Riese Torendeil woke in darkness. Her bowels churned, as though her stomach were an angry sea, pitching and diving within her belly. The ground shifted beneath her, nearly making her lose her balance before something tightened at her wrists.

A loud groan. Voices, somewhere nearby. The creaking of wood, and the flapping of cloth in wind.

“Wh-where…”

Her voice croaked, throat dry as sand.

She sensed the warm rush of hish. More than she’d ever felt in any one place, except perhaps near the Spires, where the Mountain of Souls was a blazing presence.

Magic radiated all around her. Though blindfolded, the surges of magic formed faint shapes all their own in her second sight.

Riese was no shaman, but she could make out a line of walls, larger than a longhouse—as though the gods had concentrated their breath on one space. Forming and shaping this room like village children with snow, nature paired with their own creativity to fashion something new.

Aches shot down her spine and into stiff limbs as she struggled to sit up. Something clinked with her movements. Cold pressure again on her wrists. Something hung around her neck, heavy and steeped in magic. Though it felt different, somehow.

Hazy images of the attack on Faltara seeped into her mind. Pillars of flame. Dark winged creatures. The Attican girl’s neck cocked at an impossible angle. The twisted, dying expression of the man she killed.

Magic is a blessing of the gods. It must never be used to harm another person.

She could hear Joren’s words resounding in her mind, as he’d taught her and the other children of the Jackal clan how to access the powers behind the world as children. The same breath that made the sun rise, and the tide come. She had sworn an oath, and last night, she had broken that oath.

That bastard killed a girl in cold blood. I had to protect Malik.

And save yourself, another voice in her mind seemed to counter.

Riese could not piece together where she was, why the room seemed to be shifting, why she had no memory of how she’d gotten here.

A shift of cloth. Not outside. Very near.

Someone else was in the room.

Instinctively, she reached for hish, and realized what was off. Despite the magic surging all around her, she could not draw it into her spirit. It passed through her like water through fingers. Fear tore through her like ice in her bones.

“No need to be frightened, Riese Torendeil,” a woman’s voice said. Faintly familiar. “Your bindings are only a precaution.”

Riese remained still. Tense.

Footsteps neared. Resounding with hollows clunk on wooden boards.

“Who are you? Where—”

Cold fingers brushed her temples and removed her blindfold. Slowly, her eyes adjusted. There were no torches or lamps, but hints of golden light peeked through slats in the walls. Riese was chained on a bench, though she’d at least been given the courtesy of a blanket, draped over her legs.

The walls shifted. Groaned. The whole world shuddered with a resounding boom. Violent light flashed. The room shuddered again. Cries echoed from somewhere beyond.

“We’re in a storm,” Riese said.

“Yes,” said the woman. Her face was shrouded in shadows.

“On the sea?”

“Close.”

A light ignited from a device in the woman’s hand. A lantern, except there was no flame. Within the glass case, a runemarked ball of metal glowed. The woman set then lantern on a hook and drew closer.

Riese’s vision settled on the tall woman standing over her, recognition dawning. Sun-specked skin. Angular jawline. Piercing dark eyes. Still wearing the crimson cloak of the Attican guard. Except… her hair shone. Silver, not dark brown the way she’d met her.

“You…”

The walls groaned, shifting. The woman reached out, gripping Riese’s shoulder to steady her. “Deven lé Romina. Nice to properly—”

“Don’t touch me.”

The woman smiled. Her silver hair hung loose to her shoulders. “Very well, if you’d rather heave each time this vessel shifts, that is your right.”

“Vessel... the runeship,” Riese realized aloud, picturing the shadow of it looming over the village. God’s breath, so much of what she knew about the world had changed in one night.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Yes,” Deven said, “and we’re currently at the edge of a storm. I’d tell you to hang on, but…”

Riese glared at her, and Deven stepped back, holding on to a support beam a few feet away.

“How long?”

“We’ve been traveling a day and a half.”

“Gods…”

“You were beaten up. Unconscious when I found you. We let your body heal for a night before applying the collar.”

“Is that why I can’t draw hish?”

“A precautionary measure. That’s all.”

“You… served House Rykus.”

Deven nodded.

“We didn’t meet by accident on that hunt, then, I take it.”

“No indeed. Many of us were sent to infiltrate your people during the festival. To gauge whether you were a threat.”

“I killed one of your own.”

Deven cocked a brow and smirked. “Impressive. Well, we all make mistakes in times of war.”

Riese’s unease showed.

“You are not yet sure where you stand. I get it. Rest assured, we would not have brought you here if we did not know better.”

“Then, you know more than me. You’re one of them. One of those…”

“Morphs?” asked Deven. “That’s what we’re called. Metamorphi. Shapeshifters, trained in the ways of the Empyrean.”

“Is that silver hair real or just another guise.”

“Am I Elyan, you mean?” Deven shrugged. “I’ve served House Rykus most of my adult life. But yes, the hair is—”

The world spun sideways, and Riese flopped hard on the table, bindings straining against her arms.

Deven grinned.

“Don’t say it.”

“We’re nearly out, so it should steady soon.”

“What do you want with me?”

Deven’s dark eyes peered at her, eerie in the darkness. As though the dark-winged creature were ready too emerge at any moment. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you, of course.”

Another voice, deep and gravelly. A broad-shouldered man stepped into the runelantern light. Riese had seen him at the festival. Ava’s father, and Deven’s lord.

“So, you’re the one we must thank,” Captain Rykus said.

Riese glowered at him, longing for hish.

“For the eggs, of course.”

“Right into the hands of murderous traitors.”

Captain Rykus smiled enduringly. “Traitors? That’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it? For years, my own people thought me a traitor, and Attica thought me a saint. Now, this view is suddenly reversed. But I’m the same man I’ve always been, really.”

“Why am I here? Why not kill me like the Attican girl?”

“Thenius?” Rykus asked. “She’s dead then.”

“The general’s manservant snapped her neck like a gods-damned twig.”

Rykus barely blinked. “The Thenius house is as old-blood Attican as they come. If we’d let her go, she’d have become a Dragonmount of Attica, utterly loyal to the empire. But you, well…”

He turned to Deven. The woman shrugged. “There’s potential.”

Riese huffed. “That so?”

“What does it feel like? After the bond?” Captain Rykus asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“A lot of loyalty to the Attican Empire, have you?” he asked.

“Say what you want, the Attican Empire never dropped firebombs on my village.”

Rykus nodded. “Carefully placed bombs.”

“That servant murdered a young woman. Your daughter tried to kill the Consul General.”

“Judging by the way he looked when we left, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ava succeeded in killing Campos. And yes, we attacked the Attican bastards and destroyed their ship. We dropped bombs at the edge of the village to sow enough chaos to accomplish our true mission. But our war is with Attica, not Faltara. And so, you live, Riese Dragonbound. As I trust, all your kinsmen do as well. We were given explicit instructions.”

“Even those monsters?” Riese shot a look over at Deven, who had stepped back, allowing her master to take over.

“They defended against the enemy. Bravely. We lost several of our own. Some likely by your own people’s hands. I saw the way your shaman fought. But even he, we spared.”

Captain Rykus shifted back, crossing his arms over his chest. “The remainder of our conversation will be dictated by what follows, Riese.”

“What do you want with me?”

“For one, you are bound to one of the eggs we carry, and for my people, Dragonmount blood is a sacred and rare thing.”

“Unless it is Attican Dragonmount blood.”

“You’ve grown up on an island at the edge of civilization. One that has been spared the hardships endured by the rest of the world, because your elders have secretly supplied the most powerful nation in the world with its source of power. You’ve no idea the true histories of the world. You’ve no scope of the cruelties my people have endured at the hand of the Attican Empire.”

“Well,” said Riese, “enlighten me, then.”

Rykus studied her for a moment. “Before the Golden Age of the Attican Empire. Before we were occupied and enslaved, our culture stolen. Shortly after the Crossing, Valucia was the first Flameholm in Erithèa. Home of Dragons.”

Riese wondered how this tale might fit with her own myths of the Crossing. The traitor who fled Faltara, taking dragons to the rest of the world.

Did Rayne Seversein take them to Valucia?

“That was before the Curse,” Rykus said. “Before the Atticans turned our blessing against us. Dragons soared the skies. Sea dragons swam the ocean’s depths. And Valucia was a mighty kingdom. We did not seek to rule the world. Rarely did flames rain from our skies. That was over a thousand years ago, according to our histories. A thousand years since honor meant something in Erithèa, and dragons brought peace instead of war. A thousand years, but we have not forgotten. And now, that same blood runs in your veins. And in my daughter’s veins.”

Riese tensed at the mention of the girl, wondering what had become of her after she left Ava bound and unconscious behind the shrines.

“She is Dragonbound,” Rykus said. “Just as you are, yes?”

Riese nodded.

“What happened after?”

“She’s not... here?” Riese ventured. “We lost her in the forest. I assumed she must have—”

Rykus shook his head. “The storm is letting up now. We should be able to see it.”

He crossed the room to the far wall and proceeded to open multiple small square windows. The shutters flapped open and daylight poured into the chamber.

Deven held out a key. “The collar will remain. But if you cooperate, I will release you from the table.”

Riese nodded, and the woman unlocked her chains from the table. Riese shifted, so her legs dangled off the side. Her body ached, and she longed for the strength of hish.

Deven helped her rise and they crossed to the window. Her hands remained shackled, the collar hanging heavy from her neck. Deven held tight to the chains as they neared the captain.

Outside, Riese could make out dark clouds against a bright blue sky.

“You must make a decision, Riese Dragonbound,” Rykus said. “But before you decide on who is enemy and who is ally, I believe you should be given the entire truth.”

Rykus pointed out the window. “Come see the true nature of Dragonmounts under Attican rule.”

Riese stepped up and looked out fully. The view from the sky was arresting, even more than the view from the Spires.

They soared high above an endless expanse of sea. Blue skies shone at the horizon at one side, but dark clouds plumed at the other. Pillars of darkness loomed over what looked to be a small island. The ground was fiery, black earth, flickering with red and orange.

“That is the Isle of Eòreth, land of my house for centuries,” Rykus said.

“Those aren’t clouds,” Riese realized aloud, a churning in her gut that sent her vision spinning. “It’s smoke.”

The entire island was on fire.