Recalling my way to Scorius’ lair, I take a deep breath now that I’m freshly showered and in my uniform. There’s an air of protection with my chain dagger sheathed by my rib. The way the links dangle is a constant reminder I’m here to fight.

  “Impressive display against your guard, mortal,” Boeru commends.

  I square my shoulders at the compliment.

  “Though she was undoubtedly holding back.”

  Of course he would try to sink me back to the ground. “Mhm,” I placate him, knowing what he says is true. Doesn’t matter. I’m leagues ahead of where I was. Standing toe to toe with Layla? Never in a million years would I have imagined it.

  Students crossing my way give me looks as I pass them. Not sure if it’s because of the gash on my cheek that hasn’t fully healed, or if gossip has got out about Izfael. Either way, stare on, comrades, I’m alive.

  Need to find Ren after class and give her a hug. It still bothers me that Aster said she’s struggling. Wonder why she’s taking it so hard.

  As I make it to the room of many doors, I recall Scorius’ being the most ominous. What does he have in store today? Will he goad Broggen to strike him and pin his spirit to the wall again? Can’t tell if he’s showing off or just trying to knock us down to size, but it was successful nonetheless.

  The door bellows open, and to my surprise, it’s just the war-tutor staring back at me. I thought for sure I’d be the late one.

  Thrum!

  The door shuts at my back, confining the echo to the massive, iron-enclosed space.

  “Where’s the riderborn?” I ask.

  “He and I are finished for the day. I scheduled the two of you separately for this lesson. Come forth, Dragonborn.” He taps his cane once to command me.

  As I step into the faint light of his chambers, he regards me with a tense jaw.

  “You reek of the healer’s milk,” he scowls. “Was your bond not strong enough to withstand a mere mortal?”

  He’s looking through me again, to the stirring dragon rearing his head in my mind’s eye, challenging the great Torn Wing.

  “Quiet today, aren’t you, dragon?” He hobbles forward. “Humbled, perhaps?”

  I stand straight as he approaches. This man is too knowledgeable to show any disrespect, even if he is taunting us. I know it. Boeru knows it.

  He’s our key to information, and power.

  His thick eyebrows raise as he rounds us, dark cloak whooshing dust in his unkempt chamber. A scent swirls as well. For some reason the bubbling liquid in the corner smells more potent this morning—like sulfur and incense.

  “Hm. An invalid is tested greatly in his first days amid the sanctum. He learns of house politics in the nastiest of ways.” Socrius’ eyes focus on mine now. He’s speaking to me.

  “Yes, Prominent,” I say.

  “Why do you reek of the healer’s milk?” he snarls.

  “Because there was no other choice.”

  “Mm. Well your first assignment is to avoid it.” He slams his cane down, sending slivers of warring dark spiraling upward from the ground. “And if I were you, I would caution your marked to heed the same.”

  My brow furrows. “Do you mean the auras, or the blissful light, sir?”

  “One and the same,” he snarls again, turning away sharply. “You accepted both, didn’t you, invalid?”

  “To avoid death, yes, Prominent.”

  “Fool.”

  I stiffen, and notice Boeru tensing as well. We’re both at a loss. “Sir, should I have bled out in the secret chamber I was taken?”

  He puckers his lips. “You do not reveal the name of your would-be killer?”

  I shake my head. “Unimportant. And… it’s not the way of House Kavoh.”

  His frown curves at the edges. “I see.”

  “Sir?”

  “You should have accepted the initial bliss to prevent death, but not the aura thereafter,” he goes on. “To endure is to evoke the warring dark. To accept bliss is to succumb to weakness.”

  “Permission to speak freely, Prominent.”

  He backhands the air. “Talk, invalid.”

  “Had I not accepted the aura, I would still be bedridden—”

  “And your bond stronger.” He points his cane threateningly. “Adversity strengthens a spirit and its vessel.”

  Now it makes more sense why he seems so unhealthy. He doesn’t partake in healing methods.

  “But time, Prominent. I wouldn’t be able to duel or grow without expedient reparations.”

  “Grow physically, you mean.”

  I look to the floor, understanding his point.

  “This is a balance you must strike.” He hobbles on. “Tell me. You were an inquisitor in your sub-tier life, often taking to the study when your orphan brothers and sisters would chase stable beasts.”

  “That was before Boeru rid me of Arkitus.”

  “Ah. Now you are eager to partake in the activities you sorely missed out on. I wonder if that sharp mind will dull in time, with such aspirations.”

  I huff. “What would you have me do?”

  “Learn. Rejecting healer’s milk is a practice originated by the Sept, and upheld to the current day. They see pain and suffering as tools for power, especially during the training phase of your journey. Then, those strong enough to ascend to war-tier become unimaginably valuable.”

  Biased much?

  “Moreover… the bliss… is dangerous. It can become a crutch to even the most steadfast of warriors.”

  The words trigger some old readings of mythos in my mind. “Bright Knights, sir. They were said to march into battle with sleepy eyes and wide smiles, knowing that the priests at their backs would cure their wounds whenever punctured. They lost the fear of death, and although they won many battles thanks to their healers, they eventually grew lazy and useless until the healers expended their bliss completely, leaving the Bright Knights to be taken over by the dark.”

  “Folklore has its place and its lessons, Dragonborn. You are wise to quote it.” Scorius paces over to the bubbling liquid, beckoning me to follow.

  “The Bright Knights aren’t real?”

  “Expanded mythos. Based on the Battle of Twin Kingdoms, exaggerated to highlight the dangers of bliss.” He runs a hand over the liquid, sending waves and bubbles stirring.

  My thoughts go straight to Jurso. Is he diving into danger with his Prominent? And Aster… is that why he didn’t let Jurso stay with us in the aura? But then again, why did he let Layla stay?

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Alas. We must undo the damage of the night prior, and evoke your spirit without catalyst.”

  “Sir.”

  “Hm?” He turns his head, one golden hawk eye on mine.

  “Boeru manifested in the face of death. He saved me.”

  Scorius remains unmoved. “Progress, then. That is good—”

  “It depleted me completely though.” I pace beside him, touching the liquid.

  “Of course. You are untrained. It is time to begin fixing that. Remove your uniform and get in.”

  Gods-damn it. I just showered!

  Peering at the murky greenish-black liquid, I wonder what the hell it’s supposed to do. That singular body-sized bubble dances in place, taunting me.

  “Is this what you had Broggen do this morning?” I ask, looking for comfort.

  “His formula was different. Remember, his bond is unstable.”

  My eyes narrow as I peer deeper into the liquid.

  “When the day is over, venture into your house’s library and seek out The Sinew That Binds Us by Esteemed L. Vance.”

  “Thank you, Prominent.”

  Finally. Some direction.

  “Prepare yourself. This will invert your experience, allowing you to dive into the mind of the Torn Wing.”

  “Folly!” Boeru roars aloud.

  “Anything but, dragon,” Scorius scowls. “Now do as I say, or be banished to a mediocre vessel for the rest of your lives.”

  “Ha. How the tables have turned, Boe.” I poke at him internally. After all those invasions of privacy, he deserves to be bothered a bit. Then again, he did save my ass. “All kidding aside. Do you have any reserves before I do this?”

  Boeru chuffs. “Come, mortal. It’s your funeral.”

  I unlace my leather cuirass and remove my dagger, dropping everything but my underwear to the floor as I step out of my shoes.

  “Swim to the prime.” Scorius points to the body-sized bubble.

  I stick my hand in first, noting the heaviness of the liquid. It’s dense like House Mother’s porridge—opposite of a healing aura. One look back to see the old hawk testing the formula with a syringe gives me pause. But when he nods, I decide to stop tiptoeing.

  I hold my breath, immersing myself headfirst.

  Sound drowns to a deep hum as the liquid overwhelms me. My limbs fall numb mid-swim, causing a rising panic to build in my stomach. Soon, though, that’s numb too, like I’m being digested by some paralyzing acid. The prime is just in reach though.

  Don’t make a fool of yourself. Move.

  I claw with hands that don’t feel like my own and absorb squarely into the anamorphic bubble.

  The moist gelatin sack molds into my shape. I can breathe in here, as expected. That’s good, I guess. But I still don’t like the feeling of having no control over my faculties.

  Shloooop!

  The prime tightens around me, and my vision immediately goes black.

  There’s a moment of zero consciousness—which could’ve been a lifetime, for all I know.

  When I wake again, power flows unending through my left side and incredible pain on my right. My depth perception is off, yet my vision is far clearer than it’s ever been. I’m huge, with additional limbs sprouting out of my back—wings.

  “Where are we?” I ask, resetting my long jaw and watching deep blue smoke escape my nostrils.

  “My old roost,” Boeru says solemnly. “I do not appreciate Scorius’ sorcery. This is not a moment I want to relive.”

  Before I can respond, one hundred sets of wings flap onto the long, uneven bridge at either of my sides. This is some sort of ritual, I realize, peering all the way up a giant set of steps at the end of the bridge, where a mighty black-gold-scaled dragon bores down on me with red eyes.

  “Spreader of Arkitus!” the first dragon to my right roars.

  Snap!

  His tail whips my already aching wing, causing me to unfurl my good one and drape it over my body as a shield. Lightning bolts of pain sear into my spine, radiating into my head.

  “The hell, Boeru! Arkitus isn’t contagious!”

  “Logic doesn’t matter once hatred takes hold,” he replies.

  “Frail survivor!” the closest dragon to my left declares, roaring out red flames that suck the oxygen out of my lungs. It’s like Izfael in dragon form.

  “Gods!”

  “I did warn you,” Boeru says.

  As I march down the line on all fours, suffering my lashings, I can’t help but imagine my siblings doing the same to me. House Mother waits at the top with her grand whip.

  The epic visual isn’t lost on me—shimmering scales cascading down each powerful dragon, revving fire of all colors waiting to burn me where I stand, clouds breaking under the bridge tell me of an endless fall. Despite it all, the sentiment is familiar—torture. Punishment. The foundation of House Kavoh.

  A massive white-scaled dragon with silver, drooping horns steps in my way. His chest expands as he unfurls his stone-like wings to full width—lightning crackling between them. “Boeru. You deserve more than our banishment. Defying nature? Saving the weak wings from certain death? You curse us all.”

  “I made my choice, Dovesier.” I swing my powerful left wing, unfurling it wide in refusal to back down. “And I would do it again. Sefene grows by the day, soon to rival even you. Open your eyes, and you will see.”

  Dovesier bares his sharp row of teeth at me, electricity zapping the inside of his mouth, distorting his gigantic maw. “My lungs hold the power to melt your scales, Boeru.”

  “Do it, then. You would take my Arkitus with it,” I hiss back.

  “That is where you’re wrong.” Dovesier cocks his neck straight. “That affliction will carry with you to the afterlife for what you’ve done.”

  “Then I will learn to deal, brother.” I stomp forward, daring him to scorch me. “I accept my punishment for saving her.”

  My scales writhe from the suffocating flames and lashings, while my Arkitus twists the nerves of my right side. Despite it, I feel strong.

  Dovesier’s eyes bore into mine.

  The staredown is intense, speaking to years of frustration.

  Dragons are steadfast, stubborn creatures, I’m learning. They cannot let go.

  The mighty dragon in my way finally folds his wings back and steps into line. Each one afterward offers more of the same angry attacks, letting me know the entire roost is against me. I am an enemy, and I am blood.

  As I make my way down the bridge, the dragons only get more agitated. A giant blue-scaled brute lunges out and claws me hard across my torn wing. Every inch of me wants to fight back. Every cell.

  But that’s against the ritual.

  Why am I even here?

  The blue dragon bends forward and whips his shapeshifting tail hard overhead, slamming a mace of spikes over the same spot he just drew blood.

  I fall forward to one knee, cerulean smoke swirling from my nostrils. Everything inside is on fire. I’m not meant to live. Not meant to endure.

  “You disgrace the roost, runt. Fall in battle, or here. It makes no difference,” the dragon’s voice echoes in my head like a quake.

  Another gold-wing steps to my strong side, blowing white-hot fire over my good wing. The midnight-blue scales covering my face fade in color… graying, as heat burns my maw.

  This is brutal. My heart falls into my stomach as I start to detach from the memory. Dragons are just brutes with more power.

  “Not all,” Boeru says, shoving me right back into it.

  Woosh!

  Both monstrous dragons are forced a step back by a female dragon with mismatched-colored wings—one white, one orange. And although she’s half the other dragons’ heights, she comes barreling up to them all the same. A pearl set of scales draped over her collar in the shape of a necklace sets her apart from the rest, and crystal-blue eyes pierce the same as Boeru’s.

  “Sefene,” Boeru’s voice softens in my mind.

  “Stand down, Risorgus, Kelfore.” She waves her wing again, sending with it a powerful burst of golden wind. “He has every right to convene with the queen.”

  “We determine that,” Risorgus bellows, yanking my head upright. I grimace, most of my vision impeded from the strikes. But I can see her clearly…

  “Defying tradition like the two of us always did… by surviving,” Boeru whispers solemnly.

  “Get in line!” Kelfore demands. “Back with the hatchlings, lest you be cast down a mountain again… this time with no runt to save you.”

  “I’ll take my chances, elders, and stand in the position I choose. There is no decree against it.”

  “She chose the end of the line, because she knew the elders conspired to break me there,” Boeru says. “I angered her so she wouldn’t come, knowing she would cement her position as enemy of the roost if she had.”

  Sefene flaps her wings once to hop beside Risorgus. “A dragon may defend another, if they deem the marcher worthy. And this is the final row.”

  With aching joints and singed scales, I push back to my claws and prowl forward as the seniors reluctantly hold their fire.

  “They all bite their tongues, because Sefene took a stronghold against the odds, earning Queen Louz’s praise. We strategized together,” Boeru’s voice rumbles in my ears.

  The giant golden-black dragon descends her mountain, clawing over the steps, sending gravel spewing over the sides. “Corrupted son, Boeru, why have you endured this march?”

  I bow my head deeply, then lift it to face her. “A request.”

  “I cannot offer you a wing,” she huffs, and the other dragons chortle at my back.

  “How about an army?” I reply.

  She narrows her eyes while continuing down the steps, descending to level ground at the end of the bridge twenty paces away. “To what end?”

  “To siege Malador Hold, and take back the banner of Saye,” I state proudly.

  Angry commotion erupts in the backdrop, and one gasp.

  I continue on, “I will gather my rider and whomever you bestow to aid, and attack at the fifth dawn, when Seafire intends to strike Station Hook.” I puff my chest, expanding my strong wing outward. “My Queen, Seafire does not have the forces to contend Station Hook without borrowing from Malador. The castle will be vulnerable. And it will be mine.”

  Roars at my back grow louder, stretching throughout the line.

  “I refused to tell Sefene why I wanted to march, which is the reason I was so surprised she showed to defend me,” Boeru says.

  “I do not know what the lot of you are complaining about? Is this not what you want?” Queen Louz extends her wings to snap all dragons’ attention. “Boeru, the Torn Wing, willingly flying to his death.” She swerves her neck to stare down each row of dragons. “Take half of Risorgus’ troop, and half of Kelfore’s. Since they want you gone the most… they will have to pay the most.”

  More protests and fire swirl behind me.

  “Boeru!” Sefene shouts, but I ignore it, nodding to our mother.

  “This is a win-win for the great roost of Lock-Logar. If we lose my corrupted son, I no longer have to suffer your whining. And if he wins… well… all the same.” She gets to her hind legs and roars, emitting some kind of heat that forms over her wings like the outline of the sun.

  I’m poised to turn around completely and witness my brethren bowing at the queen’s declaration. Burned and battered, I stand tall before the vision fades.

  Darkness remains. Only the sound of my heartbeat falling from a thunderous war drum to a manageable thump. I’m no longer a dragon.

  I no longer see through Boeru.

  But I understand him now.

  We are the same.