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Empty.
All of this, and the damn box is empty.
And now, so was her stomach. And any words lofting out Cassius’ mouth on their scurrying retreat to the settlement.
How? It was sealed. Bare stone. Solid stone.
Thoughts echoed in her mind’s fog among the muddled arguments surrounding her.
No cracks. No secret lock. It was sealed tight. The spell was barely noticeable, even with Cas’ help. How could anyone notice it? Certainly not a nord, not if Blyth or Rasu couldn’t figure it out. Then again, they’re the only nord mages I know, so there could be others. But the runes were in Old Draconic, for Draco’s sake. Who would even know how to read—
Her feet rooted to the ground and she nearly toppled over a ledge. Cold filled her chest and chilled her lungs still.
“What? What is it?” Aidan steadied her and followed her gaze into the shadows. “Did you see something?”
“It was Marrak,” she hushed. “He opened it. It had to be.”
“Of course, it was. Weren’t you listening?” But Petra’s lips tightened at the silent glare Aidan snapped back at her.
“We don’t know that for sure. Yes, it is the most likely reason, but it’s also been a hundred years. Maybe the nords took it secretly—hell, maybe it was never actually there in the first place. The other races certainly took no issue using theirs.”
Leti bristled, “Dom wouldn’t dare!”
“I didn’t say Dom had anything to do with it. Just that, given the border tensions and this council of yours, would you really be that surprised? Your own soldier even he said they were ready for war. What else would give them that much confidence?”
“So, now there’s another war?” Syra locked her gaze on the star-splattered sky and a cursed smile crawled across her face. “First dragons, then The Black Thorn, now the nords? Shit just keeps breaking.”
Or, was it was all just broken to begin with?
“We were never truly at war with you,” Aidan corrected.
“Tell that to your archers,” Petra spat. “You were—”
“Protecting our borders, as I’ve said.”
“Is this really the time for pedantics?” asked Cassius.
Their voices muffled in Syra’s ears, and the edges of the canopy blurred into the celestial abyss until even the stars faded the longer she stared.
“Is there any real point, then?” she asked, her voice barely cutting through the chirping air.
Aidan halted midstep, “What…what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, what’s the point? To this. This whole…‘game of fetch’. Maybe Petra was actually right. Maybe us trying just isn’t enough. I mean, sure, we got three shards. But that’s three of five. Even if we did destroy these three, what all could Marrak—or even the nords—do with the other ones? Fuck it. Maybe they’re all working together. Wouldn’t surprise me at this point. ‘Oh, you hate Altaira, too? How lovely, me too!’”
“Syra…”
“‘You know, we should get together some time—celebrate our common enemy. A war party, yes! What a killer idea—”
“Syra!”
Aidan jiggled her shoulders until her eyes rattled back down to the genuinely stunned company.
“Syra? Syra, look at me. Look at—”
But her eyes rebelled and she wrapped her arms around herself, fingers digging into her soft hair for any comfort.
“Syra,” he said, calming his voice and plopping a heavy hand atop her head, “you’re being stubborn. Unnecessarily stubborn, do you hear me? No? Alright, then.”
“Leti, could you please let Ariksi know that we’ve lost the shard and will be leaving tomorrow morning? Also, send a letter to Valen saying to stay in Koth and that we'll meet him tomorrow. He'll have to find another way to defeat Marrak.”
“Alright, I get it.” Syra rolled her eyes with a huff. “There’s no need for all of that.”
“I certainly hope so.” He searched her face to only find a tensed jaw and misting eyes. “A lot of people are relying on us—and on you—to protect them.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I know that you’re scared. And that’s alright. I am, too. We all are," he cast a glance at Petra, "whether we admit it or not. And so are Blyth and Rasu, Valen and Baba, and the rest of the Kesh Raza. Hell, they were dealing with this before we even started this journey. So, it’s alright, we’ll just have to do this scared. And we’ve been scared before.”
He unhooked her fingers from her arm and grasped her hand, “Remember when Commander Trine died, and we had to infiltrate the lair on our own?”
She winced from sudden smell of mud and charring, “I try not to.”
“Do you remember what you said? We had no back-up and no idea what we were doing, and we nearly retreated. But you said that we were only scared because we just didn’t know what to do—what his orders would have been. And that right then, in that moment, we could only do what made sense in that moment. To focus on what we could do right then. Now is no different. The plans have changed, just like they did then. So, we have figure out, what can we do now?”
Syra bit her lips steady and latched tight onto his hand, “The shard isn’t in the cave. It could have been a nord who took it, but I doubt it. Old Draconic is sacred and only taught by draconic mages. So, if Marrak did take it, then it’s most likely with him.”
“But, we have no idea where he’s hiding.”
“If he’s using it to build the altar, then it would have to be somewhere isolated. And big. And probably near a mana pool given the power he'll need."
"But we’ve already been to Kor Lahru. Where else could have one?"
Her eyes shot back to the shadow of the mountains, “Maybe there's another one here. One the nords don’t know about?”
“We can at least ask Ariksi, right?” Aidan glanced over at Leti, hope gradually returning. “Or Rasu? Maybe they know some miners who are more familiar with the geography. Or at least know where to look. Worst case, Blyth seems to know the council quite well.”
“I certainly wouldn’t mind squeezing some information out of those snub-nosed gragas,” said Petra.
“Let’s start with Ariksi first.” Leti patted Petra’s shoulder. “We can ask her first thing in the morning.”
“But we need to ask her now, before Marrak—” Syra was quickly shushed by Leti’s gentle fingers against her mouth.
“I’m glad you’re still willing to fight. But, it is nighttime. It is dark and getting colder. And the music has already started, so anyone worth talking to will either be on their backs or their face.”
“But Ariksi—”
“Is no doubt loony herself and will be of no help tonight.”
Syra’s shoulders sagged but Aidan nudged her forward.
“It’s just for tonight. We at least have an idea and resources to ask. What we can do now, is rest.”
We have been travelling all day.
The voice in her gut cheered at her realization and Leti took it as a sign to lead onward.
Syra’s nerves were still jumbled, but the fragrant breeze and dancing evening bugs loosened them by the time they arrived at the gathering.
The hall door screeched open and Ariksi's flushed face startled Syra more than the sudden firelight.
“There you are! Come in, come in. Everything is finally ready. Oh, and you can take those off for now,” she motioned to their headdresses, “your secret’s safe. Everyone here is as friendly as they are tight-lipped.” She wiggled the carving knife still in her hand and eyed the gawking crowd. “Isn’t that right?”
“If you say so, Ari!”
“But only if they’re fun!”
“Are they fun, Ari?”
“Yes, can they dance?”
“Oh, they must dance!”
“I don’t know about that.” Ariksi put on a worried face that turned hopeful as she twisted it towards the waiting party.
“You’ll be dancing with us, yes?”
Leti snickered as the whole party froze, and Ariksi scowled at Aidan’s eyes searching the shadows for an escape route.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she snatched up his collar and heaved him through the doorway, surprising him with the strength in her small body.
“Come! The earth and air are as full as the moon. Might as well fill your bellies, too. You’re our special guests, after all.”
Ariksi sat them on the center rug, sprawled out and plush with fur. All the stares kept Syra’s gaze low, but a few deep breaths confirmed Ariksi’s words.
Though miles away, the air simmered with mana in a tingling sea that rivaled Kor Lahru. Her shoulders relaxed, and she ran her fingers through the silky fun under her. Her fingertips warmed and buzzed. Even the ground seemed to swell and breathe. It could have been the fatigue, but she swore she could see tiny glimmers tracing through the hall’s ancient studs, as if they grew from the earth itself. The windows brought a breeze that hummed with croaks and whistles, and rustled the hanging adornments of painted stone and bone. And in the hall’s belly, surrounded by its giddy visitors, the firepit smoldered and smoked into the square hole in the roof. Despite this vent, the room already held a light fog that smelled of pine and sweet grass.
Syra and Aidan coughed at the tickle in their throats—at which the twins snickered to themselves—but its sweetness calmed and warmed them, and soon they forgot about the curious glances that watched them from over cups of snowberry wine.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Ariksi said as she and Leti delivered them ample wine and wide plates stacked with glazed meats, cheese, and the occasional tubor.
“Oh, yes!” Petra beamed brighter than the pyre. “Please and thank you.” Her nordic slurred from the mouthful of gravy.
“Don’t choke yourself, now. There is plenty more.”
Ariksi smirked at their sublimed faces then turned to address her other guests.
“Could I have your attention, please? Everyone? I apologize for disturbing your stupors, but I would like to formally introduce our guests of honor tonight. You know, before we forget everything?”
The chuckles faded as all eyes fell on the party.
“Tonight, we are blessed to host our first ambassadors. Both Altairan—as I’m sure you’re now keenly aware—and Montari.”
“Montari?” asked Ozma. “But the dragons left. I saw ‘em fly off.”
“Some did, yes. But magic has its tricks, remember? Or do you forget your grays?”
She turned a mischievous eye to Syra, “Care to show your other face?”
With some hesitation, Syra let her nordic form slip away. But to her surprise, her human form only brought cheers of amazement.
“You’re a shifter?” One nord asked, nearly spilling his drink.
“A dragon shifter?” asked another.
“Um…yes.” Syra offered a wry but honest smile. “I-I am. And these two are my siblings. I hope we’re not intruding too badly.”
But only enamored—albeit tipsy—hollers answered her.
“As I’ve said, you are welcomed guests,” Ariksi said, noticing her pleasant surprise. “Nords and dragons have hunted together for many seasons, but this is the first time we have feasted together. So please, allow us to show you our greatest hospitality by inviting you to participate in Amashka alongside us.”
“Amashka?” Syra asked Leti, but only received an impish grin from her flushed friend.
“We will ask again,” Leti pronounced, her accent slurring, “do the dragons dance?”
The hall quieted in anticipation. But the clatter of window chimes invited them to join the rhythm.
“Not on these legs, I’m afraid,” Cassius spoke up, his cheeks betraying him. “But, this one sings.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Petra slapped his arm, “Don’t volunteer me!”
“Oh, do join us,” Ariksi beamed and waved her towards the group of musicians at the front. “We even know a few of your hunting songs.”
Petra stopped chewing and rested her fork on her empty plate, brow raised, “Do you now?”
Ariksi matched her steady gaze, “Oh, yes. Even, The Sky Burns Red.”
A smirk played on Petra’s lips, and she eyed the hide drum sitting unattended.
“Only if I have the right accompaniment,” she said, nudging Cassius in his side. “I think you can manage without your tail.”
The air in the hall thickened with the hum and pulsing of reed, string, and drum, and the rattle of tiny bones. And when Petra’s clear opening call rang out, even the couples in the back turned an ear. While Cassius strained to play tailbeats with an awkward foot, Petra’s eyes fell closed as she sunk into the waves of sound. Syra willed herself to keep focused on her siblings’ performance, but soon found herself swept up with the rest of them. The rhythmic tide sent them all swaying and knuckles-deep into braiding each other’s hair. By moonhigh, the strokes of Leti’s fingers through Syra’s hair made even her short arm hairs stand on end. But despite her pampering, her gaze still found its way to Aidan who had finally surrendered to the communal grooming.
“You know, you can bed him if you like,” Leti whispered to Syra, noticing how the two exchanged looks yet remained seated. “There’s still a room to spare.”
“Excuse me?” Syra stiffened. “That’s not…I couldn’t. We’re not—”
Leti pressed her nose just under Syra’s ear and took a deep sniff, “You reek more of desire than wine.”
"Damn it," Syra shrunk away and focused her eyes on the woven strands of her shawl. "I'm just weak when it comes to him."
Leti's eyes glinted, "And what's wrong with that?"
Syra scoffed, “Too many reasons. Plus, he’s probably more interested in planning our next move than me right now.”
“Not according to his britches,” Leti said with a smirk.
Syra fought the urge, but turned a slow, appraising eye to the long frame now beaded with sweat. Leti wasn’t lying. Even she could smell the musk off his skin.
“You might as well ask,” said Leti. “You’ve done the feasting. Now, go have some fun.”
Leti’s drunken cackle drew Aidan’s attention and he locked eyes with Syra. She urged her eyes to move, but his black holes remained fixed, sucking her in and holding her until her lungs screamed to breathe again. A forced breath freed her gaze and she feigned interest in the gathering forming by the fire.
What are you doing? This is not the time and definitely not the place for any of that.
But Aidan’s gaze clung to her, and her fingers ached to tug those braids loose.
"No one thinks straight this time of year." Cassius' words echoed in her head.
Damn, this moon.
As if to answer, the music stopped. All eyes snapped to Ariksi who stood by the fire pit, fully garbed in a dragonskull headdress and shawl whose sleeves brushed the floor and donned the painting of dragon wings.
“The moon is here,” she announced, raising an arm to the white orb shining through the vent. “All who wish to join the dance, please come forward.”
Half the hall wobbled to the fire and cloaked themselves in various shawls. Some woven, others painted, a few worn and bandaged, but all stitched or brushed with care. To one half, Ariksi gave dragon horns like the ones she wore. To the other half she gave wide, curved horns, like the crescent mouths of the skyrays.
“Syra!” Ariksi tossed her a smaller horned headband. “You should join, too, given you’re…well, you. Petra and Cassius already have theirs on.”
Aidan fumbled to find the eye holes in his headdress, but Syra fiddled with the lacquered wooden horns.
This woman and her costumes. They’re even the right shape, too.
“Well, come on.” Aidan hunched over and dropped her a hand. “Oh right, excuse me,” he cleared his throat and bowed obnoxiously low. “May I have this dance, my lady?”
Syra's snort banished her concerns to the sidelines and she crowed herself with the horns, grasping his hand with proper, dainty fingers.
“Why, what fine etiquette.” He aired through a smirk, lifting her from the floor. “Lady Prys would be so proud.”
“Thank you, kindly. And I’d like to agree, but I severely doubt she would approve the attire.”
His smile stretched beyond the cover of his mask and he placed a hand atop her head, thumbing the wooden barbs that sprouted from her hair.
“You know, I think they suit you.”
Syra felt her cheeks flush. Her eyes darted away, but the gentle squeeze of his hand drew them right back to his. They held her fast, but were glazed and reddening.
I wonder if he’ll even remember any of this tomorrow.
“Come!” Ariksi’s call broke their staring and made spectacle of the large skull being heaved into the room.
All murmurs ceased. And all eyes followed the skyray’s skull as it was hoisted above the fire pit.
“Tonight, we sing for Life,” Ariksi said, motioning to the scavenged feasting platters. “As we, too, dance for Death. Would those with offerings please come forward?”
At her nod, Leti's grandmother led the flower-crowned procession to the front, where each adorned the skull with yellow flower buds.
“Death comes to us all, be it the hunter or prey. But it is through death that we may sustain life," Ariksi continued. "It is this cycle that connects us all. As the Bud Moon births life from the earth, The Hunt returns it. As such, we must honor this cycle and the lives that were cut short unwillingly.”
Ariksi raised a hand, and the skull was lowered into the flames. The bones cracked and the herbs singed and smoked, sending a plume of white skyward.
“We thank you, Fallen One, first from the sky,” she cast her voice into the smoke. “For your tiresome journey here, we thank you. For all your days before, we thank you. For the lives you spare from the frost and the dark, we thank you. For all this, we release what remains back to Erd. May your bones return to Her body, and may your essence rejoin Her flow and be blessed in its next coming.”
She grabbed the rods sewn to the edge of her sleeves and lifted both arms to the sky, displaying the full wingspan of the shawl, “Ama shi kah!”
“Ama shi kah!” repeated the gathering.
“Ama shi kah,” Syra whispered to herself, stewing in the reverence of a simple, ‘please and thank you’.
With the music’s return, the gathering began their dance. They hopped and flapped and swerved in a musical version of chase as the cloaked figures mimicked the swoops and turns displayed in the sky earlier that day. Even Petra and Cassius joined in after some of Ariksi’s prodding.
Syra bounced along on the outskirts watching her sister flit about chasing the miniature skyray, musing at her feeble attempt to make her human voice roar.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy,” she said, half to herself.
“This is the real festival, right here.” Leti hopped over with a satisfied grin. “Those others in the North Ward, they just see it as another excuse for food and…fun. They may parade their wares and sell their idol trinkets, but the young ones know little of their meaning. I’m glad you at least get to see the real thing before everyone forgets.”
Syra paused her flapping to plant a fist firmly to Leti’s shoulder, “I definitely won’t forget.”
Leti’s bright grin turned smug as Aidan wavered over to them.
“You know what’s the best way to dance?” she whispered up at Syra. “Take your shoes off.”
With that she flap-hopped away, but kept them in her periphery.
“What was that about?” Aidan asked.
Syra hesitated, watching Leti fumble to toss off her own boots, but then unstrapped her own.
“Etiquette.”
Even if she couldn’t see the shimmers of mana, her bare feet certainly felt them. The floorboards buzzed and tingled and sent waves of warmth up one leg and down the other. The smoke and wine only intensified the sensation. Her head swam, but not from deprivation—quite the opposite. She was absolutely full. So full that her body hummed and she could feel the earth pulse under her feet. She had no choice but to dance. To transfer the flow from one foot to the other. To waft it into the air with each beat of her draped arms. This was not a practiced dance like those of Lady Prys, but each step was light and firmly planted. This was a dance that her body knew. A dance with the earth itself.
But Aidan, despite his alchemical dealings, was not accustomed to such shifts in mana flow. Especially not those that affect one’s footing. And the next surge sent one foot too wide, and the rest of him careening into Syra.
The thud of her head on wood filled her ears, but was soon replaced by the laughter of others and herself.
“Shit, are you alright?” Aidan half-laughed from his wobbly stance over her.
“Heavy,” she huffed up at him, straining under the weight of the body that pinned her down.
“Sorry!” He pushed himself up only to have the wine weaken his arms.
But Syra let him struggle. His body was warm, his weight comforting, and the heat off his skin filled her nose with moon musk. Like with the dance, her body responded on its own.
“I’m not,” she hushed into his ear, letting her lips brush against the curve of his neck.
She felt his muscles stiffen, but he remained still and his scent only grew stronger. She let her body relax, allowing his weight to sink into her.
“No, I really am.” With a gentle touch, he took up her hand and pressed it to his forehead.
“I’m sorry," he repeated, this time in firm Draconic, snapping Syra’s eyes to his. "For everything. For being so demanding and short with you. For not listening. For doubting you and the twins, even though you're fighting just as hard as I am.” He looked down at the ring rocking gently from its chain between them. “And I'm sorry for taking so long to give you an answer.”
Fearscent tainted his sweetness as he paused to sort and select the right words.
“I want...I want you to stay with me. I don’t know how we’ll find the shards, or if we even can defeat Marrak. And I certainly don’t know what lies after that. But what I do know is that, right now, with you here, I’m happy. And I want you to stay here, with me.” He grazed his thumb across her hand. “I don’t know how we’ll do it, or if Father will ever approve. And I know you will have your own responsibilities, as will I. But, if it’s at all possible, I’d like to fight for it. For us.”
Syra’s lips fluttered and fumbled, grasping for words that just wouldn’t form.
“You don’t have to answer now—by all means, take your time. But, I hope that after all of this is over, however it turns out, that you’ll come home with me and we can figure things out together.”
Home. A word that smelled of warm moss, sunned linen, and smudged parchment. But with those came familiar laughs and the warmth and crackle of a tended fire. Like the ones around her right now.
Syra squirmed away and stood, drawing him to his feet.
“D-did I say something wrong?”
But she only gave him a smirk and stepped away. Then, she stomped. Hard. The hollow thud of wood calling the others’ attention. Lifting her arms, she flared the wings of her shawl and gave them a thorough quiver.
Petra’s groan cut through the drumming, “Oh, Lord, please no.”
But Aidan chuckled at her display and mimicked her movements anyway.
Syra crept around him, keeping her arms outstretched and stomping in slow, calculated steps as she encircled him. When at his back, she paused and quivered her wings again, eyes awaiting his answer.
“He doesn’t know what you’re doing,” Petra whined.
But his eyes never left Syra. She was serious this time. This wasn't like their History class demonstration. Her back was straight, head high, and arms wide and welcoming. This was her answer. And when his left wing dropped, Ariksi squealed in delight.
He stomped his way slowly around to Syra, until they were face-to-face again. He gave a final stomp and Syra dropped her wing, hooking it onto his. In an odd waltz, they shuffle-stomped around each other, waving their free wing with the beat of Cassius’ drum until the dance ended with heads bowed and horns locked.
“Ugh, you did it all wrong,” said Petra when the music stopped, “you’re supposed to drop your right...”
But Petra’s critique and Cassius’ subsequent reprimands were mere muffles in the couple’s ears. The moon had them now, and neither even noticed Leti parting the snickering crowd for them to slip into the corner stall.
***
The next morning brought Syra a dry mouth and sore legs. Dim light barely outlined the curtained window, but her eyes still squinted. She tugged the fur blanket up to her ears and flopped over.
No.
But her knee hit something squishy and warm, and she blinked awake to see Aidan snug and dozing in the nest of pillows around them. She took her time watching him. How his chest rose and fell like waves. How his lips twitched in dreaming. How his hair was as disheveled as when they first met, yet the smooth strands draped over his jawline in gentle curves as if painted with the finest ink.
It's almost as long as Petra's now, she thought, watching a long strand wiggle against his breath, but I doubt she'd let him borrow her ribbon.
She took it all in, storing his every detail in her mind, just in case. But when she reached to flick the strand from his cheek, a pang in her gut seized her hand.
Ugh. Damn it, right now?
She forced the pang away and wriggled towards his chest and its welcoming warmth.
Yes, right now, her bladder complained and shot off another warning squeeze.
Fuck, alright! Revenge of the wine, I get it.
She slithered out from the blankets, skin prickling from the morning chill, and slipped on her clothes. Padding into the sleeping hall, bodies and bottles littered the floor. Some in piles, others halfway off tables, but most of them completely bare. The twins dozed by the smoldering fire, swaddled together in shawls and looking like a seed pod save Petra’s one foot sticking out. Syra stifled a laugh at Blyth’s grinning face nuzzled into Ariksi’s bossom.
I guess he came after all.
She took a moment to breathe in the stillness and quiet before her bladder screamed again, then tiptoed out the door.
“Those braids didn’t last long.”
Syra startled at the chuckle from behind her. She spun to see Leti bundled and grinning from over her steaming mug as she rocked a purring Pishy.
“Oh,” she patted her mane of waves leftover from last night and returned the grin. “They rarely do with him.”
“Then why on Erd are you out of bed? And dressed?”
Syra rolled her eyes and pointed to the trees, “Because wine.”
Leti snickered into her tea and waved down the dirt road, “Ah, yes. The shit pit is down that way. Just don’t get caught, remember? Not like anyone else is up at this hour.”
The sky was barely awake but already wore red scales. Luckily, the roads were shadowed, the outhouse unoccupied, and a kindly bouquet sat fresh on its shelf.
Syra massaged her temples as her memories returned along with a headache.
Shit, the shard was gone, right. How were we going to find it, again? We needed to ask Ariksi something. Something about...a mana pool, I think?
She cursed her headfog and stared at the fragrant spring flowers, still bright and perky in their vase despite being out of season. Her eyes narrowed and curiosity drew them down the stems to the faintly glowing stones submerged at the base.
Really? she scoffed to herself. This is what’s considered ‘bare necessity’? Surely, they could find a better use. Like heating this place or growing more food, or—
The image of the grove trees was fuzzy, but she clearly recalled the strong sense of mana flowing through them.
Parchment trees. They can only grow along mana veins, so maybe…
She scrambled to fix herself and dashed out of the hut, following the forest trail they entered from. Sunlight glimmered on the edge of the canopy when she stopped to stretch her legs at the barn.
If I can follow the mana flow from this grove, then maybe I can find the source. That could at least point us in a direction. Now, how did Cas do it, again?
She calmed her breathing and focused, trying to remember the flow back in the cave. But only the air vibrated against her skin. Not enough to follow. But the setting moon winked down at her.
Oh, right!
She pulled at her laces and kicked off her boots, rooting her toes into the dirt. She had to brace herself against the doorframe as the flow surged up through her legs, making them wobble. Her toes tingled more than her heel, so she headed off into the grove away from the settlement. Midway through, the shimmering dust appeared.
There you are.
The trails of dust wavered through the ground, flowing from somewhere beyond the grove and towards the river.
She halted at the far edge of the grove, where the forest thinned into a mossy, alpine plain surrounding the ravine of The Gaping Maw. Despite the wind’s chill, the ground was warm. And through the morning gray, she watched the web of shimmers pulse outward away from the rocky jaws.
It must be somewhere down there. But, that’s pretty open—I should probably go get the others.
She turned to head back, but a tug at her neck made her pause. The pearl warmed and hummed at her chest, tugging against its chord as if drawn back by a thread.
Yes! I knew it!
Her spirit leapt and she dashed down the hillside, clutching the pearl that only grew warmer the closer she came to the ridge.
Maybe I can find it before anyone else wakes up. That’d certainly be a good morning surprise.
She skittered to a stop at the edge of the ravine. Beyond it, the Firelands of Ignis territory speckled the dark horizon in embers. And below rapids churned, parted only by a small island that grew an unusually large tree. A tree that, to the normal eye, appeared as a stunning silver-leafed aspen. But to Syra’s eyes, it housed a swirling galaxy.
A Mother Tree?
She scanned the area but found only lingering evening bugs.
No sign of any fae. Maybe it’s just too young? It is smaller than Kor Lahru's. But maybe that’s because the shard was buried only recently!
She clambered down the rocky ledges until she slid in the shallow shoals surrounding the tree. Even the water was warm and soothed her bruised feet.
You have to be here. Please, be here.
As she approached the towering tree the pearl glowed within her hand, pulling it towards the trunk. She stared from the tree to the pearl, and back, surprised by the sense of longing that radiated from her hand.
“Is…is this what you want?” she asked the pearl.
Its glow pulsed and she chuckled down at the round, silver-white stone.
“This whole time, you just wanted to come here? To come…home?”
She removed the pearl from its bindings and held it to the trunk. Her fingers strained to keep hold against it pulling and, for a moment, she hesitated.
Should I really be doing this, though? Or am I helping too much again? I don’t even know what will happen. Or who even put this here. Maybe I should just go get the others. Aidan might know—
In her faltering, the pearl pulled free and snapped to the tree, burying itself into the bark.
“Shit, no no no! Wait, come back!” She dug at the bark, but the pearl was gone.
The tree creaked and groaned as its wood wavered and bent on its own. Light threaded through its bark until its entire form glowed. And then, piece by piece, it dissolved into shimmering dust. But the dust did not blow away in the wind. It hovered and swirled, then condensed into an orb of golden light. A small, hovering sun that bobbed above her. Its corona flickered and rippled through the air in warm waves. Pleasant and familiar like an old dream, but with a large presence despite its actual size. And then, the orb spoke.
“Syra? Oh, stars, look how you’ve grown.”
The voice was startlingly full and spoke in fluent—and familiar—Draconic.
That voice, Syra stumbled backwards, I know it. I know it, but…it can’t. Can it?
But it was the same. The same comforting ripples, with the presence like a passing storm. The same warmth that wrapped her snug before hibernation. The same clear tone that sang her lullabies.
“Apparently, it can,” said the orb, itself surprised.
Syra felt her chest shatter. Every lock on her little box snapped and the stagnant pool bubbled over and sprung up her throat and out her eyes.
“Mother?”