The Valry Mountains were as treacherous as they were beautiful. Jagged ridges cut against the sky, their peaks lost in low clouds. Steam hissed from vents in the rock, carrying the sharp bite of sulfur, while waterfalls spilled silver down cliffs into shadowed valleys below.
It wasn't forgiving ground. Shale slid under the horses' hooves, and the narrow paths left no room for mistakes. One slip would send both rider and mount tumbling into gorges you'd never climb out of. But there was a strange beauty here—pine forests clinging stubbornly to the slopes, wildflowers breaking through cracks in the stone, the air so clear it carried every sound for miles.
My stallion picked his way carefully along the path, muscles shifting under the saddle. Lyra sat in front of me, her back pressed to my chest, her hands tense on the pommel each time the horse jolted over loose stone. I kept one arm steady around her waist, the reins in my other hand. She'd grown used to the closeness faster than I expected—though I hadn't.
By the time we reached a wide stretch of clearing, her shoulders had relaxed against me. Which meant it was time to get her off the horse and back to where she belonged—training.
Her shifting had improved significantly—hands, tail, even arms and legs. She was starting to use her abilities in combat. That damned tail was becoming a real obstacle, sweeping low whenever I went for her legs.
Each time we sparred, she moved quicker, evaded smarter, struck with more precision. She hadn't managed to put me on my back. Not yet.
That was what today was about.
At first, it was no different from the others. I attacked, she dodged. Talons flashing, her tail darting out to trip me. I had to adjust constantly, throwing feints, forcing her to read me and anticipate.
And then it happened.
One moment I was lunging, the next she sprang higher than I expected, twisting midair. Her tail hooked behind my knee, yanking hard. My balance slipped—and before I could correct, she was on me.
Flat on my back. Pinned.
She straddled my waist, hands braced on my chest, talons retracted just enough not to pierce skin. Her breath came fast, sweat dampening her brow, but her violet eyes blazed with triumph. She'd done it—finally put me down.
I let out a slow exhale, smirking up at her. "Well, well. If you wanted to be on top, little thief, you only had to ask."
Her eyes narrowed, but a smirk tugged at her lips. "Might want to get used to it, Sparky. This won't be the last time."
I tilted my head, amusement thrumming in my chest. "Oh? Planning on making a habit of pinning me down?"
She leaned closer, her breath ghosting across my face. "Maybe."
For a second, my pulse stumbled. I almost forgot this was supposed to be training.
Then she pushed off, rolling to her feet. "Come on, prince. Can't have you lying around all day."
I took her offered hand, letting her haul me up. When I rose, I leaned in just enough that she had to tilt her chin to meet my gaze.
"Enjoy your victory while it lasts," I murmured. "Next time, I'm not holding back."
She huffed a laugh. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
Damn, she was intoxicating. And the more time I spent with her, the more dangerous it became to stay close.
—
Revik emerged from the trees with two rabbits slung over his shoulder, grinning like he'd walked in on the punchline.
"Finally tired of getting your ass handed to you?"
Lyra shot him a look, but her grin never faded. "You know what? Yeah. I've worked up an appetite."
Revik barked a laugh. "That's the spirit. You fight, you eat. Repeat." He dropped the rabbits near the fire pit, already reaching for his knife.
"I'll fill the flasks," she said, snatching them up. "And water the horses while I'm at it."
I watched her stride away, gaze trailing over the curve of her waist, the faint sway of her hips. Gods, She moved like she didn't even realize the effect she had. Or maybe she did—and that was worse. I clenched my jaw and forced my eyes away. Now wasn't the time.
Revik snorted. "You're staring."
"I was not."
"Sure, and I'm the damn Earth King." He knelt by the fire, knife flashing as he skinned the rabbits. "We should talk strategy for the relic. Ashen Caves aren't exactly known for being hospitable."
I sat across from him. "We know it's hidden deep in the tunnels. Still don't have an exact location."
"Maybe our little Primal will sprout some magic compass," he said with a smirk.
I rolled my eyes. "That's not how it works."
He shrugged. "We don't know that. No one's seen a Primal dragon in a thousand years. Who knows what she's capable of? She's already defied every expectation." He slid the first rabbit onto a spit over the fire. "Those tunnels twist back on themselves—dead ends, sheer drops, and worse things waiting in the dark."
Revik's tone lost its humor as he glanced at me. "They say whoever goes in never comes out, Rai."
I leaned back, flat and unbothered. "Then we'll be the first to come out."
Revik grimaced, shaking his head. "Let's try not to press our luck."
"We'll have to be careful. It'll take everything we have to make it through."
His eyes sharpened. "And what about her?"
"What about her?"
"She's improving fast. But do you really think she's ready?"he asked
I paused
I scoffed. "She can handle herself."
"You hesitated."
I glared, but before I could reply, Lyra came back, arms full of flasks. She handed me one, tossed another at Revik, then took a long drink from her own.
She turned to me, eyes determined . "I want to try shifting my wings."
I raised a brow. "You want to fly?"
She nodded, grin sharp. "I think I'm ready."
Dangerous, I thought. But part of me wanted to see it.
I smirked. "Alright then, but eat first. You'll need the energy."
—
She tore through her rabbit like she hadn't eaten in days, then bounced to her feet before I'd finished mine.
I lifted a brow. "Some of us are still eating."
She smirked. "You can eat and teach at the same time."
"Fair enough."
I stood and followed her to the clearing we'd been using for training. Revik trailed after, muttering something about free entertainment. He found himself a rock and sat down, grinning like he'd paid for seats.
Lyra planted her hands on her hips. "So? How do I do this?"
"Wings are tricky," I said. "They've got to be big enough to lift you, small enough not to drag you down. The bones aren't like your arms or legs—strong, yes, but hollowed for speed. Built for power and balance both."
She chewed her lip, nodding. Then her eyes met mine, bright and unflinching. "Can I see yours?"
I hesitated. I never showed my wings without a good reason. But the way she looked at me—unyielding, curious—slipped past my guard. Against my better judgment, I gave in.
Slowly, I wiped my hands on my trousers and unfurled them. With a sharp snap, the black membranes stretched wide, catching the firelight as they cast long shadows across the clearing. A gust stirred the air, lifting her hair from her shoulders as she stepped closer.
She circled behind me, eyes sharp. Then, without warning, her fingers brushed the membrane.
Lightning ripped down my spine. I jerked before I could stop myself. Not pain—raw sensation, sharp as a live current. My breath caught, my body tightening against the rush.
She pulled back instantly. "Sorry! Did I hurt you?"
I exhaled hard, steadying myself. "No. Wings are… sensitive."
Her brow furrowed, torn between apology and curiosity.
Before she could retreat, I caught her hand and guided it back to the edge of my wing. My voice came out low. "It's fine. Do what you need to do."
Her touch returned—slower, more deliberate. Every glide of her fingers along the membrane sent lightning through my veins. My breath hitched, jaw locked tight as I fought the sound rising in my throat. It took every shred of discipline not to move, not to reach for her, not to find out if the rest of her would undo me the same way. Gods help me, why did I want to?
But I stood still. Controlled. Barely.
Finally, she stepped back, eyes wide with thought. "Thank you. I think I'll try."
I let out a slow breath, only then realizing how tight my chest had been. "Go ahead. Your turn." My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.
She closed her eyes, fists clenching as she concentrated. Minutes dragged by with nothing but her breathing and the occasional sigh. Revik, bored already, picked at his nails and groaned.
"You know," he said loudly, "we do have all day. But if you'd like to hurry before I die of old age, that'd be great."
Lyra's glare could've burned through steel.
I smirked but didn't take my eyes off her. "Ignore him. Focus."
She huffed and tried again. Then—snap.
Her eyes flew open, sparkling. "I did it! I did it!"
I opened my mouth to congratulate her—then I saw them.
Tiny. So tiny.
Delicate little wings no bigger than a child's hands flapped weakly from her back.
Revik burst into laughter. "That's terrifying."
Lyra groaned and made them vanish. "For fuck's sake."
Determination set her jaw. She tried again. This time, the crack of power split the air. Wind rushed across the clearing as enormous wings erupted from her back, massive and raw. They stretched wide, blotting out the sun for a moment.
Then the weight yanked her straight to the ground. She landed hard on her ass.
I pressed my lips together, fighting the laugh clawing its way up. Revik wasn't so disciplined—he roared with laughter, nearly falling off his rock. "Oh, that was beautiful. Do it again. Please."
Lyra's face burned. She dismissed the wings and stood, brushing herself off. Without a word, her tail whipped out and smacked Revik straight off his perch. He hit the dirt with a grunt.
"Well," he groaned, rolling to his side. "That was rude."
Lyra crossed her arms. "Oops. Accident."
I finally let the chuckle slip. "Alright, Lyra. Let's try again. Smaller, this time."
She shot me a glare, chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers before she tried again. Hard not to admire that tenacity.