The kingdom loved Cassian Arden the way frightened people loved saints.

With reverence.

With desperation.

With the quiet, dangerous hope that someone stronger might stand between them and the things hiding beyond the mountain skies.

Lyra realized this the morning the Citadel bells rang for him.

Not warning bells.

Celebration bells.

Their sound rolled across Dragon Rite Citadel beneath clear winter skies while banners bearing the Rider Order crest unfurled from the upper towers. Initiates crowded the outer bridges overlooking the Burning Yard where servants hurried to prepare ceremonial braziers beneath the cold wind.

Everyone already knew the story.

A dragonfire accident during dawn formation training.

Three initiates trapped beneath collapsing fire barriers.

Cassian descended through active dragonfire to pull them free himself.

Silvermoon had nearly burned his own wings doing it.

Now the Citadel intended to honor him publicly.

Again.

Lyra stood near the rear terraces while students gathered along the overlooking balconies dressed in ceremonial black and silver cloaks. Far below, the Burning Yard had transformed overnight into something resembling a holy procession ground.

Dragonbone standards lined the arena walls.

Incense drifted through the air.

High-ranking riders stood beside priests beneath raised stone platforms while attendants lit enormous braziers carved into the shapes of dragon jaws.

Everything about the ceremony felt older than the kingdom itself.

Not military.

Religious.

That was the part outsiders never understood about Dragon Rite Citadel.

The Rider Order was not simply feared.

It was worshipped.

Children across the kingdom grew up learning the names of legendary riders before they learned those of kings. Dragon riders ended wars. Dragon riders protected trade routes, mountain borders, entire cities.

And when dragons descended from storm clouds above human settlements, people knelt.

Not to the beasts.

To the riders controlling them.

The entire kingdom survived because dragons allowed it to survive.

And because riders stood between mankind and dragonfire.

Lyra watched the ceremony begin beneath the pale morning light while unease settled heavily in her chest.

The initiates around her whispered Cassian’s name with open admiration.

“The Saint of Riders.”

“He saved them before the fire reached the lower ring.”

“They say Silvermoon flew through burning debris.”

“No one else could’ve controlled a dragon in that chaos.”

Cassian entered the arena shortly afterward.

The crowd quieted immediately.

He wore formal rider armor today—silver-plated steel etched with ancient covenant markings that caught pale winter light beneath drifting smoke. His white ceremonial cloak moved sharply in the mountain wind while Silvermoon descended overhead through the clouds in a sweep of silver wings.

The dragon landed behind him with terrifying grace.

Even from this distance, Silvermoon looked enormous.

Beautiful.

Deadly.

The silver dragon lowered his massive head as Cassian crossed the arena floor toward the ceremonial platform.

The gesture carried ritual meaning.

Respect between rider and dragon.

The students around Lyra watched with near-religious awe.

And for the first time since arriving at Dragon Rite Citadel, Lyra understood something clearly.

This was what everyone here truly wanted.

Not glory.

Not power.

Belonging.

To be chosen by dragons meant becoming something sacred in the eyes of mankind.

To be rejected by them—

meant becoming less than human.

The realization hurt more than she expected.

Because no matter what happened now, the Citadel would never look at her the way it looked at Cassian Arden.

Never with pride.

Never with reverence.

Only fear.

High Priest Malachar stepped onto the central platform beside Cassian while priests lit the ceremonial fires surrounding the arena. Smoke curled upward beneath the winter sky.

“Today,” Malachar announced, his voice echoing across the stone terraces, “we honor devotion to the Covenant.”

The assembled riders struck their fists against their armor in salute.

“Dragonfire does not spare the weak,” the High Priest continued. “Nor does duty wait for fear to pass.”

His pale eyes drifted briefly upward toward Cassian.

“But when flame descended, one rider answered.”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Cassian remained perfectly still through it.

No pride.

No smile.

Just that same impossible composure.

Like statues carved in old cathedrals.

Malachar lifted a ceremonial dragonbone blade overhead.

“Cassian Arden, rider of Silvermoon, protector of the eastern skies—”

The crowd answered in unison:

“Saint of Riders.”

The sound rolled through the Burning Yard like thunder.

Lyra felt suddenly out of place standing among them.

Not because she disliked Cassian.

That would have been easier.

But because she could see why they adored him.

He embodied everything Dragon Rite Citadel believed itself to be.

Discipline.

Honor.

Control over fear.

Even Silvermoon reflected it.

The silver dragon watched the ceremony with calm, ancient intelligence while mountain wind swept across his gleaming scales.

Then Silvermoon noticed Lyra.

The reaction was immediate.

Subtle enough most students missed it.

But Lyra saw.

The dragon’s body stiffened.

His pupils narrowed sharply.

And beneath the ceremonial calm, fear flickered across the ancient creature’s gaze.

Not hatred.

Fear.

Again.

Silvermoon lowered his head slightly away from her.

The motion lasted barely a second before the dragon corrected himself.

But Cassian noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His gaze lifted immediately toward the upper terraces.

Toward Lyra.

Something hardened in his expression.

The ceremony continued around them while chants echoed across the arena floor.

Lyra barely heard any of it.

Because Silvermoon still refused to look directly at her.

Even now.

Even after everything.

The silver dragon feared her.

And if creatures as ancient as dragons feared her—

what exactly had awakened beneath the mountain?

The ceremony ended shortly before noon.

Students flooded slowly from the terraces afterward while bells echoed across the Citadel towers. Lyra waited until most of the crowd dispersed before descending the outer stairways alone.

Cold wind swept hard through the mountain corridors.

She barely noticed.

Her thoughts remained trapped somewhere between Silvermoon’s reaction and the dreams growing worse every night.

Vaelthor.

Even thinking the name now made something stir beneath her ribs.

By the time she reached the lower western bridgeways, the Citadel had quieted considerably. Most initiates remained gathered near the celebration halls while dragon handlers escorted ceremonial drakes back toward the upper roosts.

Lyra stopped midway across one of the outer bridges overlooking the abyss below.

Far beneath the mountain, clouds churned through endless cliffs.

The world felt enormous here.

Ancient.

She gripped the cold stone railing tightly.

“You shouldn’t stand near the edges alone.”

Cassian’s voice cut through the wind behind her.

Lyra stiffened immediately.

He approached slowly across the bridge, silver ceremonial cloak shifting sharply in the mountain air. Without the crowds surrounding him now, he seemed somehow more dangerous.

Not because of violence.

Because of certainty.

Cassian Arden moved like a man who had never doubted his place in the world.

Until recently.

“You were looking for me,” Lyra said quietly.

Not a question.

Cassian stopped several feet away.

For a moment neither spoke.

Far overhead, dragons moved beyond the clouds.

“You heard them in the cavern,” he said finally.

Lyra’s chest tightened.

“The dragons.”

She looked away toward the cliffs.

“Yes.”

Cassian studied her carefully.

“What are they saying to you?”

The question carried no accusation.

That frightened her more than anger would have.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not true.”

His voice remained calm.

Controlled.

“Silvermoon has never feared anything in his life.”

Wind whipped hard between them.

Lyra swallowed.

“I didn’t ask them to react this way.”

“I know.”

The answer came too quickly.

Cassian seemed almost irritated by his own certainty afterward.

Silence stretched across the bridge.

Then finally he spoke again.

“You do not belong among dragons.”

The words landed softly.

Not cruel.

Worse.

Honest.

Lyra looked at him then.

Really looked at him.

At the perfect rider armor.

The sacred silver crest across his chest.

The mountain kingdom reflected in his posture.

Cassian Arden belonged to this world completely.

And standing before him now, Lyra suddenly understood with painful clarity that she never truly would.

Then somewhere deep beneath Dragon Rite Citadel—

something ancient exhaled in the dark.