“There is no time to waste,” Consul Pelasius said, addressing the Faltari council.

Joren’s stomach twisted into knots as he listened. He could sense the sincerity in the Lady Consul’s spirit. She was nervous and shaken, and her thoughts dwelled on her injured son. None of which boded well for what was ahead.

“The rebels will return,” Urla continued. “This arrangement has benefitted both our nations for many years, but it is time for the nature of our arrangement to evolve. The secret of these dragon eggs poses a grave danger. Both for Faltara, and all the realms.”

Joren feared what must be done, and he was not the only one.

“Even Campos did not know the true source,” said Olma of the Feathered Serpents. “Why should we think a few backwater rebels will be able to find it?”

Urla Pelasius remained calm. “Are you willing to gamble all these innocent lives on that hope, madam?”

Silence hung over the room, and it spoke louder than any voice yet.

“How many people live on this island?” Consul Pelasius asked.

“Roughly five hundred,” said Joren. “Across the four clans.”

Olma hesitated, crossing her arms over her chest, but finding no words.

“Most of our people do not know the true nature of our… alliance,” explained Brom Dannsein of the Saber clan. “They believe the eggs are destroyed each year after the Ascension. What reason could we give them for leading an Attican company to our sacred valley?”

The chieftains nodded their agreement. Joren grabbed his beard anxiously, to prevent himself from shaking his head. What would an imperial soldier care about what we hold sacred?

Whether Urla thought it or not, she responded judiciously. “We all do what we must to protect those we love. I am sure our ancestors had good reason for conducting matters the way we have until now. But, as my father used to say, when the world shifts, you may go with it, or be destroyed by it, but you cannot fight such a force.”

Again, silence filled the chamber.

“My hope is that your people will see no more destruction than what has already been meted out by this party of rebels. I know the choice before you is difficult. The attack took a toll on my own house. My own mentor. I do not wish your kin a similar fate.”

“If our ancestors were able to keep the alliance a secret, then I believe we can find a way to keep this matter a secret as well,” said Tul Eriksein. “It’s clear those bastards are coming back. It’s a matter of how soon?”

“Days,” said the Consul. “Two or three at best.”

“Then, we must move quick!” said Tul.

“Two days,” Olma said with disbelief. “No force could come so swiftly.”

“Some distances require much time. When traveled by land and sea. Others require only an instant.”

“You think they’ve one of your Knights?” Olma demanded.

Eyes drifted to the towering Lady Knight standing directly behind the Consul. It was no secret any longer that the woman’s sorcerous blade formed some sort of portal. There had been too many witnesses during the doomed attempt to save Campos.

“There is much we do not know,” said Pelasius. “But we must be prepared. A company of Dragonmounts are heading this way as we speak. They are too large to come by means of a Knight. It is a long flight, but they will be here tomorrow. And it is my duty to prepare the way.”

The air seemed to grow heavy in Joren’s lungs. The world had changed all at once, on his watch. And no matter how he worked scenarios in his mind, he did not know how he could change the inevitable.

“No outsider has even been invited to our sacred valley,” Joren said. “That is the whole of the matter. It would unravel our way of life.”

“It would unravel our lies, is what you mean.”

Everyone in the room turned, and Joren’s heart wrung out inside his chest.

It was his son who’d spoken.

Joren held up a hand. “Son, now is not the time for—”

Malik’s face remained impressively calm. This was not an outburst. It was a calm and deliberate statement.

His son rose to his feet and looked out at all gathered in the room. The four chieftains, Lysa’s successor in-training, Urla Pelasius, and the Knight of Caadron.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Malik’s gaze settled on Olma last.

“Elder Marudeil, you said our people deserve better. I say, they deserve to know the truth.”

“What?” said Dannsein. “You can’t be serious!”

“Sit down, boy,” Tul Eriksein said.

But Joren dismissed him. “My son is a member of this council, a shaman who serves our people. Let him finish.”

Malik barely masked his surprise, but he continued. “Our way of life has been preserved by lies. Perhaps this was wisdom in the past, when all we knew was peace. I won’t claim to know. But our island was attacked. Our people were injured. Visitors were killed because of the secrets this council has kept.”

“God’s breath,” Tul said. “You were going to run away from our people just last night!”

Malik nodded. “Yes, I was. And I convinced my best friend to go with me. Now, Riese is gone. Taken by the rebels that attacked our peaceful festival. I accept my responsibility for that, no matter my intentions. I call on this council to do the same. Our home was attacked, and now, our entire livelihood is in danger. The dragons we have long forsaken are coming here. Because of our secret. No matter what happens, our people deserve to know why. And they deserve to choose what they will do with that truth.”

“Son, what are you talking about?” Joren asked.

“War is at our doorstep,” said Malik. “While these rebels run free, this place is unsafe. I propose we offer our people the choice. To stay. Or flee the island until this is over.”

“Leave the island?” Tul demanded.

Joren stood and joined his son. There were times in his life—oh, so many bloody times—when the path was unclear. When Joren had felt torn about his responsibilities to his people. But all at once, that responsibility came into focus.

“My son is right,” Joren said.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, the room erupted in a clamor of protests, and assents, and deliberations.

This had always been the way of the council.

***

Riese emerged from the portal on solid ground, though she nearly lost her balance, the shift from flying downward to walking right side up was so jarring.

She stood at the edge of a steep hillside, looking down upon a lush green valley, illuminated in a strange purple light. Dark skies radiated with stars, far brighter than on Faltara. Thick bands of them spanned the horizon like rivers of light.

Deven stood beside her, already back in her silver-haired human form.

Rykus stood ahead of them, pointing down the hill.

An overgrown castle with thin spires and a great dome at the center was nestled against the opposing hillside, surrounded by the strangest copse of trees Riese had ever seen. Narrow white trunks topped with leaves of crimson. There were some trees that turned like that in autumn, but this place left no indication of autumn whatsoever. It was warm, almost too warm with her cloak on. Bubbling brooks flowed from the rolling hillsides, collecting in a small lake near the castle. Flowers bloomed all around the rolling hills.

Riese felt a surge in her spirit and shifted here gaze upward.

A pair of dragons twirled across the sky, as though dancing. Riders were mounted on their backs, holding tight as their dragons spun through the air with lightning speed and remarkable grace.

The egg in her hands was radiating brighter than ever before, and Riese’s spirit filled with joy.

“The bond is powerful, isn’t it?” Rykus said.

Riese could not take her gaze from the dragons. Her spirit swelled in her chest.

“It sees what you see. Feels what you feel.”

Riese had heard such things from bards that came to the Festival of the Fading Sun each year. But she never could have imagined a feeling like this. She felt as though she’d been only a portion of herself all her life, and now, she was whole.

“Even before they hatch,” Riese said. “It’s incredible!”

Rykus nodded. “That sense grows stronger the longer you’re together. It can become overwhelming at times, particularly in moments of heightened emotion, especially once the bond is completed at the hatching.”

“How do you know so much?”

The man smiled and gestured at the skies. “Well, clearly, the Dragonmounts are not the only dragons in the world. I told you, Valucians have a long and complicated history. Now, come, we don’t have time to gawk at dragon flight, no matter how right we might be in doing so.”

Rykus strode down the hillside, still holding the chest containing the other two eggs. Riese followed him on foot, while Deven flew ahead on her Morph wings.

They were a couple of miles from the castle, and the journey took the better part of an hour, if Riese had to guess. As they descended and crossed the valley, Riese spotted more winged creatures in flight, much smaller than the dragons. As they neared, she realized they were more of the Morphs in winged form. Half a dozen were practicing sparring maneuvers mid-flight, the clang of clashing blades echoing across the valley.

High above it all, the dragons continued to soar.

“Where did they come from?” Riese asked.

“I thought you were still trying to determine whether to trust me,” Rykus said.

Riese glanced away.

“I’m joking, Riese. You’ll figure that out for yourself soon enough. Those dragons are the best kept secret in Valucia. The eggs were hidden since the ancient days. Hatched during the days of the Uprising, in hopes they might produce an army, but sadly, just like Attican dragons, they are infertile.”

“Why?”

Rykus smiled. “That is a question every Dragonmount in Îrithèa has asked countless times. No one knows. Dragons are not native to our world, and I suspect the reason is connected to that fact.”

Riese pictured the Gate of the Ancients at the peak of the Spires. That dark, ruined world haunted by dragyrs and wights.

The secret resided with her people. It always had.

“At any rate, the Uprising was already lost before these two grew large enough to fight. And the secret of their existence has remained. But we never lost hope in a company of Rebelmounts. There is no freedom in Valucia. Or in all Îrithèa. Not without a power that rivals the imperial Dragonmounts. But we don’t just need dragons, we need riders, Riese.”

“I’m not even Valucian,” Riese said.

“The old rebellions were about Valucia. And they failed. The Sigan revolt was about Siga. Same with Taika in years past. And on and on the cycle goes. A few hornets attacking a bear can do little, but a whole hive, well…”

“Who else?”

Rykus smiled. “That is where our conversation ends for the moment. Until you decide. War is coming to Îrithèa. It has been brewing for ages, and soon, the cauldron will spill across—”

Half a dozen Morphs flew toward them at a blinding speed, Deven at the front, coming from the direction of the castle.

Once standing on solid ground, they transformed into human forms, and Deven rushed forward.

“What’s wrong?” Rykus demanded.

“The Atticans, sir,” Deven said. “Dragonmounts have attacked Chardonia.”