Chapter 16: The Silence Between

  The riders landed in a flurry of feathers and wind.

  Aeor didn’t wait.

  He scooped Zoey into his arms, her face twisted in pain. He sprinted toward the nearest descending avian. The lead rider, a human with a crimson scarf wrapped tight around his jaw, leaned low and extended a hand.

  “She’s hurt,” Aeor said, lifting her gently.

  Zoey bit back a scream as her shattered hands brushed the saddle. The rider caught her weight, steadying her across the beast’s back.

  Behind them, Dregor stumbled.

  Velora was already at his side, one hand pressed to the splintered crater in his chest. Essence pulsed from the wound in irregular beats, flickering like a dying lantern. Each pulse sent spider-cracks rippling across his stone skin.

  Another rider dismounted, an orc with half his face covered in an iron mask. He rushed towards Dregor ducking beneath his arm and took the weight silently.

  Across the battlefield, the remaining four riders kept up their barrage. Silver flares of light arced through the air, blinding and disorienting the Drifthorn, pushing it back.

  “We need to get him out of here,” Velora said. Her voice tight. “This Essence is eating him alive.”

  Aeor turned to rejoin them.

  And the air turned to rot.

  A shriek cut through the clearing, followed by a pulse of blistering death essence. The shockwave hit like a tidal wave. Trees bowed. Ash lifted. Riders staggered. Avians screeched, wings flaring against the burst.

  Even disoriented, their formation held. Discipline carved in reflex.

  The Drifthorn bucked forward, black Essence flaring like oil-fed fire through its torn veins.

  It saw.

  And it charged.

  Straight at Aeor.

  He froze for a breath.

  Why does it keep going after me?

  He could dodge. But the others carrying Dregor couldn't. The orc lifted a flintlock, fired one-handed. A crack. The shot hit the Drifthorn’s jaw and ricocheted harmlessly.

  Aeor raised his hand.

  Death essence answered.

  He reached for the swirl around the Drifthorn, looking for rhythm, for flow, for something to sever.

  Something to end it.

  And then—

  The world shifted.

  A pressure fell over him. Vast. Ancient. His vision dimmed, and through the weight, he saw eyes.

  Not the Drifthorn’s.

  Vaelkar’s.

  The dragon was watching him. No voice. No breath. Just that gaze, smoldering coals within a cathedral of bone.

  And in them, Aeor felt no death.

  Only corruption.

  He staggered back, breaking the fragile connection. Blood trickled from his nose. His fingers trembled.

  The Drifthorn didn’t stop.

  It barreled forward.

  Aeor dove, barely avoiding the Drifthorn's attack. His blade flashed. It struck the beast’s leg mid-roll, a solid hit, but it glanced off bone.

  It didn’t care.

  It wanted him.

  The clearing shook beneath its steps.

  Then, a shimmer.

  Three riders, having regained control, dove from above, silver bursts exploding in their wake. They spun around the beast like orbiting stars, drawing its gaze, redirecting its wrath.

  The other three were already mounted, passengers secured.

  “Move!” one shouted.

  Aeor didn’t hesitate.

  He sprinted to the final avian. Behind him, the Drifthorn shrieked again, a gurgle of rot and fury.

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  He leaped.

  And they soared towards the sky.

  Below, the Drifthorn reared up. Its corrupted limbs cracked beneath its weight.

  And it screamed.

  Not in pain.

  In hatred.

  The last thing Aeor saw was its gaze locked on his.

  They had been in the sky for over an hour.

  The forests at the base of Vaelkar’s range had vanished behind them, replaced by rolling hills cloaked in moonlit grass. Silver light swept across the terrain below, soft, serene.

  But it was a lie.

  The silence that followed was not peace.

  It was the silence of the aftermath.

  Each avian's saddle was built for two. Zoey lay unconscious, strapped behind a rider. Her face was pale, streaked with dried blood.

  Dregor, also unconscious, rode beside another. His massive frame slumped, kept upright only by the straps holding him in place. The wound in his chest no longer pulsed. The black essence had gone quiet.

  Aeor couldn’t tell if the corruption had faded, or simply been left behind.

  After the skirmish, the eight riders had split. Four had peeled off, trailing Vaelkar’s flight path from a safe altitude. The remaining riders stayed with Aeor and the others, taking them east.

  Toward Sar’Vareth.

  The wind was cold and the realization of what lay ahead, colder.

  Aeor pulled the parchment from the coat Zura had given him.

  He opened the Initiation thread, skimming past the overview.

  Throne of Sol’Karenth

  Type: Woven (S)

  Status: Ongoing

  Current Progress:

  Scales Acquired: 34 / 100

  The Reigning Crown - 5

  The Heir of Solenar - 9

  The Reclaimers - 20

  Ancients:

  Vaelkar (Slain) (20)

  Naeysar (Appeased) (9)

  Zorvaketh (Subjugated) (5)

  It still listed Vaelkar as slain.

  But Aeor had seen it. Watched that great form pass overhead like judgment given wings.

  If an Ancient dies... can they still fight?

  And if it fights, can it still change sides?

  If Zorvaketh were to fall, would the Sovereign lose his Scales?

  Or would they drift to the Reclaimers?

  Aeor let out a sigh as he knew he wouldn’t find answers up here.

  He folded the parchment and tucked it away. But his mind lingered on the shadow Vaelkar had cast.

  Then came the call.

  “Karethun incoming!” one rider shouted, voice sharp over the wind.

  The others tensed.

  Smoke met them before the village did, curling upward like veins of shadow.

  Nestled in the valley was a small town. Walled. Half-ringed by fields.

  And it was burning.

  Orange light flickered between rooftops. The wind carried the scent of ash and cinder.

  One rider squinted toward the smoke. “Were any units deployed here?”

  Another replied, grim: “Four.”

  A heavy silence followed.

  The human rider beside Aeor leaned closer, voice low under the rush of wind.

  “If it comes down to it... can you still fight?”

  Aeor didn’t answer immediately.

  His mind was clouded. But his heart knew.

  He nodded.

  The rider, Albanth, said nothing more.

  Two avians broke from the formation, one carrying Velora, other Aeor, began to descend.

  The air grew hotter as they approached the burning village below.

  The fires had long since started, but no screams pierced the air. No clatter of hooves. No clash of steel. Just wind, ash, and the groan of collapsing timber.

  They circled the outskirts in tight loops, careful not to draw attention. The village once a modest ring of stone and wood dwellings clustered around a central well, now lay in ruin.

  Beasts wandered the streets.

  Twisted things.

  Their shapes hinted at what they once were. But their eyes burned red, and their breath came in gurgled hisses. Their bodies were torn and broken, wounds deep enough to kill a dozen times over, yet still they moved.

  Some dragged splintered limbs. Others twitched with every step, reanimated by something that wasn't will.

  Black essence leaked from open wounds and seeping maws. One stood motionless, head tilted skyward as if listening for a god that no longer answered. Another paced endlessly around a collapsed shrine, hooves scraping ash.

  There was no movement from the homes. No survivors.

  Only smoldering beams, shattered solar emblems, and bodies lost beyond recognition.

  Velora said nothing.

  Her jaw clenched.

  Aeor glanced at her.

  Then down.

  A building caught his eye, a tavern, half-collapsed. Its sign hung from a single chain, swaying in the smoke. Something about it pulled at him.

  He thought of Zura’s inn.

  Of laughter the night before the Archives announced the trial.

  Of warmth and noise.

  A single ember drifted past his vision and vanished.

  His grip on the saddle tightened.

  The orc beside Velora finally muttered, “No one alive down there.”

  Albanth gave a slow nod. “Not worth the risk to search. We leave it.”

  At a signal, the avians climbed. Their wings beat hard against the cindered wind.

  As they returned to formation, Aeor asked quietly, “Is this happening everywhere?”

  “Not everywhere. Not yet. It started around Vaelkarreth and is slowly spreading,” Albanth said.

  Vaelkarreth? Aeor thought Isn't Thar'Ezun about a day away from there?

  Then Aeor spoke again. “Do units from your forces cover Thar’Ezun as well?”

  Albanth looked back over his shoulder. “You arrived in Thar’Ezun?”

  “No,” Aeor said. “I arrived in Vaelkarreth.”

  That earned a full turn of the rider’s head.

  His eyes narrowed. “Of all the cursed places to arrive... You’re lucky you still breathe. Some units were sent there.”

  He paused, then added, “Thar’Ezun is defensible. They have a strong clergy, seasoned guards, but all Initiates are still on the Flicker stabilization. The difference in power compared to these mutated beasts is too large. I cannot even imagine the power level of the things that lived in the barren lands of Vaelkarreth.”

  Aeor lowered his voice. “What caused this?”

  Albanth exhaled. “We were patrolling when the skies over Vaelkarreth split red. That’s when it changed. Beasts came back stronger. More violent. Their stability jumped tiers like rules didn’t matter.”

  He paused again.

  “And then Vaelkar came back.”

  Neither spoke after that.

  They didn’t need to.

  The silence said enough.

  It followed them all the way to the horizon.

  After another hour, they stopped atop a wind-swept hill cresting the horizon, flanked by silver-lit grasslands that swayed like whispers. Above, the stars shimmered, cold and unfamiliar. Distant cousins of the constellations Aeor had once mapped on his home planet from the several towers of Caerenhold.

  Here, they flickered white and sharp. Like eyes.

  Watchers who had long since stopped intervening.

  Four avians stood in a loose circle around the camp, reins tied to rough wooden stakes hammered into the soil. Three bore golden-gray feathers that shimmered faintly in the dark, eyes glowing like pale coals. Sleek-bodied. High-crested.

  They looked ceremonial.

  One stood apart, a heavier beast with rust-colored plumage and a jagged beak.

  Aeor eyed it, then activated Threadgaze.

  Race: Skyburden

  Essence Tier: Awakened (E)

  Essence Stability: Flickering

  Status: Normal

  He had seen several types of avians now. Some were built for speed, others for grace.

  The sleek ones were Sunbound Striders.

  But this one was older. It carried their supplies, and Dregor, across its back with steady resolve.

  Aeor turned.

  Near the fire, Velora knelt beside Dregor and Zoey, gently applying the last of the riders' ointments. Both lay unconscious, but breathing steadily. The strain on their faces had softened. The tremors had stopped.

  Aeor joined her.

  They worked quietly. Bandages. Ointments. Slow breaths in the cold.

  “How are you holding up?” Velora asked.

  He paused.

  The answer didn’t come easily.

  Guilt sat in his chest, heavier than the skyburden itself.

  He had been useless. Powerless. Just a witness to ruin.

  After a long silence, he finally asked, “Do you think we have a chance?”

  The wind stirred her cloak. She adjusted it without thought. A motion born of ritual, not need.

  “Where I come from,” she said, eyes distant, “we were taught not to ask that question.”

  She spoke slowly, deliberately.

  “Victory was never expected. Only endurance. There was no war. No siege. Just silence. One by one, the other houses vanished. Ours was the last to remain standing. And we kept standing long after it even mattered."

  Her eyes met his.

  “Hope doesn’t keep you upright. Determination does.”

  She paused.

  Then softened.

  “You asked if we have a chance. Maybe. Maybe not. But I won’t give up. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

  A pause.

  “Well... despite my behavior right after seeing Vaelkar,” she added, a flicker of embarrassment touching her voice.

  Aeor almost smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  But it tried.

  “And here I thought we lost you back there,” he said.

  He nodded. “Thank you. I needed that.”

  They sat quietly.

  When dinner came, they joined the riders who were gathered in a tight circle around a low fire. They passed out dried meat and soft bread. Four wooden poles had been planted in the earth, each bearing a hanging pendant etched with Solethi script.

  Aeor examined one.

  He didn’t recognize the letters.

  But he understood them.

  Resilience.

  The meaning came to him. Not translation. Just certainty.

  He blinked.

  He remembered the unreadable scriptures in Thar’Ezun.

  Why can I understand this, but not those?

  He couldn't have written it even if he had tried.

  Maybe if I wrote something in my tongue, they could understand it too.

  He tucked the thought away as the night stretched on. Stars wheeled overhead.

  In a few days, they would reach Sar’Vareth.

  And there, the true Initiation would commence.