Now I wasn’t just expected to survive Dragontail training. I was expected to excel and then do the same in Emberkeep. The pressure mounted inside me. Two battalions. Two futures. Two sets of expectations I never asked for. No one in history had ever been forced to walk both paths. Somehow, my mother had already decided I would be the first. Failure was not part of her vocabulary.
I wanted freedom. Instead, I crafted a higher cage for myself.
"I can’t rule. We kill families. We’re ruthless. We impose disciplines on commoners that I cannot uphold like Lorik Draventh. He hates us because we killed his mother and sister and left him in foster care."
Her voice dropped, quiet with an edge of grief in disguise: "We killed Draventh's child because she used the unspoken magic. You know what that means.”
I swallowed hard.
"She was seen manipulating a serpent in the middle of Silver City," she continued. "We can’t allow Sunhearts or Moonveils around with the power to command beasts. Not with wildweavers in the Wastelands already binding with dragons and trying to invade our island. Her mother tried to protect her and resisted law enforcement. General Barret, well, assistant general at the time, was forced to end both of their lives."
My breath caught. My throat tightened until I could barely breathe.
“But we don’t know if that magical trace is linked to the dragons or wildweavers,” I said softly. “Perhaps you are right, but it is one theory of how and why this all started. Since the first attack happened over three hundred years ago. We kill any Moonveil or Sunheart with a magical trace that can command animals.”
Words stuck in my throat. Silence tasted bitter, resentment curling tight in my chest.
“If it makes you feel better, it’s a rare, magical trace. The Draventh girl has been the only one during my reign,” she added with an edge of sadness.
But it didn’t make me feel any better. I knew this had hurt her, too. I could see it in her eyes and in her trembling voice. For a heartbeat, my anger wavered part of me understanding her strength and the cost she bore. But she was strong in spirit and always knew what had to be done without hesitation.
"See why I cannot lead?" I said softly. "I can’t make those decisions."
She looked at me for a long moment. "Because you don’t want this, it makes you best for the job. Ruling is never easy, but your heart is pure. Compassion, empathy which are rare qualities in Solenharts. That’s why you’ll bring light to this island."
The words hit something buried inside me. Guilt. Fear. And something quieter. A flicker I never dared to name. Not destiny. Not purpose. Just the haunting question: what if I wasn’t running from something at all, but toward it?
She stepped towards me.
A tear traced down my cheek, hot and sharp. I let it fall, unashamed and raw. She saw it. She always did.
Without a word, she hugged me—steady, warm, and solid, like when I was small, and the world was simpler. I froze for a moment. Then I let go of weight, fear, and fight.
I hugged her back. Fiercely.
And for just a second, it didn’t matter what legion I’d been placed in or how angry the Queen was.
For just a second, I wasn’t a princess.
I was just Thea. And she was just my mother.
Chapter 7: History Class
“First-years, why are we fighting dragons?” Professor Vao asked, his voice cutting sharply through the room, as precise as a blade drawn quickly later that afternoon.
The question wasn’t meant to be answered. Not aloud.
We sat in tiered rows of the history lecture hall, flooded by first-year students of all legions displaying. Shafts of light streamed through the arched, crystal-cut windows, casting fractured rainbows over our desks and robes. The light didn’t warm the room, but it dazzled nonetheless, as if trying to distract us from the weight of the question.
I was between the twins, Tran and Rowan, with their wild red hair and matching smirks, always hinting at mischief. Their eyes were sharp. Though they slouched, as if bored, I knew they listened to every word. Shakari sat beside Rowan; arms crossed and jaw tight, clearly unimpressed. On my other side, Soehl had already started taking notes in her impeccable script, even though we’d barely heard six words.
No one raised a hand to answer Professor Vao.
No one needed to.
Everyone at Elarion knew the answer. We'd been told about it a hundred times. A thousand. It was in the songs sung at ceremonies, the tapestries that lined the halls, and the stories told to children before bed.
“Because of those who corrupted their souls by binding themselves with ancient dragons. The wildweavers,” Soehl said quietly, almost to herself.