Draven Ashborne's Arc

Chapter 42 of 17

Dawn came gray over Eldrich's home. Draven stood at the door with his sword on his back. The land beyond lay poisoned and quiet. Seraphina waited beside the two winged mounts they had ridden through the battle. The antlerwolf, silver-winged and blue-eyed, stood with its head low. The wingcat pressed against its flank, tail dragging. Both had carried Draven this far. Both were spent. "They can't fly north," Draven said. "Not today. Maybe not for days." North was where Glaciana waited, the last pure dragon they knew, the only one who might teach the land to heal. The only one who could answer why his blood still hadn’t settled. They could not wait for days. Briar knelt by the antlerwolf and ran her hand along its wing. The faun had healed half the group at one time or another, always with the same soft smile. She was not smiling now. "Their hearts are racing," she said. "They gave everything." She dug through her satchel and drew out a glass bottle. The liquid inside glowed gold, thick with berries, roots, and mushrooms. "This won't make them fly. But it'll pull them back from the edge." She poured some into her palm and let each creature lap it up. Their breathing slowed. It was enough to save them, not enough to carry riders. Seraphina looked north. "Then I fly us," she said. Draven turned. "You used your dragon form throughout the fight. You’re exhausted and you've never gone this far." "I know how far it is." Her voice stayed flat, the way it did when the fact was hard. "Glaciana trained my endurance for this. I can hold it longer than I ever have. I'll have to." "And if you fall halfway?" "I won’t." She met his eyes. "You spent years believing your strength stood between me and death. You learned better. Trust me now." He wanted to argue. He remembered the token, the fear he had finally set down. He closed his mouth and nodded. Briar pressed the golden bottle into Seraphina's hand. "Drink before you shift," she said. "It'll steady your blood while you burn through it." Seraphina drank. The light traced down her throat. She walked into the open yard, breathed slow, and reached for the beast in her chest the way Glaciana had taught. Ice fire poured off her skin. Scales spread white and gleaming. Wings unfolded, wide as a barn. Where a woman had stood, a dragon crouched, blue-eyed and steady. Draven waved to the group and climbed onto her back. Her muscles shook once, then held. "Take us up," he said. She leapt. Wings beat the frost from the ground. The poisoned land dropped away beneath them, and Seraphina drove north into the cold wind. Draven felt her heartbeat under his hands, fast but even. She did not falter. Hours passed. The green sickness in the soil gave way to clean white snow. Glaciana's peaks rose ahead. Seraphina had held her form the whole way. She landed hard at the mountain's foot and shifted back, gasping, alive. They had reached the north. Now the last pure dragon waited above them.