Scrolls of the Raithsworn:
A Tale of Ghosts and Gods
Book One: Whispers and Wind
In a world ruled by false gods and forged lies, rebellion rises on wings of flame.
​
There are whispers in the wind, of gods long vanished, of kingdoms lost to ash, and of shadows that still remember.
In a world where magic is outlawed, beasts are bound, and the stars no longer speak, something ancient stirs. The old blood runs deep in forgotten places, and not all who bow are broken.
The Vye'Raths,
Raithsworn rebels have waited.
For reckoning.
For return.
For the one who will rise.
The Empire thinks the war is over.
But stories, stories are dangerous things.
And this one is just beginning.
​
Strike first. Burn last. Never fall. Leave none behind.
That is the way of the Raiths.
The World of the Raithsworn
In the beginning, there were the Valerion’theil, the first peoples of the continent.
The Eyren and the Vye, like the elven and fae from children's tales of old. A people born of the land, the sea, and the stars.
Gifted with great power. Strong. Noble. Ancient.
They lived age after age, practicing the Old Ways, keeping close the teachings and histories of their ancestors, passing their culture down from generation to generation.
​
A hundred years before the Age of Golaena, they were known as the Eight Crescent Kingdoms, ruled by the Eight Kings of Valerion’theil.
Though the continent birthed many races: Grothkin, Dhrellen, Basilisks, Wéwúlves, Drakari, Tharn, all mystic and magical beings.
And the Crescent Kingdoms stood as their heart.
The Skyrend and dragon breeding grounds lay to the east.
The warrior clans of Duunari held the northeast, and the fierce desert fighters of Shunai ruled the southeast.
And though each realm held its own customs, strength, and pride, all peoples, tribes, clans, courts and kings, looked to Valerion’theil for guidance, kinship, and leadership.
It was an age of peace.
The gods and spirits bestowed.
And though disputes arose, as they do in all places where pride lives, it was a time of harmony, of balance.
Until men came.
​
They descended from the northwest, with their fire-hungry gods and brutal, blood-born ways.
They spoke a language of conquest, of ruin, of dominion.
Tribes of war-hardened men ravaged the west, carving through sacred lands like flame through forest.
Still, the Kings of Valerion’theil offered peace.
They forged treaties, shared lands, granted sanctuary.
And for a time, men lived beside the other races of the continent. They traded. Learned. Even thrived.
​
Then came the Age of Golaena.
Twelve lords of man rose to power and ruled the west with order. Their numbers swelled. Their cities grew. Their Lands were known as A'Laes.
But one, a warlord with an empire in his eyes, grew hungry.
He wearied of treaties. Of borders. Of peace.
He made dark alliances with the southern realms Menethera, men of dust and fire, and together they raised an army of thousands.
They brought war to every corner of the realm.
​
All mystic and magical beings were hunted, enslaved.
Forced into labour camps.
Made to build ships and weapons, harvest timber, mine the bones of the earth to feed the war machine.
The Crescent Kingdoms fell, one by one.
The Menetheran Empire brought with them a single god.
And with him, his disciples, the Vexari Order.
Ancient men of unspeakable power, the Vexari carried out the will of their god through blood and fire.
Chief among them, the Vexari Knights.
God-blessed warriors who rode the backs of Skyre, beasts of nightmare and flame.
They were unstoppable. Formidable.
And the kingdoms could not stand against them.
Those who survived the fall disappeared.
Some enslaved.
Others hidden.
The noble bloodlines of the Eight Crescent Kingdoms vanished into shadow.
The Twelve Lords of Man, once stewards of peace, were branded traitors and hunted.
Their families scattered to the wind.
​
And from the ashes rose a final spark...
The Vye’raiths, The Raith Sworn. A rebel alliance.
Sworn to live as shadows.
To fight from the dark.
To keep the memory of the old ways alive.
To wait for the day the Crescent Kingdoms would rise once more.
It has been hundreds of years since that time.
​
The continent is now deep in the Age of Menethera.
The Age of Man.
Where dragons are extinct.
Magic is outlawed.
And all magical races, and any beasts, are enslaved.
The empire rules with iron and ash.
The gods are silent.
The old kingdoms are gone.
Their bloodlines lost.
Their only hope?
A scattered rebellion of ghost warriors.
​
The Vye’raiths.
​
They say they ride on the wind.
Whispers of wings in the dark.
​
Ghosts of the Skyrend.
And though most call them myth,
some say…
they are riding again.
TW/CW: CSA mentioned not depicted.
Handled with Care.
Read with care.
Excerpts
Lyyraveth
​
​
I was eight years old, running barefoot through a field as Kael chased my three younger sisters and me. Our baby brother watched from our mother’s lap, nestled in the shade of a wildflower-covered hill. My mother was beautiful. She wore a blue and gold dress, her long russet curls falling down her back, eyes bright as she laughed and called after us.
In those days, like most nights, the banquet hall was alive with warmth, family, villagers, and my father’s men. Fighters and nobles who would follow him anywhere.
I remembered my father well. He was tall, with golden hair, a short-cropped beard, and blue eyes that always looked tired, but kind. His voice was deep but soft, and he never raised it unless it truly mattered. That made it all the more powerful when he did.
​
That night, like many, I’d been eavesdropping.
​
After the feast, he gathered with his men in the study. A map was spread across the table. He was outlining a route. We moved often. For reasons I didn’t fully understand then.
​
He always said it was because our name held power, and that power is feared. But power, he told us, must be earned. Otherwise, it's not power at all, just control and manipulation. Those who rule without earning it become tyrants. So desperate to hold onto power, they wield it in ways that scar the world.
​
Kael came up beside me as we peered through the cracked wooden door.
​
“If he catches us, he’ll belt us, you know that?” Kael whispered.
​
“Then you should leave,” I replied.
​
He didn’t. He only smirked.
He was just as curious as I was, about the whispers, the plans, and why we had to uproot our lives every time the men did. We were always passed from one noble house to another, pretending to be distant relatives, staying only long enough to leave before questions caught up.
​
We watched as the men filed out, leaving our father alone.
​
“I know you’re there,” he said gently. “Come out.”
​
Kael and I looked at each other. He sighed, then stepped through first.
​
“How much did you hear?” our father asked, looking between us.
​
“We’re moving again?” I asked.
​
“We are,” he said, exhaling. “Come. Both of you.”
​
We stepped into the room, drawn toward the large table with the map—its topography raised and carved. Many lords owned them, but ours felt older, worn, used.
​
He sat in his chair and pulled me into his lap so I could see. Kael rose on his toes beside us.
​
“This is Alyrion. Or what it used to be,” he said, his hand gliding over the southern lands. “When the old kings ruled, our house—the Mineiros—sat among those sworn to keep the realm safe.”
“Safe from what?” I asked.
​
“From many things. Skyrend, Drothkin, Eyren and Vye, Tharn, Grothkin, Dhrellen, Duunari, Basilisks, Wéwúlves, Drakari... all sorts.”
​
“You mean trolls, dwarves, goblins, wolves, fairies, snakes, giants?” Kael asked, incredulous. Our nursemaid filled our nights with such stories.
“Yes,” our father said. “But they are not fairy tales. They are people. They do not go by childish names. Some are warriors. Others are slaves.”
​
“Slaves?”
​
“Yes. Enslaved by the Empire.”
​
“Why?”
​
“Because the Empire fears them, their beauty, their magic, their power. And what men fear, they seek to destroy.”
​
He pointed to the map again. “All this land once belonged to them. Long before kings. Before men.”
​
I stared at the map, wondering what it would look like if it had never been touched by greed or war.
​
“Is that why we move so much?” Kael asked.
​
“In a manner of speaking,” our father said. “We believe peace is possible. That a better way of ruling is possible—one that sustains all the races of the realm.”
​
“We do?” Kael asked.
​
“We do,” our father confirmed. “We are part of a resistance. An alliance that moves quietly across these lands. Fighting the tyranny of the Empire. And because of that, we move.”
​
“A rebel force?” Kael blinked. “Like the Vyeraiths?”
​
We had heard the name whispered in many of the households we stayed in. Half myth, half threat.
“The very same,” our father said. He adjusted me on his knee and pointed further south. “This is the Southern Tower. If anything happens—anything—you find this tower.”
He traced a path with his finger. “Follow the River of Srven. Go to the village of Venereth. Hike the mountain called Trevern—it’s used as a lookout post. From the peak, you’ll see the tower. Go to the southern tower. Wait. Do not leave. Do you understand?”
​
Kael nodded, sharp and serious. Committing every word to memory.
​
“When someone comes,” he continued, “Kael, you go with them. Lyrra —” he turned to me “—you return to the village. Show the Warden this.”
He placed a brooch in my hand, a lion over a sword, carved in old metal.
​​
I furrowed my brow. Dread tightened my chest.
​
“I don’t want to be without you,” I whispered.
​
“If something happens,” he said gently, “he’ll take you in as a ward. See that you’re raised properly. Find you a husband. Keep you safe.”
​
“Kael, do you understand?” he asked again.
​
“Yes,” Kael said.
​
“Nothing is more important than keeping our bloodline alive,” our father said. “Lineage is everything in an age set on destroying all that is good and noble.”
​
We nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Now off to bed. Your mother will be cross we had this talk.”
As if summoned by his words, she entered—her red gown catching the candlelight, gold embroidery shimmering.
​
She folded her arms. “Has your father been filling your heads with Eyrenian nonsense and rebellion again?”
​
“Yes,” Kael and I said in unison.
​
Our father grinned and ruffled Kael’s golden hair.
​
“Time for bed, both of you,” she said, waving us off.
​
We brushed past her, but paused just outside the door. We couldn’t help but listen.
​
There was an edge to their voices.
​
“We have to prepare,” my father said. “They’re circling. We can only run for so long.”
​
Their shadows flickered in the hallway, embracing.
​
“Promise me,” she murmured, “you’ll protect them. With everything you have.”
​
“You know I will.”
​
The next morning, our training began.
​
Swordsmanship. Archery. Hand-to-hand combat. His men taught us on the road, between houses.
We walked, and walked.
​
It felt like we’d been walking for days. We were cold, hungry, exhausted. At night, we huddled together in caves, under trees, anywhere we could find shelter. By the time we saw horses near a trail, we were half-starved.
We followed the riders from a safe distance until they reached a camp.
​
An Eyren camp. A timber camp.
​
Men with slightly pointed ears and skin marked with bronzed sigils cut trees with axes and rope, hauling massive logs like they were nothing. The air was thick with black smoke from the fires burning throughout the yard.
​
We skirted around the lumber site and made our way toward a line of tents and cookfires. Pots steamed over the flames, the smell of fish and broth pulling us forward.
​
A woman stepped away from a pot and toward an embankment, where we could hear children playing in the river beyond.
​
One of the tents was filled with smoke and smelled strongly of fish. I slipped inside.
​
Several large chunks of filet were skewered over a smouldering fire. The heat was blissful. I didn’t want to leave.
​
I grabbed a piece of fish. It was still hot. I didn’t care. Kael and I devoured it like it was the best thing we’d ever tasted. It was nearly raw.
​
Then I turned to a pot simmering over the fire and took a scoop of whatever was inside. I shoved it into my mouth, bitter as hell.
​
“That’s medicine, you know.”
​
A voice behind me. I turned, startled. Kael stepped in and instinctively pulled his dagger.
​
Gods, we must’ve looked like wild animals.
​
A tall boy stood dripping wet, bare-chested, his skin bronzed and gleaming with river water. His hair was black, his eyes dark, and his skin bore the inked scroll-like markings all down his arms. His ears tapered to subtle points.
​
And he was beautiful.
Even at eight years old, I knew it.
​
He smirked. “It’s for smoke lung,” he said casually. “If you’ve been breathing too much ash. You’re not supposed to eat it, though. It'll make you sick if you have too much.”
​
I spat, what was left of it, out of my mouth.
​
His eyes scanned me, and I realized my braid was matted and half-loose, revealing that I was a girl. I tucked it under my hood.
​
A tall woman with straight dark hair and kind eyes stepped into the tent behind him.
​
“Tayrahn,” she spoke softly, smiling, “who are your new friends?”
​
“I don’t know,” he said. “They just arrived.”
​
“You two look half-starved and freezing.” She left the tent and we all followed. She disappeared into another tent and came back with blankets. She wrapped one around me, and another around Kael.
​
“Tay,” she said, “take them to the river and let them wash. After that, we’ll get you fed properly. Though it looks like you’ve already found the fish. That’s good. Filled your bellies a little.”
​
Kael looked at her, wary. “Why are you helping us?”
​
“We’re strangers,” I added.
​
“I am Fye’Rlius,” she said. “Of Eyren lineage. My people hail from Drav’Khareth—the northernmost kingdom of Velarion’theil, where the great sea meets the dragon breeding grounds. Once, we rode dragons and skyrends. Built ships that carried us across the world, trading with the Duunari, the Shunai and beyond. Now, we fell timber for the Empire.”
She placed a hand gently on the boy’s shoulder.
“This is Tayrahn, my son. My daughters are swimming in the lake.”​​
​
“I’m Lyrraveth Quin–,” I said before I could stop myself.
I didn’t know why, but I trusted her. Mostly because of him, the boy. The way he looked at me. Not like other boys or men. Not with hunger. But with something like... understanding.
​
Kael nudged me.
​
“Lyrra ,” I corrected.
​
“Kael,” he added.
​
“Well,” she said, “now we’re no longer strangers. And when good strangers cross your path, it’s customary to offer them food, warmth, and safe passage.”
“Customary?” I asked.
​
She nodded. “The Spirits see such kindness. And if they led you here, it means you’re meant to be helped, or perhaps, meant to help us.”
​
I didn’t understand much of what she meant, but I knew I liked her.
​
Tayrahn led us down to the river where a group of children splashed and played, carefree and loud.
​
He was the quiet sort. Didn’t fill silence with words. But everything he did was gentle and deliberate in a way that made my chest ache.
​
The children were laughing.
​
I felt anything but light.
​
“Come,” he said. “The water’s cleansing. It’ll help you feel better.”
​
He stepped into the river without hesitation.
​
Kael began to undress.
​
I didn’t want to. All I felt was shame. Because they’d see.
​
Tay walked back over, sensing it. “It’s alright,” he said softly. “You’re safe here. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I can take you upstream, where it’s quiet. Private. I’ll stand guard while you wash.”
​
He was probably only a couple years older than us. Still a child. But I knew better now. What men could do. What boys could grow into.
​
Still, I nodded.
​
We followed him to a still pool up the river, surrounded by trees.
​
Kael and I undressed. When my clothes came off, my body told the story for me, bruises along my ribs and thighs, fingerprint-shaped welts, claw marks. Signs of what Sir Tyres had done. What he’d taken.
​
Kael looked at me. Fury in his eyes. He looked just like Father had, the night he sent us away.
​
The water was cool. Tayrahn had been right. It eased something in me.
He stood with his back to us the whole time.
​
At one point, he turned. He saw the bruises. His eyes narrowed.
​
On the way back, he asked quietly, “Who did that to you?”
​
I don’t know why, but I told him the truth.
​
“A man our family stayed with.”
​
He stopped. “A man?” His brows rose. “He had no right.”
​
It wasn’t a question. Just fact.
​
“No, he didn’t,” Kael said.
​
“Is that why you’re alone?” Tayrahn asked.
​
We nodded.
​
“Our father killed him,” Kael said quietly.
​
Tayrahn nodded once, solemn. “As is the way, by the old rites. Where is your father now?”
​
“We don’t know,” Kael replied.
​
“He’s dead,” I said. “Our whole family is.”
​
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tay said softly. He reached out and took both of my hands in his. “I pray to the Spirits, to give them safe passage to Thalvaren, and to keep you safe. Protected.”
​
“Thank you,” I whispered, my throat tight.
​
“Spirits?” Kael asked.
​
“They’re like… spirit ancestors,” Tayrahn explained. “Powerful ones.”
​
“Like gods?” Kael pressed.
​
Tayrahn nodded. “Like gods but more. They are the memory of the land itself. They over see the way of all things. We call them the Vel’ariin.”
​
He rose to his feet and gestured toward the trees. “Come. I want to show you something.”
​
He brought us to a grove where purple flowers bloomed under the trees. He crushed the petals between two stones until a thick liquid oozed out.
​
“May I?” he asked.
​
I lifted my tunic and showed him the bruises on my stomach.
Gently, he dabbed the liquid onto each bruise, my ribs, my back, my legs.
At first, it was cold. Then came a soft tingling, like the brush of wind through wildgrass. And then a warmth.
Steady. Spreading. Calming. Healing. Like the ache was being pulled away.
His hands never lingered. Not once.
​
“That should help,” he said.
​
Tayrahn gathered a few more of the flowers and led us back to his mother’s tent.
​
When we arrived, Fye'Rlius had made soup, thick and steaming, and a coarse bread, stiff on the outside but soft in the middle. Tayrahn handed her the crushed purple flowers. She looked at them, then at him. A silent exchange passed between them.
​
Then she turned to me and nodded, a quiet understanding dawning in her expression.
​
Without a word, she stepped inside the tent.
​
They insisted we stay.
​
We agreed. We needed time, to rest, to gather supplies, to find our way to the Southern Tower. But more than that, we needed this, the safety, the warmth, the kindness.
I didn’t want to leave. Not yet.
​
That night, after the evening meal, the men returned to their work, cutting, hauling, splitting timber beneath the darkening sky.
​
Fye'Rlius handed me a cup of tea, saying it would help.
It smelled like roses and earth.
It tasted like both.
​
I sipped it slowly, letting the warmth settle in my chest.
​
Then an older woman approached me. Her pointed ears were ringed in silver, and her long hair was streaked with white. She walked with the aid of a carved wooden staff, her steps slow but steady, every movement deliberate and sure.
She looked at me and beckoned with one hand.
​
“Lyrra,” Fye'Rlius said gently, “this is our camp elder. Se’tlahny.”
​
Kael squinted at the name. “That’s hard to say. Can I just call her Lahny?”
​
Tayrahn didn’t even blink. “Se’tlahny is already the shortened version. She’s 145. Most people can’t pronounce her full name. It’s in a very old tongue.”
​
Kael raised his brows and quietly returned to staring into the fire.
​
“Come,” Se’tlahny said, reaching for me.
​
I stood and walked with her. She stopped me and placed her hands firmly on my shoulders, met my eyes, then looked to Fye'Rlius.
​
“Bring her to the circle.”
​
Fye'Rlius nodded and wrapped an arm around me.
​
She turned to Tay and Kael. “Keep out of trouble. Watch your sisters.”
​
Tayrahn nodded, his gaze shifting toward the little ones playing near the tents. Running, laughing, hiding. I remembered when Kael and I had done the same. It already felt like a lifetime ago.
​
Fye'Rlius and I walked in silence beside Se’tlahny.
​
“What has happened to you,” the elder said, “has happened to many of our girls. Our boys. Our women.”
​
She glanced at me, then at Fye'Rlius, her voice both fierce and tender.
​
“Men, human men, have forgotten what it means to honour the sacred. They have no regard for the process that brings forth life and creation. You are too young to know that truth. But one day, you will.”
​
I didn’t know what to say. I just listened.
​
“Your body,” she continued, “has been opened too soon. And it will need healing. The Spirits are close to you now.”
​
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
​
“Our people believe women hold a sacred passage,” she said, her voice soft. “A bridge between the Spirits and this world. Our bodies are vessels of creation. That makes them sacred.”
​
She looked at me fully now.
​
“Yours was treated carelessly. Opened without consent. The veil between worlds is thinnest when we bleed, when we birth, when we love. It is Holy.”
​
I understood as much as a child could.
​
“We must close that veil. Until the day you choose to open it willingly, when you are ready. Because you are not ready yet.”
​
Her words were like salve. Gentle. Healing.
​
We arrived at a small clearing by the river. Women in dark hoods waited in a circle. Four smouldering fires marked the edges. They said nothing as we approached.
​
One by one, they stepped forward. They undid my braid, gently. Painted my face, my arms, my legs with black ash mixed with water.
​
Then they guided me to the centre of the circle.
​
Se’tlahny sat beside me, holding a great bundle of long, silver-black feathers, the largest I had ever seen.
​
“Skyrend,” she murmured.
​
I didn’t know what the word meant, not then. But it settled deep in my bones.
The women linked arms and began to sway. A chant filled the clearing, low and ancient. Eyren.
​
Se’tlahny brushed the feathers across my shoulders, over my chest, across my back. Smoke curled around us.
​
I closed my eyes.
​
Let the sound, the warmth, the feeling of it all wash over me.
​
And then, I cried.
​
Tears came hard and hot. I wept like I had never wept before. A scream ripped from my throat, raw and guttural, so fierce and broken that I didn’t sound like a child anymore.
​
And then, the women stopped.
​
Se’tlahny pressed a smooth stone into my palm.
​
“Carry this,” she said softly. “Until you are ready.”
​
I nodded, clutching it like it was sacred.
​
That night, I slept more soundly than I had in months.
No nightmares. No fear. Just rest.
​
We stayed at the camp for a few weeks more.
​
A routine settled around us like a second skin. We woke early, helped tend the fires, prepared food, and assisted the men heading into the timber yards. The work was hard but honest, and we were safe.
​
We learned that Fye'Rlius had lost her husband. He was not Tayrahn’s father.
I wondered about Tay’s father. Whether consent had ever been given.
I sensed it hadn’t.
​
We learned a great deal about the Eyren camps.
​
The timber harvested here wasn’t for them. It was for the Empire, used to build ships, great vessels to cross oceans, expand territories, and secure dominance through trade and conquest. Just as they had with A'Laes.
​
The men whispered about rebellion, quietly, cautiously.
Always in a language I didn’t understand.
But Tay did. And when the Dral punished someone, as they often did, fabricating infractions out of thin air, the murmurs grew louder.
​
We stayed well out of sight of the Dral.
​
If they found out we were here, we would be killed.
If they found out Fye'Rlius was hiding us, she would be too.
​
So we kept our hoods up to hide our ears and hair.
We used ash to darken it, smearing some across our skin to mimic tribal markings.
​
Tay, Kael, and I became inseparable.
​
We did everything together, hiking, running, fishing, gathering herbs in the forest.
Fye'Rlius would often smile as Kael and I dragged Tay into whatever half-formed scheme we had come up with that day.
​
She used to say, “You three were fated to meet. Tayrahn and Lyrra will be bonded one day.”
​
I was eight. I thought she was just a kind mother who loved her children.
​
I didn’t know anything about love. Not then.
​
But Tay… he picked me flowers.
He stood up for me when the other children tugged at my braid. Mocked my light hair.
He held my hand when I stumbled over roots in the brush.
He taught me how to swim by holding me gently, guiding me as I kicked at the water.
He was taller than most of the children in the camp, quiet, serious, always watching.
That stillness unnerved some.
But not me.
​
His silence was a kind one. And Kael, Kael talked enough for both of us. I think he had gotten used to filling in the silence I left behind after Lord Tyres.
​
The camp felt like a haven of sorts. Everyone in it protected us, and each other.
When one of their own was punished, the others gathered around him. They cared for his family, his children. They mourned and healed together.
It was the closest thing to peace I had known in a long time.
But like all peace in this realm, in this age, it was short-lived.
We had to go.
I knew it. Kael knew it.
Fye'Rlius knew it, too.
​
If we stayed any longer, we’d be discovered. And none of us could survive that.
She was quiet the morning she packed our supplies. Her hands moved with practiced ease, but her eyes were heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.
​
Tayrahn was more silent than usual. More stoic, if that was even possible.
​
Before we left, he disappeared down by the river. To the pool. The hidden one.
I found him there.
​
“I don’t want you to go,” he said, eyes bright with unshed tears.
​
“I don’t want to go,” I replied.
​
“Then stay,” he whispered, as if it were simple.
​
But it wasn’t.
​
I leaned in and kissed him, soft, brief, but true.
Then I said the word my father had once said to my mother when they parted.
​
“Velira.”
​
Tay’s gaze locked on mine, fierce and unwavering.
“Velira.”
​
He pressed a purple flower into my hand.
​
“We’ll meet again,” I said.
​
He nodded, jaw tight.
​
And then Kael and I walked on.
​
We hadn’t gone far when we reached the ridge. There, rising over the horizon, was the one thing that made both our hearts seize:
Smoke.
A column of it. Wide. Heavy.
Billowing over what had to be the camp.
​
“Kael,” I gasped. “We have to go back.”
“We can’t,” he said, already shaking his head.
“But Fye—Tay—Leiloina, Gershu, Vyeina—”
​
I turned to him, and he turned to me.
And then we ran.
​
We ran as fast as our legs would carry us.
​
By the time we arrived, night had fallen. The camp was a ruin, shrouded in smoke, lit only by the flicker of smouldering fires. It was hard to see. And for a moment, I was grateful for that.
​
But then a gust of wind blew through.
​
And I saw.
Bodies.
Scattered. Broken. Still.
Men. Women. Children.
The ones who had fed us. Held us. Protected us.
​
I choked back a sob. My stomach twisted.
​
A Dral soldier passed nearby, dragging a spear through the fallen, stabbing any who still stirred.
“Bloody Eyren piss-ants,” he muttered, spitting into the dirt.
​
Kael covered my mouth before I could cry out.
​
Where was Tay? Where was Fye?
Surely—surely—she had gotten the others out.
​
We stayed low and skirted the edge of the woods. There wasn’t much left to hide behind—just burned trunks and blackened earth—but we knew this forest.
We ducked into crevices, rock cuts, anywhere that might conceal us.
We made our way toward the tent that had been our home.
And there he was.
Tayrahn.
Lying face-down in the dirt. Ash clung to everything.
I didn’t see Fye. Just the charred, unrecognizable shapes of bodies.
Tay hadn’t been burned. But he was hurt.
​
He must’ve been by the river… maybe he ran back. Maybe some of the other children had, too.
​
Once the coast was clear, we ran to him. We dragged his body into the trees, away from the smoke, back toward the bend in the river.
​
“Kael,” I said, inspecting Tay's wounds, a deep gash at his side, bruises, and scorched skin on his arm. “Go check the river. See if any of the other children are there.”
​
“No,” Kael said. “I’m not leaving you two.”
​
“Yes,” I snapped. “Go. If the soldiers find them, they’ll kill them all.”
​
“We can’t take a bunch of Eyren kids with us to the tower, Lyrra ,” he said, eyes wide. “We can’t.”
​
“Yes. We can.”
​
I dug into the pack Fyerlius had prepared. Inside were the purple flowers. I crushed them between rocks and carefully pressed the medicine into Tay’s scratches, deep red gouges in his skin.
​
“And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
​
While Kael was gone, I prayed.
​
I prayed to the Spirits, the ones Se’tlahny, Fye’Rlius, and Tay had spoken of.
The Vel’ariin of Life. The one of safe travels. Of Luck. Of Creation. Of Love.
Of anyone who might hear me.
​
I begged for Tay to live. For Kael to return unharmed.
​
Tay’s dark eyes flicked open, locking on me.
​
Relief flooded me again like sunlight after days of storms.
​
He took me in, and I broke. My tears came freely. Recognition flooded his face. His body tensed, like he meant to run.
​
“It’s all gone,” I said quickly, voice trembling. “They’re all gone. Kael went to the river to check for survivors. The children.”
​
Tay sucked in a sharp breath.
​
“My mother told me to take them down there. To keep them safe.” His voice cracked. “There was a fight. Something about the Vye’Raiths. I ran back when I heard her screaming.”
​
Tears streaked his face. Mine too.
​
“I’m so sorry, Tayrahn.”
I gripped him, holding him as tightly as I could. No one else would understand what this moment felt like.
No one but me and Kael.
​
Then, a sound.
​
A twig snapped.
I fisted my dagger, heart hammering.
​
Tay rose, still unarmed, and stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body.
A birdcall in Kael’s voice. Our signal. A game we’d played in the woods a hundred times.
​
Tay called back, voice low but steady.
​
Kael emerged from the trees, alone. His face was pale.
He shook his head.
​
My heart sank.
​
Tay fell to his knees. A sound escaped him, half sob, half scream.
I skirted around and dropped to the ground, wrapping my arms around him.
​
Kael joined us. Silent. Heavy.
He knelt and hugged us both.
Some bonds are formed in love.
And some are solidified in ash.
​
Tayrahn
​
Lyrra lay on the cot as the Daughters and Sons of Light worked, gently wiping away the caked-on dirt, dried blood, and black soot that covered her face and chest. They unpinned her hair, let it fall loose, and stripped away the D'ral armor and the crimson cape.
​
I sat nearby, silent, watching. Waiting. Spinning the gold thread around my wrist between my thumb and forefinger.
​
For the first time in two years, I could feel her. Not as a memory. Not as a ghost. But real, alive, like a fire buried in old coals, suddenly crackling to life again. Soft, glowing. Warm.
​
A memory surfaced.
​
The first time I said the words out loud. Told her I loved her.
​
I’d been wounded, badly, during a skirmish at a slaver’s market. A deep gash tore across the top of my right thigh. The Windborne were scattered, the unit in disarray, lying low in a forest grove while we tried to regroup and awaited orders from Arkyn.
​
They had me down by a riverbank, ready to cauterize the wound with a heated sword when Lyrra stormed over the embankment.
​
“Oh my bloody gods!” Lyrra barked, storming through the treeline. She snatched the sword from Maev’s hands as Brenik and Isra held me down. “Do not do that!”
​
“That’s the worst godsdamned thing you can do to a deep gash—scorch it? Really?” she growled. “Maev, you know better than that.”
​
“I do,” Maev muttered. “But Illvaris is a stubborn brute. Almost as much as you, Qineiros. I was going to bury it in salve after.”
​
“Then, please, go get some,” Lyrra snapped, flinging the sword aside.
​
“Throw it in the dirt, Lyrra, or it’ll stay hot,” I grunted, trying to sit up. “The dirt’ll cool it off.”
​
“I know that,” she scoffed, kicking it into the mud with exaggerated flair. “I was making a point. Being theatrical. And you’re the one trying to burn your own cock clean off, so maybe don’t scold me.”
​
“I was not—” I groaned, clutching my thigh as pain shot through my hip. “You know as well as I that I will heal.”
​
“That doesn’t mean you have to torture yourself, Illvaris,” Lyrra crouched beside me, assessing the injury with a pinched brow. “Well, that is an unfortunate place to get skewered,” She turned her head slightly. “Isra, I need clean bandages. You did clean the wound before heating the sword, yes?”
​
“Of course,” Isra said quickly. “We weren’t trying to kill him with an infection.”
​
“Small miracles.”
She accepted the kit from Brenik and got to work, slicing through my leathers and wrapping the wound tight with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times. Her touch was gentle, precise, despite the edge still lingering in her voice.
​
“You did quite a number on yourself,” she said under her breath. “This better have been a Vexari knight, or I swear, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“It wasn’t,” I admitted. “Slavers. Market scum.”
​
She hissed. “Five at least? Tell me it was a healthy number.”
​
“Lyrra—”
​
“I’m just saying.” She glanced at the gash. “For you to lose your head in a market? Your talon was supposed to get the strays out safely, not get yourself a new scar.”
​
I didn’t answer. I hadn’t seen the one with the spear. I’d been too focused on the bastards slicing ears off of children of the Vye, too full of fury. There were 12 of them. I’d cut down six before the seventh slid in behind me and tore a path from hip to knee, while two others distracted me. Another inch higher and I’d be bleeding out right now.
​
Lyrra took one look at the wound and made the call.
​
“We’re going to a Well,” she said flatly.
​
I blinked. “The Wells of Seraveth? You’re serious?”
​
“Yes. Quite. There are three in the north,” she said. “Virelyn Hollows, Wyntern Wells, and the Pools of Moonrift. And we’re going to the later one.”
​
“They’re relic sites, Lyrra” I said. “Ancient. Hidden. Half the time warded and invisible to anyone who doesn’t know what they’re looking for. How in the hell do you—?”
​
But she was already assembling gear, barking orders, shoving supplies into a satchel.
​
“Kaelen’ll get Ashclad back to regroup with Windborne. I’m taking you. You’re not dying in a river ditch on my watch.”
​
I narrowed my eyes at her. “How exactly do you plan on finding a mythical pool hidden in the woods? Unless you’ve taken up reading ancient scrolls in your spare time—which, for the record, I know you haven’t. You hate reading.”
​
“I do not hate reading,” she said, strapping my blades to her back. “I enjoy it. Just not dusty texts written by crusty old men.”
​
“Vye lore, then,” I muttered. “That’s all you read.”
​
She shot me that smirk, the slow, devastating one that always left me breathless.
​
“Mostly Eyrenian, actually. And I know exactly where the Pools are. I can get us to Moonrift from memory. No scrolls required.”
​
“You’ve been there?”
​
“Yes. You find the ruins of the Naeyo’Lia path markers… then head towards the moon as it ascends.” Her tone was bone dry as she grabbed the rest of my gear.
​
“When did you go?” I asked, incredulous.
​
“Xialin took me,” she said simply. “After Freye dropped me mid-flight and shredded half my back during flight training trying to catch me.”
​
I blinked. “She dropped you?”
​
“We got into a fight,” she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “She’s a stubborn beast.”
​
A low chuckle escaped me despite the pain flaring in my leg. “That sounds familiar.”
​
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you insinuating something, Captian Ilvaris?”
​
“Only that you might be the most stubborn among us, Captain Qineiros.”
​
Lyrra didn’t miss a beat. “I think you’ve got me beat there, Tay. I lost a fight with my Skyrend. You lost one in a crowded slavers’ market, because of your principles.”
​
“Important ones,” I said flatly.
​
“Yes,” she replied, her voice quieter now. “Important ones. But that doesn’t make you any less important, to the Talon you lead, or to the calling that is the Vye'Raiths. To the rebellion, the change we’re all dying to see in this world. And we need you to do that.”
​
A beat of silence passed between us.
​
“They were cutting their ears, Lyrra.”
​
Her gaze locked with mine, her expression shifting. She let out a long, slow breath.
​
“I’m sorry, Tay. That must have been… brutal to witness.” Her voice was gentle, honest. “I understand why you did what you did. I do. But my priority, always, will be you.”
​
I cleared my throat, jaw tight.
​
“Next time,” she said, “make sure you’ve got your full Talon at your back. Ready. In formation. Then take the bastards out, every last one.”
​
“I didn’t have the orders.”
​
She gave me a look. “You and I both know the Vyeraiths were created by Eyren, fae and noble houses who said the same thing you just did, fuck orders.”
​
I smirked, nodding. She wasn’t wrong.
​
She slung a rolled blanket over her shoulder and stood. “Now, Captain Ilvaris, we’ve got a long ride ahead, and you’re definitely not surviving a Skyrend flight with that leg. Can’t even bend it, so…”
​
I raised a brow. “What are you gonna do, toss me in a cart like a sack of grain?”
She grinned, that dangerously smug curve pulling at the corners of her mouth.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
​
And that is exactly what she did.
​
**********
​
The trip to the Pools took longer than expected—two days on horseback stretched into three and a half with the cart. Lyrra made sure I didn’t bleed out along the way. She packed my wound with Wexen tree sap, a natural salve known for its healing properties, and shoved Mendel root between my teeth to slow the bleeding.
​
Thank the ancestors for that.
​
Because having her rub the inside of my thigh while she dressed the wound wasn’t exactly helping me keep the oath I’d made to her brother.
I’d promised Kaelen I wouldn’t touch her.
And I’d meant it, until I didn’t.
​
I’d been in love with her for years. Since we were children. When she returned from her Ember Path training it burned anew. That was when they split the male and female Raiths. She’d left with Maev and Rayha. When we reunited at base camp for our final assignments, the fire-tempered girl I remembered came back a warrior, sharper, surer. Beautiful and dangerous in equal measure. Taller. Leaner. Curves of bloody sin. Hair golden, long and braided down her back.
​
Sparring with her became a trial of endurance. Every time she pinned me, every time that smirk ghosted her lips, it was an exercise in control.
​
She’d sit beside me by the fire, trying to distract me from the pain in my leg. It worked, mostly.
​
“So why did Freye rip you to shreds again?” I asked one night, watching the flames dance in the firelight.
​
“I wanted to take her higher. She wanted to stay low. She dropped me, then tried to catch me and clawed me to hell. She could fly higher… just didn’t want to.”
​
“Skyrend are wild,” I said, stretching out my injured leg. “Only as competent as their rider. She didn’t trust your command.”
​
“She didn’t,” Lyrra admitted, chewing a bite of bannock from the stash she’d insisted on packing. “And she was being a complete bitch about it.”
​
“They say Skyrends take on the temperament of their riders,” I muttered, smirking.
​
She smacked my arm, light, but with just enough sting to prove a point. “Is that why Mareke is as insufferable as you, Ilvaris?”
​
“Mareke isn’t insufferable. He’s determined.”
​
“Mmhmmm,”
​
“And apparently I’m less insufferable around you. Or so I’ve been told.”
​
Lyrra laughed. “Gods, what are you like around everyone else?”
​
“I’ve been called a number of things. Mostly? A giant pain in the ass.”
​
“That sounds like Kaelen. You’re not. He’s the pain in the arse. If we’re measuring pains. But you’re definitely up there.”
​
“Back to Freye, please,” I said, grinning.
​
“Fine,” she sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I had a plan. And it worked, eventually. Now? She trusts me. To go higher. Much higher than she ever believed she could.”
​
She paused, her gaze catching mine across the firelight, that familiar spark flickering in her eyes.
​
“So you knew,” I said quietly. “Skyrends were made for extreme heights. They’re built to fly above the storms, higher than any other hybrid creature. Their wings were designed to ride the wind. To glide over the world like they were born to rule the sky.”
​
She smirked. “I did. I got that one straight out of the Scrolls of the Vye'Raith Frenrai—Age of the Undruing Wars, scroll 6, passage 45, if I’m not mistaken.”
​
I blinked, impressed despite myself. “So you do read the scrolls?”
​
“Of course,” she said with a mock bow. “It’s required. I am nothing if not a dedicated Raith.”
​
“Well done, Qineiros,” I murmured with a nod.
​
********
​
A day later, she practically dragged me up the mountain to the Pools of Moonrift, half-carrying, half-hauling me from the cart like a sack of poorly behaved grain. When we finally reached the basin, she pitched camp with practiced efficiency, then looped an arm around my waist to help me limp to the edge of the water.
​
The bleeding had slowed. The wound was beginning to heal, but too slowly. We were running out of time.
​
“All right, into the pool, Ilvaris,” she said briskly. “But you’ll need to get out of your gear.”
​
I groaned. “Turn around, Qineiros.”
​
She didn’t move. “If I do, you’ll fall.”
​
“I’ll manage.”
​
“Fine.” She muttered under her breath, helped me over, and propped me against the trunk of an elder tree. At last, she turned her back while I wrestled with my armour, what felt like a thousand cursed buckles. Every movement sent fire through my thigh. I grunted, winced, muttered half-swears under my breath.
​
“Oh, for the love of the ancestors,” she snapped, spinning back around. Two strides and she was crouched in front of me, stripping the armour off with ruthless precision. Brutal. Efficient. No ceremony. No gentleness. Just intention.
And then I was naked.
​
Her eyes dropped, just for a breath. One brow lifted.
​
“Eyes up, Qineiros,” I said, half-laughing, half-dying.
​
Unbothered, she began undressing.
​
“What are you doing, Lyrra?”
​
“Getting in the pool,” she said, unfastening her hood and pulling it free. “Naked. Like you’re supposed to.” She didn’t blink. “You’re not the only one who needs a soak. I nearly broke my back hauling your heavy ass up this mountain.”
​
She looked at me then, lips curving just enough to be dangerous. “That a problem? Because judging by the situation,”—her gaze flicked downward, deliberate—“it doesn’t look like it is.”
​
“That’s... not really the issue here.”
​
She didn’t care.
​
Her armour hit the dirt.
She rid herself of her under layers. She stepped into the water like it belonged to her, bare, unapologetic, the fading dusk gilding her skin in gold.
​
Effortlessly Lyrra.
​
She didn’t bear the same marks as most Raiths. No old burns. No lash scars.
No carved sigils. Lyrra was assigned recon, often. Being a beautiful woman with long, wavy hair so light it was almost white, she attracted attention everywhere she went. The Vye’Raiths used it every chance they could.
​
“Get your ass in here, Ilvaris,” she said, tilting her head, that damn smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.​
​
My heart pounded, even as the blood in my veins finally slowed.
​
“Stop overthinking it, Tay,” she said, voice softer now. “You live in that gorgeous head of yours too much. Try using the other one for a change.”
​
I narrowed my eyes. “I promised Kaelan. If he finds out about this—”​
​
“He’ll do nothing.” Her tone dropped, low and sure. “He doesn’t make my choices. Come in. You need this. And more than that, you want to. It’s healing. It’s cool. And your leg’s not going to heal itself nearly as fast if you keep being stubborn.”
​
I slid down the trunk, dragged myself to the water’s edge, and slipped into the pool beside her. Warmth wrapped around me, dulling the ache like the magic it was. ​
​
Lyrra raised an eyebrow, cheeky, amused, completely at ease.
​
“You are vexxing, Qineiros,” I muttered.
​
“It's better, though?” she said dryly, drifting closer. “The leg, I mean.”​
​
I could see everything. And she wanted me to.​
​
And gods, I wanted her. Always had.
​
That smirk, wicked, knowing, told me she knew it, too. Knew exactly what she was doing.
​
She was impossible. Irresistible. And absolutely determined to make me break the one damn oath I’d sworn to her brother, my second, my oldest, dearest friend, next to her.​
​
“Tay,” she said, flicking a lazy splash of water in my direction, “relax. No orders. No scouts, no shadow blades, no Talons watching from the trees. Just us. You can let your guard down.”
​
“I am—trying.”
​
“Would it help if I told you I’ve had my mind set on this for a while now?” she added, grinning.​
​
My head snapped toward her. My gaze locked with hers, sharpened. I had no words for her calm boldness. Her bare, unflinching honesty.
​
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know I’m not some pure little maid,” she said with a shrug.
​
My heart stuttered.
​
“Half my flares involve seducing men in taverns, luring them upstairs so they can be extracted and beaten for information,” She finished.
Something primal and violent flared hot in my chest.​
​
“I am aware,” I said darkly. “Believe me, I've wanted to grab each and every one of those men for touching you and beaten him within an inch of his life myself for it."
​
She rolled her eyes and swam away, sending ripples trailing behind her. "You’ll need to take up residence here, by the pools, if you plan on fighting every man that lays hands on me. Let the water soothe your temper.”​
​
“I could never live here. Not alone.” I looked around at the serene calm of the place. “Too quiet. Too far removed. I’d go mad. I’d miss the Vryes, the Raiths. I could never abandon them. Or Kaelan, Ruhniel, Maev, Rayha, Jinso, Isra, Bren… all of them. They’re my family.”​
​
I glanced at her, my voice softening. “Present company included.”
​
“That’s one of the reasons I love you,” she said, laughing. That warm, melodic sound echoed across the pools, like a promise. “You’re fiercely loyal. Even when it costs you.”
​
“Love? You mean love like...?” I asked, half-joking, half-hoping.​
​
She laughed again, low, rich, real. “I mean the kind of love that takes root in the blood. The kind you feel for someone you yearn for.”
​
I moved closer. My heartbeat thundered like a war drum in my chest. The pain in my leg was a distant memory now, drowned by the sight of her, the sound of her voice.
​
“Are you saying you love me, Lyrraveth? As one yearns for a lover?”​
​
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I have since I returned from Xilin’s camp,” she whispered, voice low and steady. Her lips hovered just above mine, her breath warm against my skin. “Maybe since our first meeting. But I was too young to understand it. Verlira, remember?”
​
“I do. I didn’t think you had,” I said softly.
​
“I did,” She said.
​
There was mischief in her eyes, but something deeper too. Fierce. Certain.
​
“So, why did you allow Kaelan to make you swear an oath to him that you’d never touch me?”​
“I...uh.”
​
“Don’t try to deny it, Tay. Maev told me,” she added. “And when I found out. I tried to make Kaelan release you from it. And he tried to make me swear the same to him.”
​
“Did you?”
​
“No, of course not,” she said flatly. “And you never should’ve agreed to it, either.”​
​
She was right. I shouldn’t have. Because it was a promise I was never meant to keep.​
​
But I’d made it anyway, because I understood it. I didn’t blame Kaelan for trying to protect her. If any of my sisters had lived, and they were anything like Lyrra, brilliant, relentless, radiant, beautiful beyond words and twice as deadly. I wouldn’t want anyone near them either.​ Especially not someone like me. A brooding Eyren-Vye hybrid bastard with blood on his hands and regrets that went back generations.​
​
“I told him,” she went on, “that he has no right to interfere in something that’s between the Vel’ariin and us. He thinks he's protecting our bloodline. But I informed him otherwise.”
​
Then she drifted away, silent and fluid in the water, leaving me breathless. I followed. The words I wanted to say caught at the edge of my tongue.
​
She turned, smiling. Her light hair shimmered in the fading light. The sun had dipped below the trees now. The pools would begin to glow soon, soft blue light blooming across the surface like magic waking from slumber.​
​
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
​
“Yes,” I murmured. “Anything.”​
​
“What are you really afraid of, besides my brother disowning you as his best friend and brother-in-arms? Because he won’t. He may be stubborn, but he loves you. He wouldn’t stay mad for long.”​
​
That was true, and it offered at least some relief to the weight of the oath I’d sworn. Still, it didn’t make breaking it any less dishonourable. And honour… honour was something the Eyren and Vye held sacred, to a fault. It’s why we lost against men. We were too damn honourable.​ And they betrayed us using our own magicks against us. Damning the continent and every race within it.
​
“Is it because I’m not Eyren or Vye?” she asked. “I’ve noticed every lover you’ve ever taken… has been.”​
​
“That’s—” I swam closer, meeting her eyes. “Your heritage has nothing to do with it. Mine does. I’m more afraid for you, for what it would mean, being tied to me. And then—”​
​
She cut me off before I could finish.​
​
“I don’t care what people think, Tay. Eyren, Vye or man. Most men don’t even think for themselves. They parrot what they’re told. Believe what they’re taught. Stuck in the ways the empire forced upon them, clinging to whatever scraps make them feel more entitled than others.”​
​
Gods, I loved her for that. Not just her intelligence, not just her fire, but the way she carried the pain of others and let it fuel her fight for change. She had the heart of a warrior and the soul of a mother. She’d be an extraordinary one, someday.
​
“And any Eyren may hate me for being with you and…of men. But I would never fault them for that.”
​
“Yes, Lyrra… but if we ever had children,” I said slowly, “they’d be Eyren. You know what that means.”
​
“Yes, the Empire would track them. Log them in the birth ledgers. Mark them for the camps, just like they did with you. Or they’d be forced to be Raithsworn. All because men fear the magic of Eyren and Vye kind. The birthright that runs through your blood.”
​
“Yes. And I wouldn’t wish that life on anyone. Especially not you or any of my children.”
​
The air shifted. Her gaze sharpened.
​
“Any of our children would also carry the blood of House Qineiros,” she said quietly. “One of the Twelve. Those who sat at the long table during the Golaena Age, back when the first kings of men ruled. The Empire hunts those bloodlines, too, Tay.”​
​
My eyebrows rose. My heart fluttered in my chest. She’d thought about it. All of it. What it would mean. What it would cost.​
​
“Kaelan’s right to protect your legacy. You’d have to hide your children from the empire their entire lives. But at least you know your lineage. That’s a right my people lost generations ago.”
​
Her voice softened. “Tay… I’m sorry. For what your people endured. For what mine did.”
​
“It’s not yours to apologize for,” I said. “And you’re fighting for change. That’s more than most.”​
​
“But it’s not enough, is it?”
​
“No. I fear it’s not. But it helps.” I smiled faintly. “You’re a very beautiful and impossible human, you know that, Lyrraveth?”
​
“I do. You’re equally impossible.”​
“Yes, but I’m not of man,” I murmured.​
​
“You are most definitely not, Tay,” She said. “You come from a beautiful people. One that doesn’t have a legacy of destruction, oppression, and death behind it.”
​
“You’re wrong about that. I do. Just a different kind. Oppression always existed, Lyrra, even when Eyren and Vye kind ruled, and long before men walked these lands. The two peoples fought all the time.”​
​
“That may be,” she said, eyes sparkling, “but not to the same degree. The viscous destruction of life, rape and torment of the land, of the vulnerable and anyone deemed lesser was not as prevalent.”
​
I exhaled sharply and nodded.
​
“You are unlike any male, Eyren, Vye or not, that I’ve ever met, Tayrahn Ilvaris.”
​
She glanced up at the darkening sky, quiet for a moment.
​
“If the world hadn’t fallen apart… if it were still whole… we probably never would’ve met at all.”​
​
“No,” I agreed. “Probably not.”
​
She drifted a few strokes away, thoughtful. Distant. The water shimmered with silence between us.
​
Then she turned and swam back, cupping my face in her hands and tilting it until I met her eyes.
​
“You’d probably be in some pristine province of the Crescent Kingdoms, seducing courtiers, fighting Ashvalen and Noctavell, like some hero out of legend.” Then she smirked. “But in this one... you’re here. With me. In the Pools of Moonrift.”
​
“There are worse fates,” I muttered.
​
She arched a brow. “There are better ones, too.”
​
I scoffed. “You think I’d be off having orgies? I’d still be who I am, Lyrra. Fiercely loyal. Unshakably stubborn. Intolerant of fools.”
​
“Married. Brooding. Father of four?” she teased.
​
I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe. Still strong.”
​
“Still...extraordinary,” she said, and something in her expression softened. She waited a beat.
​
“Tay,” she said, soft but certain, “I don’t fear you. I don’t fear what being with you might cost. You are a powerful, beautiful Eyren, Vye male. One of the best fighters and Skyrend riders I’ve ever seen. And you don’t see me as lesser because I am female.”
​
“In Eyren and Vye cultures, females were great warriors. They sat on the councils. They were leaders in their own right, some generals, even. Much like the Vye'Raiths. It’s men, and their poisoned beliefs, who labelled you lesser.”
​
“See? You are extraordinary for that,” she whispered. “And I cherish you for it. All of you.”
​
I looked down, struggling to breathe past the weight in my chest. Hearing it from her, Lyrra, felt like something sacred and dangerous all at once. A woman of noble blood, who in another life would’ve been married to some polished son of a highborn house, a caged ornament used to breed heirs.​
​
She was twenty and one. I was twenty and three. And the thought of her with some entitled aristocrat who saw her only for what she could give him made my jaw tighten with something I didn’t want to name.
​
She must’ve seen it flash across my face.​​..
​
More Coming Soon!
​
Raithsworn:
A Tale of Ghosts and Gods
Book One: Whispers and Wind
An Epic fantasy series following the soulbound survivors of a fallen kingdom as they rise from ashes to challenge a tyrant empire, and reawaken the old gods.
​
Whispers and Wind, Book One in the Raithsworn series, is Fourth Wing meets Stormlight Archive, with the intimate trauma-recovery depth of An Ember in the Ashes, the elven-meets-political scale of Throne of Glass, and the soul-bonded, myth-forged epicness of Daughter of Smoke and Bone.
​
COMING SOON!