The Journey, Book 2: Chapter 43 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 44: Hoard
The cave released them into the pale light of morning. Mist clung to the lake like smoke, curling upward into the teeth of the mountains. Elqiana crouched low in the clearing, her scales cool and gleaming, her wings arched wide to catch the air.
Tarasque guided her grandmother forward. Dorianna’s step was steady, though her hand trembled faintly on Tarasque’s arm. Snowy leapt onto Elqiana’s head in a fluid spring; Jeremy followed, settling onto Tara’s lap, scanning the tree line with restless golden eyes before climbing on.
‘Eastward,’ Elqiana said, her voice a deep tremor. ‘The winds will not be kind. Hold fast.’
With one mighty beat of her wings, the dragon pulled them into the sky. The lake shrank to a coin of silver, the mountains fell away, and the air rushed cold and clean against Tarasque’s face.
For a time they rode in silence, the only sound the rhythm of wings and the rush of wind. Then, behind her, Dorianna’s voice came quiet, almost uncertain.
“Your father always hated the skies.”
Tarasque found herself smiling despite the tension in her chest. “He doesn’t anymore. After his battle with the corrupter, he was scarred badly, half his face ruined. For years he thought people would only see him as grotesque, so he vanished. He took the form of a raven and stayed that way for decades. The skies became the only place he felt free.”
Dorianna startled, then lowered her gaze, a shadow passing through her eyes. “Tivor… hiding in feathers and wind. I cannot picture it.”
“He almost wasted away,” Tarasque continued softly. “When my mother found him, he was starving, half-mad with solitude. She drew him back, nursed him, gave him reason to stand on two feet again. For a while he stayed, but then he disappeared again—nineteen years this time. He followed No-Name, protecting him from the shadows. He only resurfaced recently.” She drew a steadying breath. “That’s when I learned he was my father. I’ve only just begun to know him.”
Silence stretched, filled with the rush of wind and the heavy beat of Elqiana’s wings. Dorianna’s hand crept to Tarasque’s shoulder, trembling but firm.
“He carries such burdens,” she whispered. “And now you do too.”
Tarasque glanced back, meeting her grandmother’s eyes. “And Vivi—he’s been training me. I know him well as a teacher, but nothing of him as a man. Only that he has a daughter named Elvina.”
A faint smile softened Dorianna’s face, though sorrow lingered behind it. “My reckless boy with a daughter of his own. He was fearless once, always climbing toward the sky while Tivor rooted himself to the earth. To think they both found such strange paths.” She shook her head, voice breaking. “And now you carry pieces of them both.”
Tarasque didn’t answer at once, but the warmth of her grandmother’s words settled deep. She wanted to hold that moment, to stretch it long.
But the air changed.
The wind struck without warning, a furious wall of force slamming into them from the west. Elqiana bellowed, wings pitching hard. Clouds boiled across the sky, swallowing the peaks in roiling gray.
‘Hold!’ the dragon thundered.
Tarasque gripped the saddle horn. Dorianna’s arms locked tight around her waist, Snowy flattened herself against the scales, and Jeremy’s hiss was swallowed in the storm’s howl.
The world lurched sideways. For a heartbeat they were falling, Elqiana’s wings buckling under the gale. Tarasque’s stomach clenched as though the ground were rushing up to meet them. Then the dragon fought her way into the current, muscles straining, climbing back through the chaos.
‘We’re being driven east!’ Elqiana roared. ‘I cannot hold the course!’
The storm tore at them for long, punishing minutes before finally loosening its grip. When the winds eased, they drifted above an unfamiliar valley, its forests drowned in mist, its ridges strange. Elqiana sagged as she glided lower, her body trembling with effort.
Jeremy broke the silence, his voice flat. “Set me down here.”
Tarasque twisted. “What? After that storm?”
“My path isn’t yours.” His eyes flicked toward Snowy, then away again. “I’ve walked far enough with you.”
Elqiana landed in a clearing, talons sinking into damp soil. Jeremy slipped down, shifting briefly into his human form to incline his head. “You’ve been… good companions,” he said awkwardly. Then, without waiting for reply, he shifted back, fur rippling over his skin, and vanished into the trees.
Snowy crouched where she sat, ears twitching, whiskers trembling. Then her body went rigid, her eyes glassy. In her mind a voice came through, like a faint whisper, over a large distance
‘Snowy. Trouble. An army is at Edena’s gates. We need you.’
Snowy gasped as she came back to herself, fur bristling, tail puffed wide.
“It was Kareth,” she whispered. “He reached me with his mind. Edena is in danger. Great danger.”
Panic sparked among them. Dorianna’s grip on Tarasque’s arm was sharp with fear. Elqiana’s wings flared, her eyes lit with fire.
‘Then we fly,’ the dragon said, her voice a growl of steel. ‘Faster than the storm.’
Once more they rose into the sky. Tarasque pressed her hand over her grandmother’s. Dorianna’s fingers were icy cold, but she held on.
Elqiana’s wings carved through the air, lifting them higher, steady now that the storm had blown itself out. The world stretched beneath them in green and grey valleys, but the silence on her back was heavier than the wind.
Tarasque felt her grandmother’s weight close against her spine. She wanted to speak, to break the quiet left behind by Jeremy’s farewell. At last she found the words.
“You wouldn’t recognise Edena anymore,” Tarasque said, her voice carrying over the rush of air. “Thirty years or so ago it was only a settlement. A scattering of homes and watchfires. Now… it’s a city. Fortified walls, gardens, marketplaces, even towers. It’s grown into a home worth defending.”
She felt Dorianna’s breath catch behind her, faint as a sigh.
“Vivi is the one who keeps it whole,” Tarasque went on. “He’s the keeper of Edena—like a mayor. Everything there rests on his shoulders. His daughter, Elvina. She’s my best friend, she’s like a sister to me.”
For the first time since her rescue, Dorianna’s arms tightened around her not from fear, but from pride. Her voice trembled. “Vivi… and a child of his own. I never thought to hear such words.”
“There’s more,” Tarasque said, her tone hardening. “The humans are ruled by a man named Thomaz. He calls himself king. He is clever, but paranoia drives him, and hunger for power. He trusts no one. His fear has cost lives.”
Dorianna shifted. “Whose lives?”
Tarasque hesitated, then forced the truth past her lips. “Braiden. Zeindaryss. They’re gone. Taken by Rubian’s hand, at Thomaz’s bidding. Villages and settlements too, destroyed and burnt to the ground, more often with no survivors.
The air seemed to collapse. Dorianna’s cry was ripped from her throat, raw and breaking, carried away by the wind. She bent forward, clutching Tarasque as though she might fall, though Elqiana’s flight never faltered.
“Braiden…” Her husband’s name broke like glass on her tongue. “And Zeindaryss too? Thomaz…” Her voice deepened into a growl. “He murdered them. He murdered my heart.”
The sky darkened around them as if sharing her grief. Elqiana’s wings strained harder, her voice low. ‘Hold to yourself, Dorianna. There is no time for despair.’
But Tarasque felt her grandmother trembling, the storm inside her greater than the one they had just survived. Tarasque reached back, taking Dorianna’s hand and pressing it tight against her own chest. “You’re not alone. Not anymore. We’ll face Thomaz, and Rubian, and all their shadows together.”
For a moment, the only answer was the wind. Then Dorianna’s hand squeezed hers, fierce despite the tremor.
Elqiana angled her wings eastward, driving them on. Ahead, Edena lay waiting—no longer just a city of walls, but a crucible of grief, vengeance, and fragile hope.
Elqiana shifted her wings, angling to correct their course, the wind tugging at her scales in long silver streams. The dragon’s body rolled slightly with the adjustment, and the world tilted beneath them—a sprawling sea of forest, its canopy unbroken for miles.
The silence that followed lingered too long. Tarasque could feel her grandmother’s sorrow radiating through the closeness of their flight, sharp as a blade pressed to her own chest. She wanted to ease it, to soften the jagged edges left by Braiden’s name.
Snowy sat perched on Elqiana’s head, her fur rippling and flattening in the rushing air, golden eyes locked downward as though she could track every shadow in the forest below. She looked like she belonged there, a sentinel riding the skull of a dragon.
“How did you meet Snowy?” Tarasque asked, her voice gentle, tentative, trying to tug her grandmother away from the silence.
Dorianna drew a long, unsteady breath. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, leaving a faint trace of tears drying on her skin. Her lips curved into something fragile—half sorrow, half reluctant amusement.
“Braiden found her,” she said, her voice quiet but steadier now. “She was scarcely more than a newborn kitten, barely breathing. I nursed her back to health, fed her drop by drop until she had strength enough to cry.” A weak laugh caught in her throat. “It was some time before I learned what she truly was. And when I did… It gave me quite a fright.”
Tarasque leaned in, listening closely, the wind catching her hair and flinging it into her grandmother’s face until they both brushed it back with a faint smile. “What happened?”
Dorianna’s eyes softened with memory. “I had gone to say goodbye to Braiden—he was leaving on a journey to the Dwarves with his dragon, Zeindaryss. When I returned to the house, I expected quiet. Instead, I found… chaos.” Her laugh this time was wet, threaded with a sob. “There was a small, human-like figure in my kitchen—no taller than a child, with cat ears and a tail. She was sitting among the feathers of a slaughtered chicken, eating it raw, blood smeared from chin to toes. And then—before my eyes—she shifted into the very kitten I had cradled.”
Her voice cracked into another half-sob, half-chuckle at the memory. “I screamed so loudly, I think I frightened her more than she frightened me. She bolted under the bed, and I had to coax her out with broth. Only then did I realise what she was: a were-cat. And from that day on, she was family.”
Ahead, Snowy’s ears twitched as if she had caught every word despite the rushing wind, though she gave no sign of embarrassment. She only flicked her tail once, the gesture sharp and deliberate, before lowering her head again to watch the forest.
Tarasque smiled faintly, the heaviness between them eased by the story’s strangeness. “Sounds like she chose you, not the other way around.”
“She did,” Dorianna whispered. “In truth… they all did. Braiden, Zeindaryss, Snowy. And now—” Her hand tightened briefly on Tarasque’s arm. “Now you.”
Snowy’s ears twitched, her fur ruffling in the wind as she listened. Then, in her usual deadpan tone, she spoke. “That chicken I slaughtered back then? Delicious. Absolute perfection.”
Dorianna shook her head, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, laughter bubbled from her lips. It was small, trembling, but real, carried away in the rush of air.
“And are you living in Braiden’s old lofty tree now?” she asked, curiosity softening the edges of grief.
Tarasque shook her head gently. “No. Nekira and Amira live there. Elqiana and I have our own place, enchanted at Gabija’s request.”
Dorianna’s brow furrowed, puzzled. “Gabija? Why her request?”
Snowy answered this time, voice clipped and precise. “Gabija is Queen. And Chief of Clan Panther.”
Dorianna’s gaze swept over the forest below, tracing the far horizon in the direction where Caa Alora would lie in the distance. Her voice softened with understanding. “That makes sense.”
She leaned closer, curiosity brightening her eyes despite the shadows of grief. “Tell me of Nekira… and who is Amira?”
Tarasque glanced back at her grandmother, feeling the warmth of this shared moment, and began to recount, the wind carrying their words across the treetops.
Tarasque adjusted her grip on the saddle, keeping one hand lightly on her grandmother’s as she pointed toward the forest stretching below them. “Nekira lives in the old tree,” she began, voice rising just above the wind. “He’s… my boyfriend.”
Dorianna blinked, startled, and Tarasque laughed softly. “Don’t look so shocked. We’ve been together for a few months. And he’s… more than just a companion—he’s family, in every sense that matters.”
“And Amira is?” Dorianna asked, eyes flicking toward the horizon, as if she expected the creature to appear from the trees themselves.
“His dragon, Amira, is…,” Tarasque said. “orange and purple, bright as fire at sunset. She’s fierce, clever, and terrifying if you get on the wrong side of her.” Snowy flicked her tail once, ears twitching, as if acknowledging the description.
Dorianna’s lips parted, a memory stirring behind her eyes. “Amira…” she murmured, voice catching. “I… I remember now. Not the dragon itself, but the note that the Undgroll messenger dropped… right before the corrupter killed it.” Her hand trembled slightly. “I ate it. I couldn’t let him know there was a new dragon. It seemed… important. Too important for him to ever find out.”
Tarasque felt the weight of her grandmother’s admission and smiled softly. “You did the right thing. You protected her, without even knowing how important she is, Amira would appreciate what you did, and Nekira would too”
Dorianna pressed a hand over her heart, staring out at the canopy below. “Magic and family… intertwined. Always intertwined. I see that now. And Nekira? You trust him?”
Tarasque’s eyes met Dorianna’s, earnest. “I do. Completely. And he trusts me too. “That’s why he’s away right now, on a mission of importance,” Tarasque said, her voice steady but careful. “Amira is with him… guiding him, protecting him.”
Dorianna’s eyes narrowed, curiosity sharpened. “A mission? What kind of mission? Tell me, Tarasque.”
Elqiana’s wings shifted beneath them, a low rumble vibrating through the air, and the dragon’s gaze flicked toward Tarasque. It was a warning.
Tarasque’s jaw tightened. “I can’t, not yet. Some things… are too dangerous to speak of aloud. You’ll understand when the time comes.”
Dorianna’s lips pressed together, but she nodded, letting the question go for now. Her eyes drifted over the endless forest below, tracing patterns in the treetops, while the hum of wings carried them further toward Edena.
The wind shifted, tugging at their hair and robes, and Elqiana tilted her wings to catch a sudden up-draft. Snowy’s fur rippled in the breeze as she lowered her head, scanning the endless green beneath them.
Dorianna exhaled softly, a mix of wonder and remembrance in her voice. “I understand now… why some things must be hidden, and why others must be nurtured. You’ve grown, Tarasque. All of this… it’s yours, and yet it belongs to the forest, to the sky, to those who guard it.”
Tarasque squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “And soon, we’ll see Edena again.” Her voice hardened, steadying. “Whatever waits for us there, we’ll face it. Together.”
The forest stretched endlessly below them as Elqiana angled northeast, the sun breaking through cloud banks in shafts of golden light. The conversation lulled into quiet reflection, but the hum of wings and the distant sway of trees carried them forward, toward home, toward the city of walls that awaited, and toward the shadow that none of them yet fully understood.
Elqiana’s eyes caught a glint at the edge of her vision. ‘You both need to rest a little,’ she said in Tara’s mind, ‘and I need to hunt. All this flying has made me hungry.’
Tara reached up, patting the dragon’s warm, scaly neck in acknowledgement. Elqiana responded with a low rumble, then banked sharply to the left, spiralling gracefully toward the flash of light. The air whipped past them as they descended, but fatigue weighed on her muscles. When she landed, her talons dug deep into the earth, tearing at the soil, a little heavier than usual.
She lifted her snout and sniffed, senses alert. ‘There’s something inside worth investigating,’ she communicated to Tara, nodding toward the cave entrance nearby.
Snowy was already striding into the shadows, her movements silent and confident, tail flicking, ears pricked. Elqiana flexed her wings and took to the skies again, circling above as she hunted for her meal.
Tara hesitated a moment, then glanced at Dorianna, who followed silently. Together, they stepped into the cave, guided by the soft sound of Snowy’s padded feet and the faint glimmer of light reflecting off the damp stone walls. The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of earth, something wild, and something faintly electric, as though the cave itself held a secret waiting for them.
Each step drew them deeper, Snowy leading with confident assurance, Tara’s heart thrumming with anticipation, and Dorianna close behind, silently absorbing the strange, tense calm of this hidden place.
The hoard stretched far wider than either of them had first realised. Piles of old chests slumped against the chamber walls, half-rotted, their clasps rusted to powder. A scattering of coins lay forgotten on the stone floor, dulled with age, but still glinting faintly under the shafts of daylight streaming from above. The air itself seemed to hum faintly, as though the wealth of stolen things retained the memory of every hand that had ever grasped them.
Snowy prowled at the edge of the light, tail swishing lazily. She moved with a predator’s grace, sniffing at crates and tilting her head with keen interest. Then, with a ripple that seemed to shimmer across her skin, her form shifted—her fur melted back, her limbs lengthened, and in the space of a breath she was no longer a sleek white cat but a small, childlike figure. Her ears and tail remained, twitching with barely contained excitement, but her hands, delicate and human-shaped now, were reaching.
“Snowy,” Tara murmured, a warning in her tone. But the were-cat ignored her, drawn toward a narrow wooden box tucked beneath a larger chest. She pulled it free with a grunt, the lid creaking as it gave way.
Inside lay a pair of daggers, their blades slim and curved, the hilts worked in patterns of silver and jet. Even in the dim light, the steel seemed alive, a faint shimmer running along the edges as though the air itself recoiled from them.
Snowy’s golden eyes widened, and for once she let a rare smile flicker across her face. “Perfect,” she said, her voice higher, softer in this form. She slid one dagger free and tested its balance, her wrist flicking it into a fluid spin. The blade seemed to answer her touch, catching the light and flashing like water.
Dorianna’s breath caught. “Enchanted,” she said, awe in her voice. “Those aren’t common steel. They were forged by a Dwarf, this work is the best I’ve ever seen.”
Snowy tucked the second blade into her belt with a satisfied little hum, shifting the first into a defensive grip. “They fit me,” she said simply, and the certainty in her voice left no room for argument.
For a heartbeat, the chamber seemed to brighten, not from the sunlight above, but from the life and memory reawakening in the weapons and armour now claimed. A sword for Dorianna, armour light as air, and daggers for the were-cat. The hoard was no longer just a relic of bandits, but a strange inheritance of fate, waiting for the right hands to find it.
Snowy flicked her tail once, eyes glowing in the half-light. “Now we’re armed for what’s coming,” she said dryly, her tone returning to its usual sharpness.
Tara let her thoughts drift outward, the way Elqiana had taught her, opening her mind like a door to the dragon circling above. At once, sensation flooded her, the rending crunch of bone between powerful jaws, the warm rush of blood down her throat, the deep, satisfied sigh as strength returned to weary muscles. For a heartbeat Tara almost tasted it herself, raw and primal, but then she gently closed the link, a smile ghosting her lips. Elqiana was well.
She turned to follow Dorianna and Snowy back toward the cave mouth when something pulled her attention. A glimmer—not gold this time, but a faint glow, half-hidden in the shadows of a far corner.
Drawn to it, she stepped carefully over the moss-slick floor until she found an old table collapsed against the wall. Its surface was littered with scrolls so ancient they crumbled to dust at her softest touch. Fragments of faded ink flaked away on her fingertips.
But among the ruin lay two rings. One cradled a bright white moonstone, luminous even in the dim chamber. The other held a purple sapphire, so deep it seemed to drink the light itself. Tara’s breath caught as she hovered her fingers over them, the air around them pulsed faintly, like the rings were alive, heartbeats caught in stone and silver.
Dorianna came closer, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. “Whoever owned these… they stored energy inside them. A vast amount. It’s an old technique. In battle, it saves you from draining your own strength when speaking the Ancient Language. You draw from the ring instead.”
Tara’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted the moonstone ring, sliding it onto the middle finger of her left hand. The metal was cool, but the stone throbbed warm, as if acknowledging her touch.
Without a word, she picked up the sapphire ring and slipped it into her pocket, the weight of it settling against her like a secret.
Snowy was already padding back toward the mouth of the cave. Dorianna lingered, eyes still fixed on the rings, before finally following.
Together they stepped back into the daylight. Elqiana was waiting just beyond the treeline, her scales catching the sun in molten ripples, golden eyes brightened by her hunt. She lowered her head as they emerged
“Are you ready to fly now, Elqi?” Tara asked, laying a hand on the dragon’s neck with quiet affection.
Elqiana’s voice curled into her mind, soft and rumbling with amusement. 'Just one thing… could you pull out the sheep’s wool from between my teeth?'
Tara blinked, then stepped closer. Sure enough, a clump of wool was wedged stubbornly between two of Elqiana’s fangs. Wrinkling her nose at the singed, oily smell, she reached up and tugged it free, flicking it onto the ground with a look of disgust.
“Honestly, Elqi…” Tara muttered, half-giggling.
The dragon stretched, rolling her shoulders, and her opal-white scales shimmered like sunlight across snow. She lowered herself so the three could climb back into the saddle. Once Tara, Dorianna, were strapped in securely, Elqiana spread her wings wide.
With a single, powerful sweep, she launched them skyward. The wind roared past as she rose higher and higher, each beat of her wings driving them into the vast openness above the forests. The earth fell away beneath them, and once more they were sky bound—on course for Edena, though the horizon promised both distance and uncertainty.
The skies seemed calm enough when Elqiana rose, her wings beating steady as she carried them east. The forests rolled endlessly beneath, their crowns shifting in slow waves of green. From this height, rivers glinted like broken glass scattered across the land.
But there was something uneasy in the air. The light felt sharper than before, the sky too still. Even Elqiana’s wing beats seemed louder, echoing through a silence that pressed close around them.
'Strange currents,' the dragon murmured into their minds. 'The air does not move as it should.'
Tarasque pressed her hand against the warm scales, opening herself to Elqiana’s senses. What she felt made her throat tighten—the air was heavy, dragging at the dragon’s wings, not with violence but with weight, as if the sky itself resisted their passage.
Snowy crouched low on Elqiana’s head, ears twitching, her tail lashing back and forth in small jerks. She peered down toward the canopy below, her narrowed eyes following something unseen.
“Why so quiet?” Dorianna asked at last, her voice hushed despite the emptiness around them. “Even the birds…”
Tara realized she was right. The forests below were mute. No distant calls of hawks, no murmurs of songbirds rising up to meet them. The silence was not peace, but absence.
Elqiana climbed higher, her wings straining to catch steadier air. The dragon’s thoughts rippled into Tara’s mind again, more guarded this time. 'We are not alone in this sky. Something watches.'
Tara swallowed hard, glancing toward the horizon where Edena lay hidden beyond the stretch of trees. The path was still clear, yet every beat of their journey carried a weight, a pressure that whispered of danger ahead.
Chapter 44: Hoard
The cave released them into the pale light of morning. Mist clung to the lake like smoke, curling upward into the teeth of the mountains. Elqiana crouched low in the clearing, her scales cool and gleaming, her wings arched wide to catch the air.
Tarasque guided her grandmother forward. Dorianna’s step was steady, though her hand trembled faintly on Tarasque’s arm. Snowy leapt onto Elqiana’s head in a fluid spring; Jeremy followed, settling onto Tara’s lap, scanning the tree line with restless golden eyes before climbing on.
‘Eastward,’ Elqiana said, her voice a deep tremor. ‘The winds will not be kind. Hold fast.’
With one mighty beat of her wings, the dragon pulled them into the sky. The lake shrank to a coin of silver, the mountains fell away, and the air rushed cold and clean against Tarasque’s face.
For a time they rode in silence, the only sound the rhythm of wings and the rush of wind. Then, behind her, Dorianna’s voice came quiet, almost uncertain.
“Your father always hated the skies.”
Tarasque found herself smiling despite the tension in her chest. “He doesn’t anymore. After his battle with the corrupter, he was scarred badly, half his face ruined. For years he thought people would only see him as grotesque, so he vanished. He took the form of a raven and stayed that way for decades. The skies became the only place he felt free.”
Dorianna startled, then lowered her gaze, a shadow passing through her eyes. “Tivor… hiding in feathers and wind. I cannot picture it.”
“He almost wasted away,” Tarasque continued softly. “When my mother found him, he was starving, half-mad with solitude. She drew him back, nursed him, gave him reason to stand on two feet again. For a while he stayed, but then he disappeared again—nineteen years this time. He followed No-Name, protecting him from the shadows. He only resurfaced recently.” She drew a steadying breath. “That’s when I learned he was my father. I’ve only just begun to know him.”
Silence stretched, filled with the rush of wind and the heavy beat of Elqiana’s wings. Dorianna’s hand crept to Tarasque’s shoulder, trembling but firm.
“He carries such burdens,” she whispered. “And now you do too.”
Tarasque glanced back, meeting her grandmother’s eyes. “And Vivi—he’s been training me. I know him well as a teacher, but nothing of him as a man. Only that he has a daughter named Elvina.”
A faint smile softened Dorianna’s face, though sorrow lingered behind it. “My reckless boy with a daughter of his own. He was fearless once, always climbing toward the sky while Tivor rooted himself to the earth. To think they both found such strange paths.” She shook her head, voice breaking. “And now you carry pieces of them both.”
Tarasque didn’t answer at once, but the warmth of her grandmother’s words settled deep. She wanted to hold that moment, to stretch it long.
But the air changed.
The wind struck without warning, a furious wall of force slamming into them from the west. Elqiana bellowed, wings pitching hard. Clouds boiled across the sky, swallowing the peaks in roiling gray.
‘Hold!’ the dragon thundered.
Tarasque gripped the saddle horn. Dorianna’s arms locked tight around her waist, Snowy flattened herself against the scales, and Jeremy’s hiss was swallowed in the storm’s howl.
The world lurched sideways. For a heartbeat they were falling, Elqiana’s wings buckling under the gale. Tarasque’s stomach clenched as though the ground were rushing up to meet them. Then the dragon fought her way into the current, muscles straining, climbing back through the chaos.
‘We’re being driven east!’ Elqiana roared. ‘I cannot hold the course!’
The storm tore at them for long, punishing minutes before finally loosening its grip. When the winds eased, they drifted above an unfamiliar valley, its forests drowned in mist, its ridges strange. Elqiana sagged as she glided lower, her body trembling with effort.
Jeremy broke the silence, his voice flat. “Set me down here.”
Tarasque twisted. “What? After that storm?”
“My path isn’t yours.” His eyes flicked toward Snowy, then away again. “I’ve walked far enough with you.”
Elqiana landed in a clearing, talons sinking into damp soil. Jeremy slipped down, shifting briefly into his human form to incline his head. “You’ve been… good companions,” he said awkwardly. Then, without waiting for reply, he shifted back, fur rippling over his skin, and vanished into the trees.
Snowy crouched where she sat, ears twitching, whiskers trembling. Then her body went rigid, her eyes glassy. In her mind a voice came through, like a faint whisper, over a large distance
‘Snowy. Trouble. An army is at Edena’s gates. We need you.’
Snowy gasped as she came back to herself, fur bristling, tail puffed wide.
“It was Kareth,” she whispered. “He reached me with his mind. Edena is in danger. Great danger.”
Panic sparked among them. Dorianna’s grip on Tarasque’s arm was sharp with fear. Elqiana’s wings flared, her eyes lit with fire.
‘Then we fly,’ the dragon said, her voice a growl of steel. ‘Faster than the storm.’
Once more they rose into the sky. Tarasque pressed her hand over her grandmother’s. Dorianna’s fingers were icy cold, but she held on.
Elqiana’s wings carved through the air, lifting them higher, steady now that the storm had blown itself out. The world stretched beneath them in green and grey valleys, but the silence on her back was heavier than the wind.
Tarasque felt her grandmother’s weight close against her spine. She wanted to speak, to break the quiet left behind by Jeremy’s farewell. At last she found the words.
“You wouldn’t recognise Edena anymore,” Tarasque said, her voice carrying over the rush of air. “Thirty years or so ago it was only a settlement. A scattering of homes and watchfires. Now… it’s a city. Fortified walls, gardens, marketplaces, even towers. It’s grown into a home worth defending.”
She felt Dorianna’s breath catch behind her, faint as a sigh.
“Vivi is the one who keeps it whole,” Tarasque went on. “He’s the keeper of Edena—like a mayor. Everything there rests on his shoulders. His daughter, Elvina. She’s my best friend, she’s like a sister to me.”
For the first time since her rescue, Dorianna’s arms tightened around her not from fear, but from pride. Her voice trembled. “Vivi… and a child of his own. I never thought to hear such words.”
“There’s more,” Tarasque said, her tone hardening. “The humans are ruled by a man named Thomaz. He calls himself king. He is clever, but paranoia drives him, and hunger for power. He trusts no one. His fear has cost lives.”
Dorianna shifted. “Whose lives?”
Tarasque hesitated, then forced the truth past her lips. “Braiden. Zeindaryss. They’re gone. Taken by Rubian’s hand, at Thomaz’s bidding. Villages and settlements too, destroyed and burnt to the ground, more often with no survivors.
The air seemed to collapse. Dorianna’s cry was ripped from her throat, raw and breaking, carried away by the wind. She bent forward, clutching Tarasque as though she might fall, though Elqiana’s flight never faltered.
“Braiden…” Her husband’s name broke like glass on her tongue. “And Zeindaryss too? Thomaz…” Her voice deepened into a growl. “He murdered them. He murdered my heart.”
The sky darkened around them as if sharing her grief. Elqiana’s wings strained harder, her voice low. ‘Hold to yourself, Dorianna. There is no time for despair.’
But Tarasque felt her grandmother trembling, the storm inside her greater than the one they had just survived. Tarasque reached back, taking Dorianna’s hand and pressing it tight against her own chest. “You’re not alone. Not anymore. We’ll face Thomaz, and Rubian, and all their shadows together.”
For a moment, the only answer was the wind. Then Dorianna’s hand squeezed hers, fierce despite the tremor.
Elqiana angled her wings eastward, driving them on. Ahead, Edena lay waiting—no longer just a city of walls, but a crucible of grief, vengeance, and fragile hope.
Elqiana shifted her wings, angling to correct their course, the wind tugging at her scales in long silver streams. The dragon’s body rolled slightly with the adjustment, and the world tilted beneath them—a sprawling sea of forest, its canopy unbroken for miles.
The silence that followed lingered too long. Tarasque could feel her grandmother’s sorrow radiating through the closeness of their flight, sharp as a blade pressed to her own chest. She wanted to ease it, to soften the jagged edges left by Braiden’s name.
Snowy sat perched on Elqiana’s head, her fur rippling and flattening in the rushing air, golden eyes locked downward as though she could track every shadow in the forest below. She looked like she belonged there, a sentinel riding the skull of a dragon.
“How did you meet Snowy?” Tarasque asked, her voice gentle, tentative, trying to tug her grandmother away from the silence.
Dorianna drew a long, unsteady breath. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, leaving a faint trace of tears drying on her skin. Her lips curved into something fragile—half sorrow, half reluctant amusement.
“Braiden found her,” she said, her voice quiet but steadier now. “She was scarcely more than a newborn kitten, barely breathing. I nursed her back to health, fed her drop by drop until she had strength enough to cry.” A weak laugh caught in her throat. “It was some time before I learned what she truly was. And when I did… It gave me quite a fright.”
Tarasque leaned in, listening closely, the wind catching her hair and flinging it into her grandmother’s face until they both brushed it back with a faint smile. “What happened?”
Dorianna’s eyes softened with memory. “I had gone to say goodbye to Braiden—he was leaving on a journey to the Dwarves with his dragon, Zeindaryss. When I returned to the house, I expected quiet. Instead, I found… chaos.” Her laugh this time was wet, threaded with a sob. “There was a small, human-like figure in my kitchen—no taller than a child, with cat ears and a tail. She was sitting among the feathers of a slaughtered chicken, eating it raw, blood smeared from chin to toes. And then—before my eyes—she shifted into the very kitten I had cradled.”
Her voice cracked into another half-sob, half-chuckle at the memory. “I screamed so loudly, I think I frightened her more than she frightened me. She bolted under the bed, and I had to coax her out with broth. Only then did I realise what she was: a were-cat. And from that day on, she was family.”
Ahead, Snowy’s ears twitched as if she had caught every word despite the rushing wind, though she gave no sign of embarrassment. She only flicked her tail once, the gesture sharp and deliberate, before lowering her head again to watch the forest.
Tarasque smiled faintly, the heaviness between them eased by the story’s strangeness. “Sounds like she chose you, not the other way around.”
“She did,” Dorianna whispered. “In truth… they all did. Braiden, Zeindaryss, Snowy. And now—” Her hand tightened briefly on Tarasque’s arm. “Now you.”
Snowy’s ears twitched, her fur ruffling in the wind as she listened. Then, in her usual deadpan tone, she spoke. “That chicken I slaughtered back then? Delicious. Absolute perfection.”
Dorianna shook her head, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, laughter bubbled from her lips. It was small, trembling, but real, carried away in the rush of air.
“And are you living in Braiden’s old lofty tree now?” she asked, curiosity softening the edges of grief.
Tarasque shook her head gently. “No. Nekira and Amira live there. Elqiana and I have our own place, enchanted at Gabija’s request.”
Dorianna’s brow furrowed, puzzled. “Gabija? Why her request?”
Snowy answered this time, voice clipped and precise. “Gabija is Queen. And Chief of Clan Panther.”
Dorianna’s gaze swept over the forest below, tracing the far horizon in the direction where Caa Alora would lie in the distance. Her voice softened with understanding. “That makes sense.”
She leaned closer, curiosity brightening her eyes despite the shadows of grief. “Tell me of Nekira… and who is Amira?”
Tarasque glanced back at her grandmother, feeling the warmth of this shared moment, and began to recount, the wind carrying their words across the treetops.
Tarasque adjusted her grip on the saddle, keeping one hand lightly on her grandmother’s as she pointed toward the forest stretching below them. “Nekira lives in the old tree,” she began, voice rising just above the wind. “He’s… my boyfriend.”
Dorianna blinked, startled, and Tarasque laughed softly. “Don’t look so shocked. We’ve been together for a few months. And he’s… more than just a companion—he’s family, in every sense that matters.”
“And Amira is?” Dorianna asked, eyes flicking toward the horizon, as if she expected the creature to appear from the trees themselves.
“His dragon, Amira, is…,” Tarasque said. “orange and purple, bright as fire at sunset. She’s fierce, clever, and terrifying if you get on the wrong side of her.” Snowy flicked her tail once, ears twitching, as if acknowledging the description.
Dorianna’s lips parted, a memory stirring behind her eyes. “Amira…” she murmured, voice catching. “I… I remember now. Not the dragon itself, but the note that the Undgroll messenger dropped… right before the corrupter killed it.” Her hand trembled slightly. “I ate it. I couldn’t let him know there was a new dragon. It seemed… important. Too important for him to ever find out.”
Tarasque felt the weight of her grandmother’s admission and smiled softly. “You did the right thing. You protected her, without even knowing how important she is, Amira would appreciate what you did, and Nekira would too”
Dorianna pressed a hand over her heart, staring out at the canopy below. “Magic and family… intertwined. Always intertwined. I see that now. And Nekira? You trust him?”
Tarasque’s eyes met Dorianna’s, earnest. “I do. Completely. And he trusts me too. “That’s why he’s away right now, on a mission of importance,” Tarasque said, her voice steady but careful. “Amira is with him… guiding him, protecting him.”
Dorianna’s eyes narrowed, curiosity sharpened. “A mission? What kind of mission? Tell me, Tarasque.”
Elqiana’s wings shifted beneath them, a low rumble vibrating through the air, and the dragon’s gaze flicked toward Tarasque. It was a warning.
Tarasque’s jaw tightened. “I can’t, not yet. Some things… are too dangerous to speak of aloud. You’ll understand when the time comes.”
Dorianna’s lips pressed together, but she nodded, letting the question go for now. Her eyes drifted over the endless forest below, tracing patterns in the treetops, while the hum of wings carried them further toward Edena.
The wind shifted, tugging at their hair and robes, and Elqiana tilted her wings to catch a sudden up-draft. Snowy’s fur rippled in the breeze as she lowered her head, scanning the endless green beneath them.
Dorianna exhaled softly, a mix of wonder and remembrance in her voice. “I understand now… why some things must be hidden, and why others must be nurtured. You’ve grown, Tarasque. All of this… it’s yours, and yet it belongs to the forest, to the sky, to those who guard it.”
Tarasque squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “And soon, we’ll see Edena again.” Her voice hardened, steadying. “Whatever waits for us there, we’ll face it. Together.”
The forest stretched endlessly below them as Elqiana angled northeast, the sun breaking through cloud banks in shafts of golden light. The conversation lulled into quiet reflection, but the hum of wings and the distant sway of trees carried them forward, toward home, toward the city of walls that awaited, and toward the shadow that none of them yet fully understood.
Elqiana’s eyes caught a glint at the edge of her vision. ‘You both need to rest a little,’ she said in Tara’s mind, ‘and I need to hunt. All this flying has made me hungry.’
Tara reached up, patting the dragon’s warm, scaly neck in acknowledgement. Elqiana responded with a low rumble, then banked sharply to the left, spiralling gracefully toward the flash of light. The air whipped past them as they descended, but fatigue weighed on her muscles. When she landed, her talons dug deep into the earth, tearing at the soil, a little heavier than usual.
She lifted her snout and sniffed, senses alert. ‘There’s something inside worth investigating,’ she communicated to Tara, nodding toward the cave entrance nearby.
Snowy was already striding into the shadows, her movements silent and confident, tail flicking, ears pricked. Elqiana flexed her wings and took to the skies again, circling above as she hunted for her meal.
Tara hesitated a moment, then glanced at Dorianna, who followed silently. Together, they stepped into the cave, guided by the soft sound of Snowy’s padded feet and the faint glimmer of light reflecting off the damp stone walls. The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of earth, something wild, and something faintly electric, as though the cave itself held a secret waiting for them.
Each step drew them deeper, Snowy leading with confident assurance, Tara’s heart thrumming with anticipation, and Dorianna close behind, silently absorbing the strange, tense calm of this hidden place.
The hoard stretched far wider than either of them had first realised. Piles of old chests slumped against the chamber walls, half-rotted, their clasps rusted to powder. A scattering of coins lay forgotten on the stone floor, dulled with age, but still glinting faintly under the shafts of daylight streaming from above. The air itself seemed to hum faintly, as though the wealth of stolen things retained the memory of every hand that had ever grasped them.
Snowy prowled at the edge of the light, tail swishing lazily. She moved with a predator’s grace, sniffing at crates and tilting her head with keen interest. Then, with a ripple that seemed to shimmer across her skin, her form shifted—her fur melted back, her limbs lengthened, and in the space of a breath she was no longer a sleek white cat but a small, childlike figure. Her ears and tail remained, twitching with barely contained excitement, but her hands, delicate and human-shaped now, were reaching.
“Snowy,” Tara murmured, a warning in her tone. But the were-cat ignored her, drawn toward a narrow wooden box tucked beneath a larger chest. She pulled it free with a grunt, the lid creaking as it gave way.
Inside lay a pair of daggers, their blades slim and curved, the hilts worked in patterns of silver and jet. Even in the dim light, the steel seemed alive, a faint shimmer running along the edges as though the air itself recoiled from them.
Snowy’s golden eyes widened, and for once she let a rare smile flicker across her face. “Perfect,” she said, her voice higher, softer in this form. She slid one dagger free and tested its balance, her wrist flicking it into a fluid spin. The blade seemed to answer her touch, catching the light and flashing like water.
Dorianna’s breath caught. “Enchanted,” she said, awe in her voice. “Those aren’t common steel. They were forged by a Dwarf, this work is the best I’ve ever seen.”
Snowy tucked the second blade into her belt with a satisfied little hum, shifting the first into a defensive grip. “They fit me,” she said simply, and the certainty in her voice left no room for argument.
For a heartbeat, the chamber seemed to brighten, not from the sunlight above, but from the life and memory reawakening in the weapons and armour now claimed. A sword for Dorianna, armour light as air, and daggers for the were-cat. The hoard was no longer just a relic of bandits, but a strange inheritance of fate, waiting for the right hands to find it.
Snowy flicked her tail once, eyes glowing in the half-light. “Now we’re armed for what’s coming,” she said dryly, her tone returning to its usual sharpness.
Tara let her thoughts drift outward, the way Elqiana had taught her, opening her mind like a door to the dragon circling above. At once, sensation flooded her, the rending crunch of bone between powerful jaws, the warm rush of blood down her throat, the deep, satisfied sigh as strength returned to weary muscles. For a heartbeat Tara almost tasted it herself, raw and primal, but then she gently closed the link, a smile ghosting her lips. Elqiana was well.
She turned to follow Dorianna and Snowy back toward the cave mouth when something pulled her attention. A glimmer—not gold this time, but a faint glow, half-hidden in the shadows of a far corner.
Drawn to it, she stepped carefully over the moss-slick floor until she found an old table collapsed against the wall. Its surface was littered with scrolls so ancient they crumbled to dust at her softest touch. Fragments of faded ink flaked away on her fingertips.
But among the ruin lay two rings. One cradled a bright white moonstone, luminous even in the dim chamber. The other held a purple sapphire, so deep it seemed to drink the light itself. Tara’s breath caught as she hovered her fingers over them, the air around them pulsed faintly, like the rings were alive, heartbeats caught in stone and silver.
Dorianna came closer, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. “Whoever owned these… they stored energy inside them. A vast amount. It’s an old technique. In battle, it saves you from draining your own strength when speaking the Ancient Language. You draw from the ring instead.”
Tara’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted the moonstone ring, sliding it onto the middle finger of her left hand. The metal was cool, but the stone throbbed warm, as if acknowledging her touch.
Without a word, she picked up the sapphire ring and slipped it into her pocket, the weight of it settling against her like a secret.
Snowy was already padding back toward the mouth of the cave. Dorianna lingered, eyes still fixed on the rings, before finally following.
Together they stepped back into the daylight. Elqiana was waiting just beyond the treeline, her scales catching the sun in molten ripples, golden eyes brightened by her hunt. She lowered her head as they emerged
“Are you ready to fly now, Elqi?” Tara asked, laying a hand on the dragon’s neck with quiet affection.
Elqiana’s voice curled into her mind, soft and rumbling with amusement. 'Just one thing… could you pull out the sheep’s wool from between my teeth?'
Tara blinked, then stepped closer. Sure enough, a clump of wool was wedged stubbornly between two of Elqiana’s fangs. Wrinkling her nose at the singed, oily smell, she reached up and tugged it free, flicking it onto the ground with a look of disgust.
“Honestly, Elqi…” Tara muttered, half-giggling.
The dragon stretched, rolling her shoulders, and her opal-white scales shimmered like sunlight across snow. She lowered herself so the three could climb back into the saddle. Once Tara, Dorianna, were strapped in securely, Elqiana spread her wings wide.
With a single, powerful sweep, she launched them skyward. The wind roared past as she rose higher and higher, each beat of her wings driving them into the vast openness above the forests. The earth fell away beneath them, and once more they were sky bound—on course for Edena, though the horizon promised both distance and uncertainty.
The skies seemed calm enough when Elqiana rose, her wings beating steady as she carried them east. The forests rolled endlessly beneath, their crowns shifting in slow waves of green. From this height, rivers glinted like broken glass scattered across the land.
But there was something uneasy in the air. The light felt sharper than before, the sky too still. Even Elqiana’s wing beats seemed louder, echoing through a silence that pressed close around them.
'Strange currents,' the dragon murmured into their minds. 'The air does not move as it should.'
Tarasque pressed her hand against the warm scales, opening herself to Elqiana’s senses. What she felt made her throat tighten—the air was heavy, dragging at the dragon’s wings, not with violence but with weight, as if the sky itself resisted their passage.
Snowy crouched low on Elqiana’s head, ears twitching, her tail lashing back and forth in small jerks. She peered down toward the canopy below, her narrowed eyes following something unseen.
“Why so quiet?” Dorianna asked at last, her voice hushed despite the emptiness around them. “Even the birds…”
Tara realized she was right. The forests below were mute. No distant calls of hawks, no murmurs of songbirds rising up to meet them. The silence was not peace, but absence.
Elqiana climbed higher, her wings straining to catch steadier air. The dragon’s thoughts rippled into Tara’s mind again, more guarded this time. 'We are not alone in this sky. Something watches.'
Tara swallowed hard, glancing toward the horizon where Edena lay hidden beyond the stretch of trees. The path was still clear, yet every beat of their journey carried a weight, a pressure that whispered of danger ahead.
The Journey, Book 2: Chapter 45
Chapter 45: Time The morning broke pale and bitter over Edena. Across the plain, ten thousand soldiers advanced in grim ranks, their armour clattering like rolling thunder. From the walls, the defenders watched, silent, their breaths white in the cold. Rubian lifted one hand. The drums of war...
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