The wind roared past my wings, cutting sharp and clean across the open sky, but I barely heard it over the thunder in my chest. I flew fast, the air thin and bitter, each beat of my wings rising with the ice-hardened fury that bloomed low and steady in my gut.

  That mage had chosen the wrong day.

  I could still see her in my mind. Sovarielle, standing in the snow, laughter soft on her lips, her voice echoing in the corridor like it belonged there. Like she belonged. I had wanted more time—more time to hear her laugh, to share stories, to just… be with her. But of course, it couldn’t last.

  She had finally spoken of her family.

  Kaelen. Her little brother. Gone. Killed. Along with her parents.

  I hadn’t missed the way her voice cracked when she said it. The way her breath had caught on the memory. The way she smiled like it was something she wasn’t supposed to do anymore.

  And I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  What kind of monster had taken that joy from her? What cruelty had marked her so deeply that she flinched at her own past?

  The scent of magic hit harder now, thick and bitter against the wind. Male. Arrogant. Careless. It carried a taint of something sharp—overconfidence or recklessness. It stung in my throat.

  I would find him.

  I would burn his name from the snow and salt his bones with ice.

  She didn’t say much about what happened after her family died. But she didn’t have to. I knew pain when I saw it. And what burned hotter than her sound magic was the silence she wrapped around her memories.

  She hadn’t just survived. She had clawed her way back to life, built a new way to sense the world without the one thing dragons relied on most. And she had done it alone.

  No one should have to do that alone.

  And now, just as she was beginning to find something again—just as she’d begun to choose to stay—this mage shows up. This intruder. This threat.

  I banked hard, wings slicing through a downdraft as the scent grew stronger. The border was close. I could feel the shift in pressure, in magic, in instinct.

  My claws flexed.

  She was mine.

  And whatever this mage had come looking for—they were going to regret crossing into our territory.

  I spotted him standing alone near the frozen ridge—too still, too centered. His hands were raised, palms open, like that would save him.

  I landed hard, the force cracking ice beneath me and sending snow flurrying into the air. My wings flared wide, casting a shadow that swallowed the mage where he stood.

  He didn’t move. Just stood there, hands still raised, eyes following mine with the kind of calm that only power—or arrogance—could conjure.

  I growled, a low rumble that rolled through the ground beneath us. A warning. A promise.

  His scent struck me first. It was laced with wind—shifting, hard to pin down—but layered underneath was water. Deep, cold, old water. This was no novice. The magic clung to him like a second skin, refined and commanding.

  Strong. Very strong.

  And bold. To cross dragon territory alone, uninvited, and act like peace was an option? That took either desperation or ego. From the smug set of his jaw, I leaned toward the latter.

  I lowered my head, letting frost curl from my snout.

  He was lucky I hadn’t already turned him to shards.

  “Speak,” I snarled, my voice low and rough like cracking ice. “Give me one good reason not to freeze you where you stand.”

  The mage swallowed once, but didn’t flinch. “I’m here on behalf of the king of the humans.”

  I narrowed my gaze.

  “A few days ago,” he continued, “the king’s cousin was killed—by something unnatural. Magical. Witnesses say he invited a woman to sing for him. A woman with a voice unlike anything they’d ever heard. The guards say he invited a woman with the best voice in the kingdom to his home, the next morning, he and his entire staff were found dead.”

  Wind stirred, curling frost tighter around my limbs.

  “The king is searching the kingdom,” the mage went on, “for any sign of this woman. Any hint of a sound dragon, a sirenfolk. or another creature, who could have done something like this. I was sent to ask if your horde knows anything.”

  I bared my teeth, cold mist curling from between them.

  “You trespassed into our skies,” I said. “On a rumor.”

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  “A powerful one,” he said evenly. “And a dangerous one. We seek answers, not war.”

  Arrogant to the end.

  But his words stayed with me.

  My tail lashed once against the snow.

  Elle…?

  My growl deepened, rising through my chest and into the wind. “Dragons do not care for the politics of human kings,” I said, each word edged with frost. “We do not answer to your courts. We do not involve ourselves in your whispers and noble feuds.”

  I stepped forward, cracking the ice again beneath my weight. “If your king dares to confront us over something as trivial as rumor and myth—he will not live to regret it.”

  The mage held his ground, but I could hear his pulse in the air now—quicker, sharper.

  “Our horde knows nothing of this voice or this death,” I growled. “And if you wish to see another sunrise, you will leave our territory. Now.”

  A gust of wind swirled behind me, carving a shriek through the open ridge.

  “We do not tolerate uninvited guests.”

  The mage finally bowed his head, the slightest dip of humility beneath all that pride. “My apologies,” he said. “I meant no offense. I will leave your skies at once.”

  I watched him carefully. I smelled the tension rising in his sweat, the faint metallic edge of caution clinging to him beneath his magic. Wind and water still clung to him, but no spell stirred beneath the surface. His movements were measured, careful, and his magic no longer flared. No aggression. No threat drawn. Good.

  He turned and left the way he came, wind and water trailing faintly behind him like a fading tide.

  I did not move until the scent of him had thinned into the cold.

  Only then did I exhale.

  A woman with a voice like nothing they’d heard. Magic and strength that could kill an entire estate.

  I thought of Elle—of the way sound bends for her, how her power dances on emotion. How much pain she carried under the surface.

  Could it have been her?

  I narrowed my eyes at the horizon.

  I needed to know. And if it had been her—if she had been the one to kill them—I wouldn’t flinch. I wouldn’t blame her. Not for a breath.

  But I needed to understand what had pushed her to do it. What kind of man that duke had been. Because if they had hurt her—if any human had laid a hand on her, trapped her, used her magic for their gain—

  I would freeze their lands to their bones.

  I would hunt every name, every title, every house that had ever looked at her with malice.

  And I would kill them all.

  The mage’s scent faded behind me as I turned, wings stretching wide to catch the wind. I launched into the sky, slicing through the cold air like a spear of frost.

  The flight back was faster—sharp with urgency, with the ache of something unspoken.

  As I neared the horde’s heart, I lifted my head and drew in a long breath.

  There.

  Her scent.

  And theirs—Thor and Vaerik. The weight of the horde gathered together, steady and strong, all radiating from one place.

  The common room.

  I angled my wings and dove, landing at the overlook outside the main hall. Frost scattered in my wake as I shifted forms mid-step, bones snapping cleanly into place, ice curling off my shoulders.

  I walked through the entrance, the heavy doors creaking only slightly before closing behind me.

  Voices filled the air—deep conversation, the scrape of dishes, laughter folded into the walls.

  And then I saw her.

  Elle stood near the hearth, half-shadowed by the flicker of flamelight. She was speaking to Aria, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the table.

  Her eyes lifted the moment I entered. Our gazes locked.

  Worry.

  I smelled it on her.

  Not fear. Not panic. Worry—for me.

  It coiled around my chest and settled there, quiet and warm. She was safe. She was here. In my home. Among my people.

  And for now, that was enough to calm the storm inside me.

  A small smile pulled at the corner of my mouth—rare, but real. She’d worried for me.

  She cared.

  And she was watching me like I was the only thing in the room.

  I turned toward the center of the room, raising my voice just enough to carry without sharpness. “There is no danger. Just a mage with a message from the human king—and far too much arrogance.”

  The tension that had filled the common room like a drawn breath began to ease. Voices returned, conversations resumed, and the steady rhythm of daily life crept back into place.

  I walked toward her—toward my brothers. Each step deliberate, steady. I came to stand beside Elle, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin beneath her clothes, close enough to let her know I’d returned.

  Thor raised a brow, but said nothing. Vaerik, as always, simply watched.

  “The human king is getting too comfortable with us,” I muttered to them. “He actually dared to send a mage—uninvited—into our territory.”

  Thor grinned, a flash of teeth that spoke more of excitement than concern. “Maybe it’s time we remind him why dragons are feared.”

  Aria rolled her eyes beside him, muttering something under her breath about testosterone and lightning-wielding idiocy.

  Vaerik didn’t react, just tilted his head slightly. “What was the message?”

  I looked at Elle.

  “A duke was killed. A cousin to the king. It happened not far from here. They’re looking for a woman.” I paused. “One with the best voice in the country.”

  Elle’s expression flickered. Then she gave a small, sheepish smile.

  “Yeah… sorry. That was me.”

  Vaerik leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze pinning her. “What happened?”

  I said nothing, but stepped closer. Protective instinct roared quietly beneath my skin. No one was going to hurt her. Not while I breathed. But I knew better than to speak for her—she was capable. From the sound of it, she’d already handled it herself.

  Elle glanced at me, then placed a hand gently on my arm. The contact stilled something in me. She felt the tension, the weight I carried. And she grounded it.

  “He heard me perform once,” she said, voice steady. “Invited me to his estate. I’d already heard rumors about him—how he collected rare things. Mythical creatures. I didn’t believe it at first. But the moment I stepped into his home, I felt it. Magic below us. A dungeon.”

  Her voice dipped lower.

  “He tried to imprison me. Thought I’d be his newest trophy. So I killed him. And his guards. Then I released everything he’d kept locked away.”

  We were all silent for a breath.

  Then she added, almost too casually, “He had griffins, harpies, wyverns, a bear shifter, a satyr, a centaur… and worst of all, a phoenix down there.”

  Illara sat up straighter. Even Vaerik’s brow lifted.

  “A phoenix?” Vaerik echoed.

  Elle nodded. “He had it caged like it was some prize. Perched on my shoulder after I freed it—like it knew me. Then it blessed me, before disappearing into the forest like flame chasing freedom.”

  I stared at her.

  She wasn’t just capable.

  She was dangerous.

  And now she carried a blessing.

  Not just from any creature—but from a phoenix. One of the oldest, rarest beings in existence. Myth wrapped in fire and rebirth.

  The blessing of a phoenix wasn’t just a gift. It was a mark. A quiet declaration.

  She had been seen. Chosen.

  Among dragons, even we held that kind of blessing in reverence. It meant more than magic. It meant alignment. Purpose. Protection.

  I didn’t know what it had given her—not yet—but I knew what it meant.

  Other creatures would feel it. Be drawn to her. Guard her.

  Or fear her.

  And anyone foolish enough to try hurting her again would find they were not just facing a girl with sound in her veins.

  They’d be facing every force that had chosen to stand behind her.

  Including me.