The caravan rolled east at first light, the wagons groaning under repaired wheels and heavier silences.

Arianda walked beside Simon, her eyes scanning the scrubland that blurred past. The air smelled of dust and dry sage. Behind them, Lilith and Kira kept pace, their dragon whelps trotting close.

“Think we’ll see more of those dragon riders?” Simon asked, kicking a stone.

“I hope not,” Lilith said quietly. Her hand drifted to Moss’s blue-scaled head.

A shadow passed over the sun—not a cloud. A flock of hippogriphs wheeled in the far northern sky, their lion bodies and eagle wings stark against the blue. They banked, then turned sharply away, heading back the way they’d come.

“They’re avoiding us,” Kira noted, his analytical gaze tracking their retreat.

“Maybe they smell Sebastian,” Simon offered, nodding toward the white tiger padding alongside Diego’s lead wagon.

“Or Zariel,” Arianda murmured. The dragon, walked close, his shoulders pressing against her arm. His golden eyes followed the distant shapes with a quiet intensity Arianda had come to recognize as vigilance, not fear.

They crested a low rise hours later. The land spread out in rumpled folds of ochre and grey. And on a distant hill, standing sentinel against the horizon, was a behemoth.

It was easily three times the height of the tallest wagon, a shaggy, slope-shouldered silhouette of matted fur and stone-like hide. It stood perfectly still, its massive head turned away, gazing north as if watching a storm only it could see.

“Don’t stop,” Diego’s voice carried back, calm but firm. “Keep the pace.”

The entire caravan seemed to hold its breath as they moved across its line of sight. The creature never stirred. It was a statue, a part of the landscape, yet its presence thrummed in the air like a plucked string.

“It’s not interested,” Serena said from her perch on a wagon seat, her sea-blue hair lifting in a warm breeze. She sounded almost disappointed.

“Good,” Sherief grunted, his loose robes flapping. “The minimum required is to pass unnoticed.”

The next days fell into a rhythm of dust, walking, and campfires that felt smaller than before. The shared silence among Arianda’s friends wasn’t empty; it was full of Swan’s warnings, and the unspoken chain of mysteries linking them all.

One evening, Simon poked at the fire with a stick. “So. We’re just… going back to class?”

“We’re going back to prepare,” Kira corrected, not looking up from the whetstone he was using on a small knife.

“For what?”

“For when WE are ready to go off on our own.” Lilith’s voice was soft. She was braiding a thin strand of grass, her fingers moving with methodical calm.

Arianda watched the flames. She felt the familiar heat in her palms, but it was controlled now, a tool she understood. She thought of Eleanor—Swan—calling her sister a beacon. She thought of the choice still hanging before her about Zariel.

Garrick walked past their fire, carrying two buckets of water. He gave a single, slow nod in their direction, his face grimly set, before moving on to the next chore.

On the fourth day, the air changed. It grew cooler, carrying the faint, mineral scent of running water and the distant, rhythmic sounds of industry—the clang of a hammer, the shout of a foreman.

Sage rode in the front of the caravan, Zudrok a shadow in the sky above. The elderly man lifted a hand, and the caravan slowed. Before them, nestled in a wide river valley between two sheer cliffs, lay Zarinthar. Its tiered buildings climbed the stone faces, connected by bridges, waterfalls channeled through aqueducts, and the great carved dragon motifs watched over everything with stone eyes.

“Home,” Sage said, the word worn but steady. He turned to the weary travelers, his gaze finding Arianda’s group. “The work continues here.”

Arianda looked at Zariel, then at the city meant to be their sanctuary. It didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like a door, freshly unlocked, waiting for her to choose whether to push it open.

The iron-banded gates of Zarinthar swung inward with a tired groan, and the caravan passed through into the familiar cacophony of the city. The air inside was cooler, smelling of wet stone, forge-smoke, and baking bread. Arianda’s boots echoed on the flagstones, a sound she hadn’t realized she’d missed.

“You’re back!”

The voice was high, familiar. Chloe emerged from a side alley, Liora and Malik close behind. They wore the simple tunics of apprentices, their faces bright with relief.

Arianda smiled, the expression feeling strange on her tired face. She moved to hug Chloe, and that’s when she saw it.

Chloe looked… smaller. Her head only came to Arianda’s chin now, when before they’d stood eye-to-eye. Joan and Tomas seemed to have shrunk, too, their features rounder, younger. It wasn’t them. It was her. It was all of them.

Arianda looked down at her own hands. They were longer, the knuckles more defined. The scabs on her palms from training were faded silver lines. She glanced at Simon beside her, at the new breadth of his shoulders under his travel-stained shirt, at the sharper angle of his jaw. Lilith’s blond hair was longer, tied back in a practical knot Kira would have mocked weeks ago. They had left as children. They returned, and the space between was written on their bodies.

“We missed you guys,” Malik said, clapping Simon on the arm, his gaze flickering over the group with cheerful curiosity. His eyes passed over them, then back. A slight frown.

“It’s good to see a safe face,” Simon said, his voice deeper than Arianda remembered. He hugged Malik briefly, the gesture awkward with their new difference in height.

Chloe hugged Lilith next, then Kira. Her smile was wide but starting to waver. She stepped back, her eyes doing a quick, automatic count of the familiar forms. One. Two. Three. Four. She paused. Looked again. Her brow furrowed.

“Where’s Leo?” she asked.

The market sounds around them—the clang of a hammer, a merchant’s call—seemed to recede, sucked into a sudden, hollow silence. Lilith opened her mouth, her calm face tightening.

“He didn’t make it,” Diego’s voice cut across, calm and final. He had moved up behind them, Sebastian a silent white shadow at his heel. “He fell defending his friends. The situation was impossible. He stood his ground.”

Arianda looked at Diego. He held Chloe’s gaze, his silver eyes steady. He hadn’t mentioned the dragon. He hadn’t mentioned Arianda’s failed healing, the panic, the blood. He offered a clean, honorable death. A soldier’s story.

Chloe’s face went blank. The relief that had been there a moment before drained away, leaving pale, waxy skin. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She looked from Diego’s solemn face to Arianda’s, to Simon’s, searching for the joke, the correction.

“Passed?” Liora whispered the word as if testing its weight.

“Oh,” Malik said, the single syllable dropping like a stone.

Chloe took a step back. Her hands came up, pressing against her stomach as if she’d been hit. Her gaze darted around the bustling square—the towering dragons carved into the cliffs, the waterfalls, the safe, sturdy walls of Zarinthar. Her safe place.

“I want to go home,” she breathed, the words so soft they were almost lost.

Simon shifted closer to Arianda, his shoulder brushing hers.

“Chloe,” Liora said, reaching for her friend’s arm.

“I want to go home,” Chloe repeated, louder now, a tremor in her voice. Her eyes were wide, fixed on nothing. “I want to go home. I want to go home.”

It became a chant, a desperate, quiet mantra. Tears welled and spilled over, cutting clean tracks through the dust on her cheeks. She wasn’t sobbing. She was simply breaking, the reality of this world—of death, of irreversible change—finally crashing through the academic caution she’d used as a shield.

Diego watched, his expression unreadable. Swan appeared silently at his side, her green eyes soft with sorrow. She didn’t move toward Chloe. She just watched, as if bearing witness was the only comfort she could offer.

Sage’s hand came to rest on Chloe’s trembling shoulder. “The grief is a weight,” he said, his worn voice gentle. “You do not carry it alone. Your room is still yours. Your friends are here.”

Chloe’s chant died into hiccupping breaths. She leaned into Joan, who wrapped an arm around her, looking stunned. Tomas stared at the ground, his jaw clenched tight.

Arianda felt Zariel press against her side, a solid, warm pressure. She looked at her own hands again, at the new length of her fingers, at the faint scar from Leo’s lesson. They hadn’t just traveled a road. They had crossed a bridge of time, and it had burned behind them. There was no home to go back to. Not for any of them.

Yet.

Diego’s eyes met hers over Chloe’s bowed head. He gave a single, slight nod. The hard part starts now, he’d said on the hill. He hadn’t meant training. He meant this: living with the cost, and choosing to keep walking anyway.

Diego’s nod to Arianda is the last thing he gives them. He turns, his white tunic stark against the stone city. “I need to prepare the next route,” he says, his voice cutting through Chloe’s quiet hiccups. He doesn’t wait for a response, Sebastian falling into step beside him as they dissolve into the flow of the square.

Sage shifts his weight off his injured leg, a faint grimace tightening the lines around his eyes. “Rest calls,” he says, his weariness now plain. He offers a soft look to Chloe, then to the group. “The city is your home. Use it.” He moves away, leaning on his staff, Zudrok’s massive shadow detaching from a nearby arch to follow him.

The silence they leave is different. Less crowded. Swan remains, standing a few paces back, her green eyes watching. Salem presses against her ankles.

Malik clears his throat. The disciplined set of his shoulders is at odds with the confusion on his face. “You all look… different.”

“Road trip diet,” Simon says, the joke landing flat in the heavy air. He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s… it’s been a lot.”

“Tell us?” Liora asks softly, her thoughtful gaze moving from Arianda to Simon to Kira. “Please. We’ve just been here. Training. Waiting.”

Chloe lifts her head from Joan’s shoulder. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but fixed on Arianda. She doesn’t speak. She just waits.

Arianda feels Zariel’s warmth against her leg. She looks at Simon, then at Lilith, who gives a small, encouraging nod. Kira just watches, analytical, letting them take the lead.

“The first few days went very smoothly, training each morning, traveling through the day. Eh it was almost like going camping.” Simon confirms. “But we kept moving. Then, maybe a three days out from Zarinthar, the sky went wrong.”

Arianda remembers the shadow. The temperature drop. “It was a Roc,” she says, the word still heavy. “The biggest bird you can imagine. It blotted out the sun.”

Malik leans forward, his military discipline hooked by the tactics. “What did ya’ll do?”

“They didn’t panic,” Simon says, a note of real admiration breaking through. “Sherief and Serena and Balor—they just moved. Like they’d drilled it a thousand times. Sherief used air to mess with its wings, Serena hit it with lances of ice, Balor shot pillars of rock to knock it off course. It was… brutal. And beautiful. However it was ineffective. Until Sherief tried a different tactic. Once they knocked the thing out of the air, well then Balor and Christofer surrounded in with hot earth. After that Serena cooled it down quickly.”

“Arianda called for us to help,” Lilith says, looking at her friend. “We were just watching, frozen. But she shouted.”

Arianda feels her cheeks warm. “I just… they needed more force. We had it.”

Simon grins, the old mischief returning. “So then we all start throwing everything we’ve got. Fire, water, the works. It’s screeching, feathers burning, and it falls. Right at the caravans and like we said, they captured it.” He pauses for effect. “And then Diego just… walks out.”

Chloe’s breath catches. “He walked?”

“Strolled,” Simon confirms. “Like he was going to check the mail. This monster is trapped, struggling but not yet succeeding, and he plants his feet. Then it breaks free and He looks up at it.” Simon mimics the pose, squinting at the sky. “And he punches it.”

“Twice,” Kira states, his analytical mind forced to recount the impossible. “The first punch sent it rolling. The sound was like a mountain cracking. The second punch hit its head. The concussive force… it.. It just dropped, dead, twenty feet from the wagons.”

Malik, Liora, and Joan stare. Tomas has stopped looking at the ground, his practical mind wrestling with the physics.

“Two punches,” Malik repeats, disbelief warring with a childs wonder of appreciation for efficiency.

“Dude’s got no magic,” Simon says, throwing his hands up. “Just these.” He makes two fists. “I’m telling you, I’ve seen superhero movies with less believable CGI.”

A slight, almost imperceptible sound comes from Swan. A soft exhale that might be a laugh. Her green eyes are downcast, a small smile touching her lips.

The story hangs in the city air, mixing with the distant clang of the forges. For a moment, the image of Diego standing under the shadow of the Roc is more real than the stone around them.

Chloe wipes her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Leo was there for that?”

Arianda nods. “He was.” Her throat tightens, but she pushes the words out. “He fought right beside us. He was brave.”

Chloe nods slowly, absorbing this new piece of him. A hero in a story, not just a friend who was gone.

Malik looks at the group—at their longer limbs, their older faces, the quiet certainty in their eyes. “You’re not apprentices anymore,” he says, not as an accusation, but a realization.

“No,” Arianda says softly, looking at her scarred hands. “We’re not.”

Swan finally moves, stepping closer. Her voice is a gentle murmur. “Stories are a kind of healing. They place the wounds on a map. So you know where you’ve been.”

She looks at Arianda, and in her green eyes, there is no pity. Only a deep, sorrowful understanding. The map she speaks of is one she has been reading for a very, very long time.

Simon bumps his shoulder against Arianda’s. “So,” he says, his tone deliberately light, “anybody else starving? I’d kill for a meal that isn’t travel rations.”

The spell breaks. The ordinary world of hunger and fatigue rushes back in. But the air between them is clearer now. The bridge behind them is still ash, but the road ahead is momentarily lit by the shared, unbelievable truth of what they have already survived.

Sage’s quarters were, lit by a single, ever-burning brazier. He lowered himself into a worn wooden chair with a soft groan, the sound lost in the vast, quiet space. Zudrok lay coiled nearby, his massive red scales drinking the firelight, each scar a valley of shadow.

“I am getting old, my friend,” Sage said, his voice a dry leaf rustle. “Perhaps it is time I retire. Become a hermit in the northern mountains. Tend a garden of frost-peppers.”

A low hum vibrated through the stone floor. Zudrok’s laugh was the sound of continents shifting. “It was only a century ago we were still fit as a fiddle. Has Sherief’s constant gathering of knowledge really pushed you so far? Or are you and our scar-torn bodies just reaching the end?”

Sage shook his head, his nearly bald pate gleaming. “In the entire history of this world, only nine have reached the pinnacle where I stand. Most do not get to age this far. We die to wildlife, or battle. Old age…” He rubbed his knee absently. “That’s still unheard of. Before I go, I want to know the Quieting. I want its cause.”

He looked toward the chamber’s entrance, as if he could see through stone to the city square below. “I just hope Diego can make his move before it is too late. So we are free to focus our efforts on that.”

Zudrok shifted, a cascade of metallic clicks. “You hope for much from a man who carries his own mountain.”

“He carries a vengeful spirit now. That weight may be his downfall.” Sage leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The silver dragon, Zudrok. It must mean something. Why would it appear now? Would it have anything to do with the disappearances of companions? Or why humans appear soulless if the companions die first?”

“Questions upon questions,” the dragon rumbled. “You have always collected them like stones.”

“We have done this for far too long,” Sage murmured, more to himself. “Maybe it is time we step down as teachers. Simply fly the skies to our hearts’ content.”

Zudrok chuckled again, a warm, grounding sound. “I doubt you could ever truly lay the sword down, my dear friend. It is not in our nature to cease protecting those we care for. And obviously, that silver whelp and the little hazel-eyed specialist have earned a place in your heart.”

Sage did not deny it. He sat in the silence, listening to the distant, eternal clang of the forges—the heartbeat of Zarinthar. A city he had helped build. A people he had sworn to protect. The weight was not a burden he could simply set aside. It was woven into his bones.

Below, in the courtyard, the group finally moved. Simon’s declaration of hunger had broken the memorial stillness, pulling them toward the communal kitchens. The ordinary need of the body was a relief.

Arianda walked beside Lilith, their shoulders brushing. “The food here is better than travel rations,” Lilith offered, her voice soft. “There’s a stew. With roots that taste like… I don’t know. Like home, but different.”

“Sounds good,” Arianda said. Her stomach agreed with a hollow pang she hadn’t noticed until now.

Behind them, Kira fell into step with Simon. “Two punches,” Kira stated, his analytical mind still circling the story. “The physics are… improbable.”

“Tell me about it,” Simon said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I was there too and I still don’t believe it.”

Malik and Liora followed, shepherding Chloe and Joan. Chloe was quiet, but she walked under her own power, no longer leaning. The story had given her a place to put the grief—a heroic landscape where Leo existed, brave and fighting.

Swan and Salem lingered at the edge of the square, watching them go. Her green eyes held a complex sorrow. She had given them a story for healing, but the map she carried was written in losses they could not yet imagine.

The corridor to the kitchens was warm, smelling of yeast and hearth-smoke. The familiar chaos of mealtime in Zarinthar was a blanket of noise—clattering bowls, shouted orders, the easy laughter of those who hadn’t left the city’s walls. For a moment, standing in the doorway, Arianda felt like a ghost looking in on a life she’d outgrown.

Then Simon nudged her. “C’mon. I call dibs on whatever has the most meat.”

As they stepped near the entrance, the Familiar man in white appears around a corner stepping into view. They all stop looking at Diego.

Diego’s silver eyes found Swan first, over the heads of the apprentices. “We leave at first light,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the corridor’s din. “The caravan is provisioned.”

Swan’s gaze flicked to Arianda, then back to Diego. She gave a single, slight shake of her head, her silver curls catching the firelight. A hesitation.

Diego didn’t speak. He just held her look, his expression unreadable. “We can go after breakfast,” he continued, as if she hadn’t disagreed. “We’ll say our goodbyes to them beforehand.”

Arianda stepped forward, her shoulder leaving Lilith’s. “Goodbyes? What do you mean? I’m coming with you.”

Diego looks from Swan to Arianda. A confident intake of breath.

“No,” Diego said, the word flat and final. “You’re staying here. You’ll resume training with the wardens.”

“I’m not hiding anymore,” Arianda said, her voice low but clear. Her hands curled at her sides, the scars on her knuckles pale. “You gave me the choice. To hide, or to be something more. We choose to go.”

Zariel moved then. He padded forward, his form no longer clad in the red-scaled disguise he’d held since leaving the Zarinthar Gate. Revealing the full, sleek silver of his true body. He was larger now, after the journey, his front shoulders nearly level with Arianda’s Shoulder. He pressed his warm shoulder firmly against her shoulder, a solid, unmissable line of support. His golden eyes were fixed on Diego.

Simon stepped up beside Arianda, hands out of his pockets. “You can’t hog all the action, man. I’m coming too.”

Lilith moved silently to Arianda’s other side. Kira completed the line, his arms crossed, his analytical gaze assessing Diego’s reaction. No one else from the kitchen courtyard moved; they were a separate unit, standing together in the warm, smoky hall.

“Absolutely not,” Diego repeated, but a muscle jumped in his jaw. “This isn’t a training exercise. The Brood is hunting for *him*. Not to mention the whole counterfeit currency problem.” He jerked his chin toward Zariel. “Where we’re going, the danger won’t come with warning. I can’t be everywhere at once.”

Swan moved then, gliding forward to stand at Diego’s elbow. Her voice was gentle, but it cut through. “Who would you trust more to defend him than those who already have? Who fought for him at Fallow’s Gate? Sage is… injured, after his wounds.”

Diego’s eyes narrowed. “They’re children, Swan.”

“Are they?” she asked, her green eyes sweeping over them. “Look at them, Diego. Really look.”

He did. His gaze traveled over Arianda’s older face, the new steadiness in her stance. Over Simon’s defiant tilt of his chin, Lilith’s quiet resolve, Kira’s watchful readiness. He saw what Malik had seen: they were not apprentices anymore.

“I can’t protect all of you and focus on the trail,” he said, the frustration raw in his voice. It was an admission of limitation, rare from him.

“Then we protect each other,” Arianda said. “Like we have been.”

Swan touched Diego’s arm, a light brush of her fingers. “Bring Sherief.”

Diego went still. He looked down at her hand, then back at her face.

“Sherief and I together,” Swan pressed softly. “With you. A full caravan, with two wardens of our caliber and you? There is little in the wilds that could stop that. And the children are not helpless. They have elemental training. They have their companions.”

A long silence stretched, filled only by the distant clatter of pots from the kitchen. Diego’s internal debate was a tangible thing in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his eyes closed for a brief second. He was weighing the mission against their safety, the need for secrecy against the sheer, daunting strength of a group that included Sherief Holt.

Finally, he let out a slow breath. His eyes opened, finding Arianda. “You understand? If you come, you follow my lead. No arguments. No heroics. The moment I say run, you run. The moment I say hide, you vanish. You will not question any actions I take, a moments hesitation could cost you more than you can give.”

Arianda held his gaze. “I understand.”

Diego looked at each of them in turn—Simon, Lilith, Kira. His gaze lingered last on Zariel, the silver dragon who stood like a sentinel. “Fine,” he said, the word gritted out like a stone. “We leave after breakfast. Find Sherief. Tell him it’s a hunting trip. He’ll know what to bring.”

He turned, his white coat flaring, and disappeared back down the corridor the way he’d come, the decision made, the burden shouldered.

Arianda Stood there, a long moment, her body leaned against Zariel a sudden pressure slowly lifting off her shoulders. She’d won hadn’t she? This is what she wanted, but would this doom her and her friends, or will this elevate them. A lump rises to her throat, uncertainty flowing back in.

Swan’s hand touches Arianda’s shoulder lightly. “You have made a decision, and now we will move forward together. Be aware, what lies ahead will not be pretty. Steel your stomach and resolve. We are in for a very long journey.”

Arianda swallowed, the weight of it settling deep.

Fear was still there.

So was doubt.

But neither of them was stronger than the choice she had made.

This path wasn’t safe.

It wasn’t certain.

But it was hers.