Chapter Text
My former squadmates were known as General Aetos’s “Hunting Dogs.”
They were the strike team called upon to quietly eliminate any venin or wyvern that dared creep too close to the wards,
burning every trace of their existence until the current Duke of Tyrrendor hurled a wyvern’s corpse into the open, exposing Leadership’s long-kept secret to the public of Navarre.
I never agreed with the decision to hide the venin threat from our people,
but I never openly questioned it either. It kept Navarre safe for six hundred years, after all.That was until Leadership made that catastrophic, stupid decision during the Winter Solstice.
I let out a low sigh, turning my head to see Lysander and my older brother, Igris, casually chatting with Queen Maraya in the sprawling courtyard of Suniva’s Pearl Citadel. The sun-baked stone yard was currently occupied by three of our dragons, lounging at their ease as we waited for the final flight of our team to arrive.
“My people thank you for the delivery of these alloy-hilted daggers. Six crates could help us turn the tide and protect the Poromish from the venin threat. They have grown terrifyingly aggressive lately,” Queen Maraya surmised.
She treaded carefully across the stone, pausing mid-step to stare at the massive shapes sprawled across her courtyard. The black, red, and orange dragons radiated an oppressive heat that made the air shimmer, and even as a monarch accustomed to gryphons, a quiet, awestruck breath escaped her lips. Behind her, royal guards used iron crowbars to pry open five of the heavy pine crates. The wood splintered with sharp cracks, revealing row upon row of dark, alloy-hilted daggers gleaming in the sunlight. The men exchanged wide-eyed, hushed glances before nodding in solemn approval to their Queen. Satisfied, Maraya turned her sharp, calculating eyes directly onto me.
“You do not need to worry about feeding our dragons during our stay, Your Majesty,” Igris chimed in smoothly. “Our dragons know how to hunt the wild aurochs that thrive nearby. Our other companions, Griven and Galeen, are exploring your city as we speak, and we are simply awaiting the final crate.”
“Your city is absolute perfection, Your Majesty,” added Lysander, practically vibrating with excitement and entirely abandoning any attempt to play it cool. “The terracotta rooftops cascading down toward the river, the arched stone bridges, the scent of olive groves wafting through the streets... it’s breathtaking! And your library! I’ve been utterly engrossed in your ancient volumes on runework. The parchment alone is centuries older than anything we’re permitted to touch at Basgiath.”
“You are most welcome,” Queen Maraya replied with a faint smile. Then her eyes narrowed in curious amusement. “And to think, of all the dragon riders General Melgren could have dispatched, he sent Captain Igris’s squad—plus the Prince and Princess of Navarre.”
“The Crown wished to show the utter sincerity of our alliance,” I said, resting my hand on my belt and pressing my thumb hard against the brass buckle. The dull, pinching ache grounded me, keeping the lie from catching in my throat.
“Your reputation precedes you, my dear,” Maraya noted softly, her gaze lingering on me. “You are the famed Siphon who powers the majority of the wards, after all. Leadership has kept you hidden away behind castle walls these past few years, haven’t they? It is quite a surprise they would send you on a simple delivery run.”
Surprise indeed—mostly because this trip was entirely unsanctioned.
It was true: Navarre’s leadership had kept me tucked away, especially while I was busy giving birth to two boys over the last three years. But war was looming whether anyone wanted to admit it or not, especially now that the venin threat was blown wide open. Leadership had forbidden me from leaving, but I managed to maneuver around them, convincing Igris and pulling strings with General Melgren behind the King’s and General Aetos’s backs. I had theories I needed to test out here.
No one questioned General Melgren. He possessed the signet to see the outcome of an upcoming battle, and his black dragon, Codagh, was the formidable leader of the Empyrean. So when Melgren foresaw a devastating attack at the Samara outpost, he poured every available resource into its defense.
Except he was wrong. That miscalculation nearly cost Navarre both Basgiath and the dragon nesting grounds. If only I had been stationed there, I could have siphoned power directly into the wards, and General Sorrengail wouldn't have had to die. I leveraged that tragic failure, using his guilt and desperation to convince Melgren to secretly greenlight my deployment to Suniva.
I felt Ainne shift beside me before I heard her. My orange dragon lifted her heavy head and released a small puff of smoke.
Maristra is near! she exclaimed through our bond, her tail swishing against the flagstones in excitement.
The guards, who were prying open crates and carefully inspecting the daggers, flinched at the movement. I squinted up at the midday sky, tracing the silhouette of a massive brown dragon breaking through the clouds.
In the courtyard, Elaris, Vorak, and Ainne adjusted their massive bulk to make room. A grin tugged at my lips. It had been far too long since I was in the field with my former squad.
Back at Basgiath, we belonged to Fourth Wing, Claw Section, Gold Squad. Other riders in our year bitterly dubbed us the “Nepo Babies” because our ranks were stacked with crown loyalists. But our professors proudly gave us a different moniker: the Cloudwalkers—a nod to the three of us who possessed the rare ability to walk on clouds even without our dragons.
A month after graduation, everything changed. I married Griven Tauri, assumed my place at court, and bore two sons in quick succession. The remaining Cloudwalkers were reassigned under Colonel Aetos’s command—with my older brother added to their ranks.
Maristra landed with effortless grace, sending a plume of dust over the stone tiles. Queen Maraya stared in open awe as a tall, red-haired woman dismounted from the saddle.
“Ladice!” the woman shrieked, sprinting across the courtyard to throw her arms around me. “How is my favorite daughter? How are my sweet grandsons?”
As she enveloped me in a tight embrace, I laughed, playfully swatting her shoulder. “It’s still weird after all these years.,” I muttered softly between melodic chuckles.
The queen is making that face again, Ainne giggled into my mind.
I glanced from Ainne to Queen Maraya’s stunned expression. Of course she was making that face. Everyone wore that exact blend of shock and horror when they realized Rowan Aetos—who was the exact same age as me—was my mother.
It was... complicated.
During the Tyrrish uprising, Rowan seduced Colonel Aetos while nursing his injuries following the death of his first wife. She quickly became his consort. When the rebellion collapsed and the mass executions began, I was dragged away from the gallows at the last second. Rowan convinced the Colonel to spare and officially adopt both my brother and me.
So... General Aetos became my father, Rowan became my mother, Igris remained my only blood relative, and Dain Aetos became my thoroughly horrified younger brother—who, to this day, still hasn't recovered from the fact that his mother and sister are only three years older than he is.
Queen Maraya snapped out of her bewildered stupor to welcome Rowan, while Lysander and Igris stepped in to unload the final crate from Maristra, who growled at anyone else who dared draw close.
“The Cloudwalkers and Igris are finally back together! Ha!” Rowan grinned, her ocean-blue eyes gleaming with pure mischief. “I can’t believe you pulled this off without my beloved finding out.”
“I can’t believe Daddy let you out of his sight,” I murmured, finally letting myself melt into her hug.
Gods, I missed her. She was only permitted to visit me at the citadel once a month to help with the boys, as the General demanded his wife—and personal mender—remain tethered to his side.
“I have my ways of slithering away,” she babbled brightly. “I just didn't care enough to try before. But once I heard you were heading back to the field, why should you lot get to have all the fun? Besides... I’m itching to get my hands on one of those venin.”
Daddy.
That was what I’d forced myself to call General Aetos for years. Untangling my true feelings for him was impossible. How was I supposed to feel about the man who destroyed my life? The man who used me as leverage against my brother and a living weapon for his political schemes? The same man who tenderly called me his daughter, spoiled me without limit, and was the sole reason I wasn't put to death by the Basgiath leadership?
Queen Maraya gave a quiet wave of her hand, signaling her royal guards. They quickly lifted the heavy wooden crates, their boots scraping against the sun-drenched flagstones as they hauled the alloy-hilted daggers toward the citadel’s secure vaults.
As the guards cleared out, Lysander closed the distance between us. He reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a pair of sleek, gleaming weapons, holding them out to me with a rare, proud smirk.
They were steel folding fans—but built entirely for slaughter. Crafted from polished, reinforced steel, the outer ribs tapered into razor-sharp, double-edged points, while the inner spines overlapped like interlocking scales. Closed, they felt as solid and balanced as a pair of deadly parrying daggers. Opened with a flick of the wrist, they formed sweeping, deadly discs capable of severing a throat in a single fluid arc. Matching the metal were two intricate steel cuffs that clamped snugly around my wrists.
“I started crafting them right after the Winter Solstice,” Lysander explained, his voice low. “I etched specialized conduit-runes along the inner spine and wrists. You won’t just be swinging steel—you can siphon directly through them.”
My grin spread wide. I flicked my wrists back, letting the fans snap open with a lethal, metallic clack that echoed off the courtyard walls. I executed a quick double-pass through the air—a sharp, sweeping cross-cut followed by a tight spin—testing their center of gravity. They felt like an extension of my own hands, light yet terrifyingly sharp.
That was the real advantage of serving under General Aetos: unfettered access to forbidden knowledge.
Lysander’s signet was Metallurgy, but instead of merely shaping basic weapons, he channeled his power into engineering high-grade military tech for our squad. He designed custom flight harnesses for our dragons, tactical gear, and discreet devices crafted specifically for our unit—things kept entirely secret from General Aetos so we could operate beneath his radar.
A faint hum vibrated against the skin of my right upper ear. I reached up, my thumb brushing the delicate metal of my ear cuff. It was set with six tiny, cut gemstones—one for each of us—acting as an artificial mental relay that mimicked the bond between dragon and rider. We simply touched the metal, focused on a squadmate's frequency, and spoke directly into their mind.
Unconsciously tilting my head, I caught the voice of my husband ringing clearly in my head.
“Sweetie, are you done over there? I just saw Maristra touch down at the citadel,” Griven murmured through the link. “Relax, take Rowan, and go enjoy the markets for a bit.”
I struggled to focus on his voice over the low, rolling rumble echoing from above. Thunderstorms were a frequent reality in Suniva come March, and I mentally thanked the gods that all six crates had arrived before the heavens opened up.
Our official cover here was to oversee the rendezvous—a week-long deployment to ensure the alloy daggers were successfully transferred to the Poromish fliers. But the approaching tempest threatened to derail those timelines.
More importantly, it risked delaying my true objective—the secret mission Melgren knew nothing about. I needed to hunt down a live venin, and I needed access to the dormant wardstone tucked away in Suniva’s northeastern district. I had a theory on how to jumpstart it... and I needed to test it.
Suddenly, Lysander froze.
He yanked a small, cylindrical brass device from his belt—his Aether-Scope, fitted with a central dark crystal designed to resonate with the corrupted magic of the venin.
The crystal was glowing a violent, sickly crimson.
It’s impossible.
Lysander snapped his head toward me, his face draining of color.
“Where?” I blurted out.
Without a word, Lysander pointed up toward the massive, dark storm clouds rolling heavily over Suniva’s fifty-foot defensive walls.
“It can’t be—” Rowan breathed, her hand dropping instinctively to the hilt at her waist.
Queen Maraya shifted back, her eyebrows knitting together as she looked between the four of us. She opened her mouth, her eyes darting from Lysander’s glowing device to the sudden, frantic tension locking up our postures, entirely lost as to why a routine delivery squad was suddenly stepping into battle formation.
Before I could utter a single word of warning, four massive pillars of dark fire tore down from the clouds, slamming straight into the heart of Suniva’s textile district.