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Dawlya’s Dragon 89
89 Sleep did not come gently. Avi drifted off in Cain’s arms, exhaustion pulling her under despite the tension still coiled through her body like a second spine. She felt safe physically but her magic was far from quiet. The Circle had been restless ever since the emissary bowed and left the throne room. Even Cain’s scent, grounding as it was, only muted it… not silenced it. Sometime after midnight, the whispering began. Not words. Not truly voices. Echoes. Footsteps on stone corridors she had never walked. Breath against her ear that did not belong to Cain. Avi jerked in her sleep, a soft gasp breaking from her throat. Cain startled awake, immediately on alert. “Avi?” he whispered, brushing hair from her face. She didn’t respond; she was trapped somewhere between dream and magic. She stood in the heart of a massive, ancient chamber—circular, carved into black stone. Candles burned in spirals around her feet, dripping wax that fell upward instead of down. The Circle Keeper st
Dawlya’s Dragon 88
88 The emissary bowed before the throne, her dark Dawlya robes folding like a living shadow around her feet. The air in the throne room felt taut, charged as if the very stone beneath them waited to hear her words. Brie sat straight-backed, regal. Trace’s hands were folded, but Cain stood just behind Avi, ready to move at the slightest threat. Mikan’s gaze was cold steel. The emissary lifted her chin, meeting Avi’s eyes. “Circle Keeper Avin,” she said, voice soft but carrying. “The Dawlya Council has learned of your… awakening. They request no, they insist that you come to us. The Circle must be housed among its own. And…” She hesitated. “…there is a faction forming. Many believe you may be the rightful heir to Seppa’s legacy. Some whisper "you are more.” Avi’s heart lurched. Her dragon stirred uneasily beneath her skin. The Circle that newly awakened presence pulsed like a heartbeat behind her eyes. Cain’s hand hovered near her back, ready, protective. “She’s not going anywhere,
Dawlya’s Dragon 87
87 The skies over the Draynor capital were unusually still that morning, no patrol wings cutting across the clouds, no messenger flights streaming toward the palace. Every sentinel had been pulled closer to the heart of the city, and even the civilians sensed something was coming. A quiet tension hummed through the stone streets like the pressure before a storm. At the palace gates, Commander Thomas stood flanked by two elite guards, expressions carved from granite. Behind him, members of the royal escort waited in perfect formation. None of them spoke. The entire courtyard felt as though it were holding its breath. A soft ripple of foreign magic brushed against the edges of the dome thin, sharp, precise. “They’re here,” Thomas murmured. A moment later, the air warped. A tear in the space between realms unfurled like a blinking eye, and a figure stepped through. The Dawlya emissary. She was tall, cloaked in desert-gray, her face half-veiled in the traditional silk of Seppa’s old
Dawlya’s Dragon 86
86 The royal communication room had been cleared, its crystalline walls dimmed for privacy. Only three people remained inside: Brie, Trace, and Morgan, who stood off to the side with his arms folded, silently absorbing every detail. Brie exhaled slowly, fingers drumming a deliberate rhythm on the holo-table. “So the Dawlya have sent an emissary,” she said at last. “And a splinter faction of their own people wants to follow Avin.” Trace nodded, jaw clenched. “Their council must be desperate. If they could have taken the Circle, they would have. The fact they failed and the Circle chose her changes the entire balance of power.” Brie’s eyes narrowed in thought. “They aren’t coming here out of courtesy. They’re coming because they need something. Answers. Leverage. Maybe even permission.” “Or to kill her,” Trace said bluntly. Morgan cleared his throat. “Unlikely, Sire. If they wished to strike, they would have done it when she was still untrained, before the Circle fully merged. Sen
Dawlya’s Dragon 85
85 The sky above Ashbarrie darkened not with clouds, but with pressure. Avi felt it before anyone else did. A thin pulse, like a cold fingertip brushing the base of her spine. Then a second, deeper pull the Circle responding instinctively, bristling beneath her skin. She stopped mid-stride in the training courtyard, hand curling around her ribs as if something inside her were trying to turn toward the north. Chance’s head snapped up instantly. “You feel that?” Avi nodded, swallowing hard. “They’re close… watching.” Moments later the air shimmered at the warded perimeter, and the royal guards tensed as a hooded figure stepped through the barrier without setting off a single alarm. That alone told Mikan everything he needed. He materialized beside Avi with a crack of displaced air, Cain appearing a half-breath later, eyes already burning orange, body coiled to strike. The emissary bowed low, respectful, but unshaken. “Keeper Avin,” the woman said, her voice layered with ma
Dawlya’s Dragon 84
84 Far beyond Draynor space past starless reaches and broken asteroids the Sanctuary of Dawlya lay veiled in an eternal dusk. The great stone rings hummed softly, their ancient runes half-asleep, their wards undisturbed for centuries. Until now. The ground shuddered. Every lantern in the hall of circles flared upward at once, gold fire twisting into spirals. The elders froze. No meeting had been called, no invocation spoken. Yet the room pulsed—alive, waking as if something pressed against reality from the outside. High Mother Zairesh rose slowly from her throne, her breath uneven. “Who has touched the Circle?” she demanded. But none answered. Because every Daughter initiates, acolytes, full sorceresses had dropped to their knees, hands pressed against their chests, eyes wide in fear. A surge ripped through them, raw and ancient, older than their order, older than Seppa’s line. It was not Seppa herself. It was her Circle. Claimed. Awakened. Merged with something it had never to
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