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2025-12-27 10:08:02
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Dawlya’s Dragon 119
119 The Circle Hall of Kethra deep beneath the obsidian cliffs of Vayreth’s sister moon was quiet. Twelve Dawlya Elders sat in crescent formation, their faces lit only by the cold shimmer of spellflames hovering above the stone table. Their eyes were focused inward, breathing synchronized as they cast the daily scrying web to monitor the cosmos for ripples of forbidden magic. For days, they had sensed nothing. No mutinous daughters. No illicit circles. No further splinter migrations toward the dragon territories. No sign of Avi Sunner’s newly merged Circle. Silence was good. Silence meant control. Silence meant they still held dominion. Then the ground shivered. A vibration unlike any they had felt in centuries rolled through the cavern subtle at first, like a shift in the planet’s crust. But the magic woven into the stone reacted violently. Sigils flared. Spellflames elongated, rattling in the air. One by one, the Elders opened their eyes. “What was that?” Elder Morath hissed.
Dawlya’s Dragon 118
118 The first sensation Sereth felt was heat. Not warmth. Not fire. Creation heat. The kind that came before galaxies, before stars, before the first breath of any world. It pulsed through the obsidian cavern where he had slept if sleep was even the right word for the ritual-stasis of his kind. His eyes did not open at first. They ignited. Twin embers of violet-gold light burned beneath heavy lids, pushing against centuries of stillness. For a long moment, he simply existed in the space between memory and waking, the empty void of being neither alive nor dead nor anything mortal tongues had words for. Then he heard it again. Her voice. No… not hers. The Circle's. “Sereth.” A whisper carried across realities. A summons. A claim. His throat, dormant for ages, vibrated with a low, monstrous sound part laugh, part growl, part unfurling power. Cracks splintered through the crystalline shell encasing his body, shards floating upward like weightless glass. “She lives,” Sereth murmured,
Dawlya’s Dragon 117
117 Cain teleported straight into the training wing, already calling for Avi before the light faded. He expected her to be sitting with Verek or Chance. Maybe resting. Maybe annoyed he’d left. He did not expect what he walked into. The door to the practice room was half open. A low hum like the vibration of too many whispered voices speaking at once rolled through the corridor. The air felt thick, charged, twisting around his nerves. Cain froze. No. Not again. He pushed the door open. Avi stood in the middle of the room, her back to him, hair lifting as if caught in an unseen wind. The Circle tattoo on her neck and cheek glowed brightly, painfully bright and the pattern pulsed like a second heartbeat. Her hands trembled at her sides. Chance was there, watching her carefully, his posture steady but his jaw tight. Verek stood near the wall, tense, ready for anything. A thin swirl of violet-gold magic wound around Avi’s ankles like vines made of smoke. Cain’s heart dropped. “Avi?”
Dawlya’s Dragon 116
116 Cain barely had time to breathe after Avi’s exhausting session with the Circle when the commlink at his wrist flickered. Mikan: Logan, I need you. Immediately. Cain stiffened. That was not the tone Mikan used unless something was urgent or catastrophically stupid. Avi, sitting on the training bench with a towel around her shoulders, looked up. “Everything okay?” Cain wasn’t sure. “Mikan needs something.” He hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you alone.” Avi reached for his hand, her palm warm despite her exhaustion. “I’ll be with Commander Verek and Chance. And the Veilkeepers are two rooms away.” Her smile softened. “I’m not made of glass.” Cain kissed her forehead. “You’re everything but that.” The commlink buzzed again, more insistently this time. Mikan: Cain. Now. Cain groaned. “He’s impatient.” “When is he not?” Avi teased. He didn’t want to let go of her hand, but he finally forced himself to step back. “I’ll be fast.” “Be safe,” she murmured. He vanished in a fla
Dawlya’s Dragon 115
115 Dawn painted Ashbarrie in muted gold, but the training courtyard felt cold. Avi pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as Chance paced the stone floor barefoot, his steps deliberate, his expression unreadable. Cain stood like a statue beside her, arms crossed, coiled and ready to fight anything including, possibly, Chance. Chance shot him another irritated look. “I said alone.” Cain didn’t even blink. “Not happening.” “You’re in the way.” Cain’s voice lowered to a dangerous calm. “Then move the training somewhere else.” Chance growled under his breath and turned away before Avi had to separate the two for the third time since sunrise. Her tattoo felt warm too warm like the Circle was already awake and listening. “Let’s begin,” Chance said, stopping in the courtyard’s center. His tone softened only when he addressed her. “Avi, today is not about power. It’s about control. You are the Keeper. Not a vessel. Not a conduit. The Circle bends to you.” Avi drew in a breat
Dawlya’s Dragon 114
114 The war room in Ashbarrie was rarely quiet. Tonight, it felt like a tomb. Brie and Trace stood at the far end of the long obsidian table, half dressed in their nightclothes, half armored in authority, both looking like they had been yanked from sleep into crisis without transition. Morgan paced. Chance watched the windows. Cain kept a hand at Avi’s back as if she might collapse or be pulled away by invisible force. Avi didn’t speak. She didn’t trust her voice not to tremble. Her tattoo still throbbed with warm pulses she couldn’t command. It felt like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers. Morgan finally stopped pacing, his expression somewhere between awe and dread. “All right,” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s break this down before someone panics.” Brie raised a brow. “Morgan. We’re already panicking.” He ignored that. He pointed at Avi. “The Circle acted through you while you were asleep. That… normally shouldn’t be possible.” Avi’s stomach twisted. “It felt l
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