, as if it were nothing more than a bonfire she had just built. “I’ve been working on this for months. I finally got the runes right.”
Elias took a cautious step forward, staring at the swirling tear in space with something between fascination and sheer terror. “You opened a portal?”
Therynna nodded, pleased with herself. “Yes. I did.”
Stravos threw up his hands. “Why?”
Therynna huffed, irritated. “Because I was testing a theory!”
“A theory,” I repeated, slowly, as if the word itself might make the situation make sense.
The air around the portal was thick, heavy with a power that didn’t belong in this world. It didn’t make a sound, didn’t shift or move, but we felt it—a weight pressing against us, an unspoken threat lurking in the air.
Therynna stood beside it, calm and composed, arms crossed as she took in our reactions.
She wasn’t scared.
She wasn’t even nervous.
She was satisfied.
I stepped forward, barely restraining the unease twisting in my gut. “Therynna,” I said carefully, my voice steady but firm. “Explain. Now.”
She exhaled, as if we were overreacting, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “I tied our souls to the portal.”
Silence.
A cold, suffocating silence.
Elias flinched beside me, his breath hitching. “You what?”
Seraphina stepped closer, one hand resting protectively over her stomach, the other curling into a fist at her side. “Therynna, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Therynna’s expression didn’t change. “Yes. I do.”
Stravos let out a sharp breath, his voice rising. “You tied our souls to a portal? A portal we don’t even understand?”
Therynna nodded, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “Yes.”
Azura, standing beside me, stiffened, her kunai still wrapped around her fingers. “And why would you do that?”
Therynna met my gaze, and for the first time, I saw something beyond logic, beyond careful planning.
Resolve.
"Because history will repeat itself."
The way she said it sent a cold twist through my stomach.
She spoke evenly, measured—like she had already considered every argument we could throw at her.
"Mother did it first," she said, watching us carefully. "She tied herself to a portal of her own making. She turned herself into a weapon of mass destruction. And I wanted to recreate her work."
Her gaze flicked back to the swirling mass of energy, unreadable.
"I just took it a step further."
Elias dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, like he was trying not to lose his patience. "Therynna, this isn’t the same—"
"I know," she interrupted smoothly. "It’s better."
I inhaled, forcing myself to stay calm. "What exactly did you do?"
She turned back to us, meeting each of our eyes before she spoke again.
"I tied our souls to the portal," she repeated, slower this time, as if making sure we understood. "If we die—if every single one of us dies—and someone tries to open this portal again, our souls will be released."
A chill ran down my spine.
"To do what?" Azura asked, her voice quiet but deadly.
Therynna’s lips curled, not quite a smile, but close.
"To destroy the world."
Elias stepped back, his face pale, shaking his head. "You—You can’t be serious."
Therynna let out a heavy sigh, a flicker of frustration finally breaking through her composure. "Think, Elias." She gestured toward the swirling energy. "Xira opened a portal she didn’t understand. She had no idea what she was doing, and look at what happened. If someone does it again—someone worse, someone with real power—do you honestly believe they won’t try to use it for their own gain?"
She turned to me then, her gaze sharp, unyielding.
"If history repeats itself, if we’re hunted again, if the world turns on us, this ensures no one gets to use us ever again."
Seraphina’s hands trembled at her sides. I could feel the tension rolling off Azura in waves.
Therynna’s gaze softened—just barely—as she looked at Azura, then down at the curve of her stomach. A beat passed before her eyes flicked toward her own.
"I did this for them," she said quietly. "For the next generation. For our children. Because we already know how this story plays out. We’ve seen it before. And I won’t let it happen again."
Silence fell over us. Heavy. Suffocating.
She truly believed this was the only way to secure a future.
She believed, without question, that one day, we would be hunted again.
And the worst part?
I couldn’t tell her she was wrong.
I clenched my fists, my voice low, raw with something I didn’t quite understand. “And what if it doesn’t happen?”
Therynna tilted her head, eyes calm. “Then the world never has to find out what we’re capable of.”
I looked back at the portal, its quiet, unsettling energy still pulsing in the air.
It sat there, waiting.
A promise. A warning. A shadow of what could be.
This wasn’t a weapon.
This was a failsafe.
And I hated that I understood why she had done it.
DRAVON
The portal collapsed in on itself, its swirling energy curling inward until it was nothing more than a whisper of what once was. The presence it left behind—the weight of what Therynna had done—lingered in the air like a shadow refusing to fade.
Therynna, of course, looked completely unbothered.
She simply dusted off her hands, flipped open her damned book, and scribbled something down before snapping it shut with an air of finality.
I exhaled slowly. “You wrote it down?”
Therynna lifted a brow, as if my question was ridiculous. “Of course. What’s the point of creating something if you don’t leave instructions?”
Stravos let out a deep, suffering groan, already sensing whatever chaos she was about to drag us into next.
"Please, please tell me we’re not going where I think we’re going," he said.
Therynna’s eyes gleamed with pure mischief, and her smirk was nothing short of evil. “Guess what, Stravos?” she said, far too cheerfully. “We’re going to your favorite place.”
Stravos’s face dropped immediately. “Oh, hell no.”
I followed his panicked gaze down to the book in Therynna’s hands, and realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
She had written instructions.
For the vaults.
For the ruins.
For the place none of us wanted to go back to.
Stravos groaned again, gripping his hair. “You’re telling me I have to go relive the spider thing?”
Therynna grinned. “Yep.”
Elias, who had definitely not forgotten that particular incident, let out a pained sigh, his hand instinctively brushing his side. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Azura laughed, arms crossed, eyes dancing with amusement. “Oh, come on, Elias, don’t tell me you’re still sore about it?”
Elias scowled. “I took a spider leg through my side because I pushed you out of the way.”
Azura’s smirk widened. “Yeah, and I killed it for you. You’re welcome.”
Elias shot her a look. “I saved your life and you’re taking credit for it?”
Stravos grinned, shaking his head. “You should’ve let her get skewered, Prince. Would’ve saved you a lot of headaches.”
Azura shoved him lightly, grinning despite herself. “Excuse you, I was fine.”
Stravos snorted. “Yeah, after Elias got impaled for you.”
Elias muttered something about how he still had the scar to prove it, while Therynna, completely ignoring their bickering, turned toward him with that look—the one that meant she was about to make things worse.
“Alright, Prince,” she said, her tone too light, too casual. “Let’s go visit your friend.”
Elias narrowed his eyes. “...What friend?”
Before anyone could answer, a deep, thunderous sound ripped through the air—a heavy, powerful gust, followed by the shaking of trees as something massive descended from the sky.
I felt it before I saw it.
The weight of his presence.
The way the air itself seemed to vibrate.
Then, the shadow fell over us.
A figure of pure blackness, wings stretching across the clearing like an eclipse, talons sinking into the earth as he landed heavily. His obsidian scales shimmed in the sunlight, and his piercing gold eyes swept over us with a gaze that held no patience for our existence.
And then those unforgiving eyes landed on Stravos.
Without hesitation, he smirked up at him, arms crossed like he hadn’t just mocked a creature old enough to wipe out entire civilizations.
“We were just about to come visit you,” he said smoothly. “Were you so lonely you had to come here instead?”
The dragon’s nostrils flared, and with a sharp snap of his jaws, he bit at the air right next to his head—just close enough to make a point.
Stravos did not move.
But I saw it.
The faint flicker in his expression.
The slight tightening of his fingers.
The dragon pulled back, his golden eyes narrowing in irritation.
“You dare mock me?” His voice rumbled through the air, like a storm rolling in from the mountains.
I sighed, already rubbing my temples. “Stravos, do you have to piss off the ancient death lizard?”
Stravos shot me a look. “Yes.”
The dragon growled low in his throat, shifting his weight slightly, his massive wings folding against his sides. He was unamused. Unimpressed.
Therynna, however, just tilted her head, completely unfazed. “So,” she said casually, “are we skipping pleasantries today?”
The dragon’s throat rumbled, smoke curling from his nostrils.
This was going to be a long morning.
AZURA
The black dragon’s eyes burned into mine, steady, unwavering, carrying an intensity that anchored me in place, forcing me to face the enormity of the moment. His massive body remained coiled with restrained power, his wings folded neatly against his sides, yet there was an undeniable weight to his presence, a weight that had nothing to do with his size. He wasn’t just a creature of flesh and bone, he was a force that was ancient and powerful.
And still, I hated him.
He didn’t speak, didn’t move—just watched, as if he had all the time in the world, as if the fire inside me couldn’t touch him. But it was there. Boiling. Burning. The memory hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had made this moment worse. I’d seen it—her—lying broken on that battlefield, her blood soaking the ground while the sky went dark. I’d seen him above her, wings wide, eyes cold, choosing to turn away. Not because he was too late. Because he decided not to stay. He abandoned her in the moment that mattered most, and now he sat here like he hadn’t shattered everything she died for.
“You lied to us.”
The words escaped me before I knew I was saying them, sharp and cracked at the edges. They weren’t loud, but they cut deep. The dragon didn’t flinch. Those golden eyes blinked once, slow, lazy, like he hadn’t even heard me—or worse, like I was too small to matter.
“You looked us in the face,” I continued, louder now, “and you let us believe you were never there. You let us believe you couldn’t help her. That you were too far, too late. But you weren’t. You were right there.”
Silence. Thick, oppressive. The kind that wraps around your ribs and dares you to keep breathing.
He shifted slightly, a ripple of shadow and scale. “I followed her orders.”
I took a step forward, fists clenched. “You left her.”
“She told me to.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” My voice cracked, the pain rising so fast I couldn’t contain it. “You abandoned her! You let her die alone, and then you came to us—her children—and you lied.”
“I spared you the truth,” he said, voice like thunder wrapped in steel. “Would you have still fought, knowing she died with no hope left? Knowing she died believing the world would still fail?”
“We deserved to know,” I said, trembling. “We had a right to know what she went through—what you chose.”
I didn’t answer him.
Because I didn’t know. Not really.
The truth sat like ice in my chest because deep down, maybe he was right. Maybe if I’d known what she’d felt in her final moments—if I’d known she’d died believing there was nothing left to save—I wouldn’t have carried her legacy so fiercely. Maybe I would’ve shattered under the weight of it. Maybe we all would have. But it didn’t make the lie easier to swallow. It didn’t make his abandonment any less cruel. His silence. His absence. His decision to let us grieve a cleaner story.
I took a step back, drawing in a breath I didn’t deserve to release. “You should have told us anyway,” I said. “You owed us that.”
He said nothing.
The silence stretched, not empty but full—thick with the weight of all the things he refused to say, and all the things I no longer had the strength to ask. Behind me, the others remained still. Stravos didn’t joke and Thyreanna kept her eyes lowered. None of us knew how to breathe in the presence of a creature who had just admitted we meant nothing—not really—not beyond the memory of the woman who bound us all together.
The silence that followed stretched thin—almost unbearable—until something moved. Not beside the dragon. Not at his feet. But behind him.
A shape, small by comparison but still enormous by human standards, stepped out from the coiled shadows of his massive tail. At first, I thought it might’ve been part of him—another limb, a wing, some fragment of scale shifting—but then it blinked. Moved with hesitance, with purpose. A second set of eyes—gold, molten, fierce in their clarity—fixed on us through the clearing gloom. We stilled, every one of us, as the impossible stepped into view. No one spoke. No one breathed. Because what stood before us wasn’t just rare—it was a myth.
A hatchling.
Not just small, but young. A dragon at the start of its life. Its wings were still slightly translucent in places, stretched too tightly across its limbs. Its black scales glistened like damp stone, shot through with pale veins of silver that shimmered under the fading light. Its claws clicked softly against the rock as it moved, and its head—narrower and sharper in its angles—turned toward us with something that looked less like curiosity and more like disgust. It let out a low, rattling growl. Not loud. Not meant to scare us. It didn’t need to. That sound was a warning. A statement. It saw us—and it hated us.
None of us had ever seen anything like it. Not in old scrolls. Not in prophecies. Not even in whispered tales that passed between soldiers too long in the field. Dragons, yes—but never young ones. Never something like this. Hatchlings were meant to be extinct, or locked away, or simply unthinkable. But this one was real. Standing before us with smoke coiling from its nostrils and eyes full of old fury, it hadn’t even earned yet.
Therynna’s voice was barely audible beside me. “That’s a hatchling...”
No one corrected her. We couldn’t. It was the truth, standing there in flesh and breath. And it wanted nothing to do with us.
