Two days later, I am still in the house.

  Still where I was left, not as a guest and not entirely as a prisoner either, but something suspended in between. I am waiting for the man they call a captain to return and decide what becomes of me next. Gods know where he intends to take me. Gods know why I am still here.

  I am still learning how to exist beneath the sun.

  I spend as much time outside as I can, as if my body fears the light will be taken away again without warning. Every morning I step onto the narrow balcony and breathe deeply, greedily, filling my lungs with air that feels too clean, too sharp, too alive. I breathe as if I might never be allowed to do it again.

  On my second morning here, I truly believe I am dreaming. I half expect to hear Sister Tamara’s bell echo through the halls, calling us to prayer, calling us back into order and stone and routine. My body wakes before my mind, tense and ready, waiting for a life that no longer exists.

  The house is vast and astonishingly beautiful, built with care and intention, but most of its doors remain firmly shut. It is not a place meant to be explored freely. There are boundaries everywhere, some obvious, others invisible.

  So I remain in the garden.

  Stone paths warmed by the sun. Walls woven with wards I cannot cross. Grass so green it almost hurts to look at. “The Garden of Sun and Stone”, they call it. A place that feels both generous and cruel at the same time.

  I lie on my back in the grass when Enna approaches, her steps light, her expression gentle. She kneels beside me and offers a small jar.

  “For your skin,” she says softly. “It will help with the burns.”

  Only then do I truly notice how badly my body aches. My skin is soft to the touch but burns fiercely beneath it, especially along my nose and cheeks. Even smiling feels like a strain, as if my face might split under the effort. I accept the ointment with a quiet thank you and begin to apply it. It stings at first, sharp and uncomfortable, but quickly cools, soothing in a way I did not expect.

  Kerrin joins us shortly after, dropping down beside me and staring up at the sky as if it belongs to her. We watch the clouds drift lazily overhead.

  “You really got fascinated by those,” she says, her tone curious rather than mocking. “Didn’t you have books about the outside?”

  “Some,” I answer. “Sketches and stories. Not many details.” I pause, the thought sour in my mouth. “We weren’t taught many good things about life above ground. I think that was intentional. Easier to keep people below if the surface feels dangerous.”

  Kerrin chuckles quietly. “That explains a lot. I was wondering why so many ground-ghosts choose to stay buried, clinging to old colonies and churches instead of stepping into the world again.”

  I turn my head toward her. “Why do you call us that?”

  She blinks. “Ground-ghosts?”

  I nod.

  “Because you were a legend,” she explains. “People who stayed underground after the Long Night ended. Entire cities sealed beneath the earth more than seven hundred years ago. You never came back up. After a while, we thought you were a myth.”

  She props herself up on her elbows and studies me for a moment before laughing. “Gods, the sun really did a number on your face.”

  I groan and cover my eyes. I don’t need reminding. Ever since I discovered the mirror in my room, I’ve been staring at my reflection morning and night — the red skin, the tenderness, the way my body looks so fragile beneath the light.

  I push myself into a sitting position. “When is Valorn coming back?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain casual. “Aren’t we supposed to leave?”

  “Try all you want,” Kerrin says. “I have no idea what he plans to do with you.”

  The way she says it — do with you — makes something cold settle in my stomach.

  “So what does he mean when he says he will come back ‘shortly’?” I press.

  She grins. “Why? Missing him already?”

  “I don’t miss him,” I say quickly, crossing my arms. “Missing someone would require caring.”

  “And you don’t?” The voice comes from behind us.

  We both turn.

  Valorn stands at the edge of the garden, hands in his pockets, dressed entirely in black. Heavy boots, reinforced trousers, a thick leather jacket despite the warmth. His gaze moves over me slowly, assessing.

  “I thought saving your life might earn me some credit,” he says.

  “Who in their right mind would care about their captor?” I reply, turning away from him.

  He exhales sharply. “Then learn this: you’ll never escape if you don’t pay attention to the one keeping you locked.”

  Something heavy drops beside me. A bag.

  “I brought you something,” he says. “Try it on. Enna can adjust it if needed.”

  Inside the bag are clothes unlike anything I’ve worn before — fitted trousers made of a flexible, unfamiliar material, reinforced along the sides with thick, scale-like plating; a simple tunic folded neatly beneath them; a heavy leather jacket; and a strange casket fitted with small glass lenses where the eyes should be.

  I hesitate only briefly before taking the bag back to my room to change.

  The clothes fit perfectly. Too perfectly. The trousers move with me as if they were made for my body, the scaled reinforcements running from my waist to my ankles. The tunic covers me securely but leaves nothing hidden. I feel exposed, unfamiliar, painfully aware of myself.

  I stand before the mirror. Braided hair pinned into a bun by Enna that morning. Skin still flushed from the sun. A body shaped by years underground, now dressed for something else entirely.

  I miss my old robes. Their weight. Their concealment.

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  The hooded scarf catches my attention next — loose, adaptable, able to cover my eyes easily. I didn’t tell him how important that was. The realization unsettles me more than it should.

  The jacket is warm inside, lined with soft fur. Above my left breast, stitched in white thread, is my full name.

  Vayra Solareth.

  Something tightens in my chest. This is mine. And I don’t know how I feel about that.

  The last thing in the bag is a small silver figurine. A dragon just like the one I have seen on the hills. Wings folded neatly, eyes mismatched in color mirroring mine. Mocking. Familiar.

  I pocket it and leave.

  Valorn looks up from his tea when I return to the garden.

  “It suits you,” he says.

  Heat rushes to my already tender face, and I hate myself for reacting.

  Then the pain hits — sharp and sudden behind my eyes, as if something invisible presses inward, twisting my skull just enough to steal my breath. The garden seems to tilt, not because I’m unsteady, but because something in the air has shifted around us.

  “Are you alright?” Valorn asks, watching me too closely.

  “Yes,” I lie.

  Beyond the wards, something moves.

  “It’s a Giant Hammertail,” Kerrin says behind me.

  The creature turns toward us, and the first thing that becomes clear is its scale. It is built for endurance, not speed — massive, deliberate, every movement heavy with purpose. Its head dominates its body, broad and flattened into a hammer-like shape that extends far beyond the skull, the surface ridged and studded with dense nodules that catch the light as it shifts.

  Its hide looks less like skin and more like armor: thick, interlocking plates layered over dense muscle, scarred and weathered as if shaped by centuries rather than years. The color is a dull, earthen gray, the kind that blends too easily with stone. When it breathes, the ground beneath it seems to answer, a low vibration that travels through the garden and into my bones.

  It stands taller than the stone pillars lining the garden walls. It does not rush. It watches us the way we watch it.

  Then it charges.

  The wards tremble under the impact.

  Valorn’s hand clamps around my arm, iron-cold and unyielding.

  “We’re leaving,” he says, his voice calm in a way that makes my stomach flip.

  Before I can protest, he hauls me up. My feet scrape the grass, then the stone, and I barely register the burn in my sun-scorched skin. The garden blurs around us as we sprint, my pulse hammering like a drum in my ears.

  Behind us, the creature charges, shaking the ground, its hammer-shaped head aimed straight at the house. I stumble, nearly catching on the edge of a pillar, but Valorn doesn’t let go. His grip is iron, his stride unstoppable.

  We crash through the wards at the far side of the house — a sizzling, buzzing resistance that makes me yelp — and suddenly we’re free, running into the wild tangle of the forest, leaves scratching my arms, the scent of pine stinging my nose. My lungs burn, my legs scream, but I can’t stop.

  “What was that?” I gasp.

  “A Hammertail. Usually peaceful.” He keeps moving. “Something made it angry.”

  We break into the clearing, and the world stops.

  There it is.

  A dragon.

  Not the sketches in books — something alive, impossibly large, impossibly real. Its scales shimmer like molten sapphire in sunlight, dark royal blue fading to near-black along the ridges. The wings are folded, but even so they stretch wider than any tree in the clearing, the membranes veined and taut, humming with latent power. Its head lifts, sharp and proud, eyes glittering with intelligence that makes my chest tighten. Every movement is measured, deliberate, as if the dragon has weighed our worth before we even stepped into the clearing.

  I can feel its presence, not just see it. The air vibrates subtly around it, a pressure that sets my teeth on edge and makes my lungs feel too small. Its claws dig into the earth, leaving grooves deep enough to carve monuments from, and when it shifts its tail, the motion feels like a wave passing through the soil.

  I have never imagined anything this vast, this commanding. Even the stories, thousands of them, never prepared me for the way it feels to look at a creature like this and know you are nothing beside it.

  After a few more minutes, Valorn turns around to me and casually says, “This is Tirath, my bonded dragon.” He glances down at me once, then adds with his usual deadpan tone, “Now you should be happy you changed out of your dress. The flight will not be very pleasant for you.”

  I blink, startled. Did he just try to make a joke? Is he for real?

  Before I can even protest, he grabs me by the middle and throws me across his shoulder. I struggle, trying to wriggle free, but his hold is iron, unyielding, and I realize quickly that this is not optional.

  Three long strides, and he jumps. The ground drops away, and for a moment all I can feel is movement — the shift of muscles beneath me, the wind tearing at my face, my arms clinging to him as tightly as I can manage.

  Valorn slides me carefully down onto the small leather saddle fixed to the dragon’s scales. My arms wrapped around him, legs cling to his sides, and I am pressed into his warmth — completely enveloped, glued to him in a way that makes my heartbeat spike and my body tense with an odd mixture of panic and comfort. He adjusts my hold, nudging me closer, and for a moment I want to push away, but his grip is steady and firm, refusing to let me go.

  A wave of heat washes over me, frustrating and overwhelming, as if the warmth of his body and the dragon’s presence have collided. I try to breathe, to gather my thoughts, but the world tilts the instant Tirath stretches his wings.

  “Hold fast,” Valorn says calmly, and I swear to Vorrin that the dragon nods as if it understands. Two powerful steps, and then the air lifts us. The wind slices at me, a blade across my cheeks, snapping my hair back, tugging at my jacket, threatening to throw me loose, and I cling as if my fingers could fuse with his jacket.

  His voice cuts through the roar of the wind. “Open your eyes.”

  I do, and the view steals my breath. Forests stretch endlessly below, mountains rise in jagged blue ridges, hills roll like waves. The clouds are close enough I feel I could reach for them, and suddenly every fear, every anguish from the underground, every confinement I endured feels impossibly small beneath the vast sky.

  We rise higher, passing through a bundle of clouds. My face is wet, cold, wind battering my cheeks, but it is exquisite. I reach out, hand stretching toward the next cluster of clouds, craving the touch of the unknown.

  Bad decision. My grip slips. I am hurled backward, colliding with the scaled spine of the dragon. For a terrifying heartbeat I float in the air, weightless, the dragon’s massive body passing beneath me. Then a strong arm catches me, lifting me safely, stilling the sensation of freefall.

  I look up into Valorn’s frustrated face, one arm hooked around the dragon’s tail, the other still wrapped around me. The creature’s enormity is terrifying, but I can’t focus on that; all I feel is liberation.

  And then something bursts inside me. Laughter, raw and unrestrained, escapes me. Valorn stares like I’ve grown a second head, but I can’t stop. I laugh again, feeling alive in a way I never have. I tighten my arms around his neck, legs around his waist, pressing into him.

  “I promise this time I will hold fast,” I manage to shout over the wind, still laughing. His expression softens briefly, almost a smile, before he releases my waist to adjust his hold on the tail, climbing us back into a steady rhythm on Tirath’s back. I am fully attached to him, fully secure, yet still pressed close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath my head.

  But this time, when he settles into the leather seat, he pulls me forward instead of keeping me behind him.

  His hands close around the handles on either side of the saddle, and suddenly I am enclosed — his arms braced on both sides of me, his chest a solid wall at my back, his body surrounding mine so completely it feels less like protection and more like a cage.

  I can’t move without touching him.

  I can’t breathe without feeling the rise of his chest.

  For one sharp moment, panic sparks again. Trapped. Held. Unable to escape.

  And yet…

  Ahead of us, Tirath’s vast head cuts through the sky, dark royal blue scales burning where the sun strikes them. The wind crashes into my face, cold against my sunburned skin, fierce and alive, nothing like the still, stale air of the underground.

  I throw my arms wide, mirroring the dragon’s wings, and scream, letting every bit of fear, frustration, and boredom I carried from the underground pour into the air. My scream turns into laughter, and for the first time in my life, I feel entirely free.

  I let my head fall back against him. Valorn’s chest supports it, but I don’t care. I simply live in the moment.

  And for a single heartbeat, I think I see a smile spread across his face.

  Beauty, however, is rarely harmless.