spring

22 ; fourth wing, acotar ; teen wolf, criminal minds, that 70s show

[simplyyspring]

NAVIGATION

Key: ❦ - fluff ۵ - angst ∞ - platonic დ - smut

Masterlists:

The Empyrean

ACOTAR (coming soon)

Additional:

OCs

Request rules

(Divider creds to: @empyreanevents!)

[embersofonyx]

Just so everyone knows… ATWWSA Act 2 is not going well and @simplyyspring can vouch for it

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IM TERRIFIED

[embersofonyx]

Just so everyone knows… ATWWSA Act 2 is not going well and @simplyyspring can vouch for it

[embersofonyx]

Friendly Little Reminder

I have a free Empyrean Starter Pack (link to google drive folder) that is updated and improved! (Or getting there)

*CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ONYX STORM*

Included:

the new and improved Empyrean Character Chart

Every Empyrean character is charted with important details notated along with it, organized by quadrant and extras, including dragons! And yes, I spent my weekend updating this to this beautiful, beautiful version. This new version should be extra compatible on mobile devices, tablets, full screen and half screen on computers (the zoom on the sheet may need some minor adjustments in half screen)

The Continent Flight Times

We're all constantly trying to figure out how long they're in the air for. All major flight paths that I could find and deduce are tracked!

The Empyrean Timeline

Presently a rough timeline, currently undergoing edits to be more specific and include chapter markers

Any requests or suggestions to improve the documents can be sent to my ask box or through pm! This is a resource to make reading and writing The Empyrean easier for all of us so if something isn’t working please let me know!

PLEASE do not reproduce and share as your own. I spent countless if hours on this project and I’d hate for it to be stolen just because I was nice enough to share it!

[simplyyspring]

everyone say THANK YOU G. the shit i write would not be possible without this 💀

[simplyyspring]

Princess Aetos

Brennan Sorrengail x Aetos!OC (Devinity)

Summary: Devinity goes through the trials of wrestling with the anxieties that come with the riders' quadrant, her father's expectations, and the need to form alliances after understanding that Brennan has people that aren't her.

Warnings/tags: Brief manipulation from a father figure, brief mentions of anxiety. Brief hints at treason. NAOLIN IS HEEERRREEEE! Otherwise, nothing too crazy.

Word Count: 1.75k

A/N: This piece was truly just to get me back into the groove of things, so bear with me (I promise more is coming). I wanted to introduce Naolin and give Devinity someone other than Brennan. Papa Aetos is a master manipulator but I have so much fun writing it lowkey.

fourth wing masterlist part one part two

✰✰✰✰✰

“Devinity Aetos.” My father’s voice booms through the hallway, and I freeze, my blood chilling at his tone. He doesn’t sound happy, but then again, when does he ever sound happy? I could count the amount of times he’s used a positive tone with me in my lifetime on one hand. 

“Yes, father?” I do my best to fake an appreciative, respectful tone as I turn on my heel to face him. 

“You weren’t at breakfast this morning.” He states. My brow furrows in response to the statement. Where is he going with this?

“You will not be successful in this quadrant if you are skipping meals.” He tells me, leaving very little room for an excuse. “I will not have you tarnishing this family name.”

The clench of my jaw is subconscious as I soak the words in. Tarnish? If anyone’s tarnishing the family name, it’s you. I keep the words to myself as I lock eyes with my father. 

“My apologies, I woke up late.” I give him a tight smile. “It won’t happen again.” It likely would, but the half-assed promise will get him off my back.

“I would hope not.” His eyes burned through my skin, a slight discomfort settling into my bones. I’ve always been grateful to have Asher Sorrengail. Without him, I never would have known a father’s genuine love. 

“I don’t want to see you getting distracted, Devinity.” I refrain from rolling my eyes at the threat in his voice. “It would be a shame to watch my own daughter fail in this quadrant.”

I clench my jaw. Deep down, I know he wouldn’t see it as a shame. With how often he voices his disappointment in my defiance, I have a feeling he would celebrate it. One less problem for him to deal with. Perhaps he would surprise me. Very doubtful. 

“Yes, sir.” I nod, wanting to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible. 

“I just want you to succeed, Devinity.” He tells me as he walks over to kiss the top of my head. My heart clenches at the action. “Go to your classes. Do well.” His words feel more like a threat than encouragement. 

I swallow the knot in my throat before giving a curt nod and walking away. He doesn’t want me to succeed; he wants me to be his puppet so he can succeed. He wants me to be like Dain. Something tells me he’s going to make this quadrant equivalent to walking through the Bay of Malek. I’ll just have to show him I’m willing to make that journey. 

✰✰✰✰✰

I pick at my food as the riders around me engage in their usual lunchtime conversation. I don’t have the guts to speak to anybody, not after what had happened with those second years. I can feel gazes landing on me every now and then, making me increasingly aware of my surroundings. 

“Hey.” The unfamiliar voice pulls me out of my trance. “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. I’m Leia.” She reaches across the table to shake my hand. I recognize her as someone in my squad. I reluctantly accept the gesture and give her a small smile. 

“Relax, I’m not here with an ulterior motive. What you did on the Gauntlet was impressive.” She tells me with raised brows. The reassurance doesn’t calm the alarm bells ringing in my brain. At this point, it’s hard to believe anyone doesn’t walk around this place with an ulterior motive.

And Impressive? Sure, I had the fastest time so far, but I’d only ensured that so I wouldn’t hear yet another lecture from my father. Not to mention, I’ve been practicing my entire life for this. I can’t disappoint myself as well.

“Thank you.” I flash another smile despite my reluctance to accept the compliment. “I’m Devinity.”

“Well, Devinity, would you want to train together sometime? You’ve seemed… lonely.” I don’t miss how her gaze scans over me. Chances are, she’s only making alliances to ensure protection of herself. I can’t blame her; I would do the same in her position. If only I could tell her how little protection I can offer. 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” I tell her with a nod. Despite my desire to keep my distance, I know I need to form alliances as well. Being Aetos’ daughter will do me no favors, I’ve learned that the hard way. Gods, I hope Dain has it easier. 

“Great! I’ll see you after lunch then.” Leia’s smile is bright, warming something deep in my soul. She seems so innocent. I can’t bear to think about what this quadrant will do to her. I give her a subtle nod and watch as she stands, making her way over to a boy I recognize as another one of our squadmates. Maybe this wouldn’t end so badly.

I survey the room once more, landing on the one person who can calm the storm brewing inside me. Not spending every waking second with him is killing me. He offers one of his gentle smiles, holding my gaze for what feels like an eternity before turning back to his conversation.  

✰✰✰✰✰

A smile spreads on my face as I approach Brennan in the archives days later. I’ve spent every night possible in his bed, and have relished the few times I’ve woken up next to him. Last night, he had talked me into studying with him since I voiced my insecurities about succeeding in the quadrant. He claimed that I’m worrying far too much and that it’s too early in my journey to take on those anxieties. Perhaps he has a point, but when your father is around every corner, reminding you of all the ways you could fail, it’s certainly no help in building confidence. 

“Hi, darling.” The nickname falls from his lips with ease as he leans over to kiss my cheek when I claim the seat next to him. A blush spreads across my face. I’ve still yet to get used to him showering me with such affection. “How is your day going?” “So-so,” I respond with a shrug, turning to look at him. For the first time since breakfast, I take in his beautiful features simply because I cannot help it. His amber eyes, his curls. I could fall in love with him over and over again for the rest of eternity if I were able. Love? Surely I’m just being dramatic on that front. “How has yours been?”

“Boring.” The older boy lets out a sigh. “But Naolin is coming back today, so maybe it will get better with time.” 

Naolin. Brennan is the only one I have heard speak of Naolin. The more he talks about him—his intelligence, kindness, selflessness—the more intrigued I become. It can be difficult to find people like that in the riders’ quadrant solely because of how rigid it is. The quadrant forces riders to be cold and calculated, not kind and selfless and a good friend. 

As if summoned, an older boy strides up behind Brennan and ruffles his hair. A wide grin spreads across his face as he turns to look up at him, immediately engulfing him in a hug. I smile at the sight. He’s tall, with brown hair that’s tied up in a bun and light eyes that contrast his sun-kissed skin. Incredibly hands—I suck in a deep breath and look at Brennan, desperate to distract myself from the invasive thoughts. Neither of us are up for sharing, but he seems nice overall. 

At least Brennan had somebody decent while he’s been here without me. At least he’s made friends that aren’t me. I’ve nearly failed so far in that department. Despite training with my squad, I’ve yet to learn much about them besides Leia. Even then, I hadn’t learned much. Only that she’s from Deaconshire and has a boyfriend—the boy I’d seen her with after she’d approached me, who I’ve yet to properly meet. Leia claims he’s shy. Perhaps it’s my fault, or perhaps it’s impossible for nepo-babies to make friends in the rider’s quadrant. Then again, Brennan had made at least one. But something about Naolin feels… different. I’m convinced Bren simply got lucky.

Naolin catches my gaze, a warm smile forming on his face. “You must be Devinity. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His voice is warm and sweet at the same time. “I’m Naolin.” He holds out his hand for me to take. I do just that, shaking it firmly before releasing it. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you as well.” Though probably not nearly as much as he’s heard about me. “All good things, of course.”

A soft chuckle falls from the oldest boy’s lips as he makes his way around the table, claiming a seat across from the two of us. “So, what are you two up to?” He questions, glancing between us. 

“We’re studying,” Brennan tells him, eliciting a sound of disgust from Naolin. “Devinity hasn’t had much time to do so.” 

“Why’s that, princess Aetos?” I almost cringe at the nickname despite the obvious humor behind it. “Daddy overworking you?” 

A heavy sigh escapes my lips. “Something like that.” 

Dad has been keeping me busy to keep me from “distractions.” Such as Brennan. And now Naolin. He calls himself protective, I call him overbearing and controlling. Brennan’s gaze scans over me before turning back to Naolin. 

“Do you have any words of advice?” Brennan raises a brow at the older boy. I resist the urge to roll my eyes because I know he means well.

Naolin lets out a soft hum, leaning back in his seat as he tilts his head in thought. “Always ask questions. Don’t ignore your curiosity.” The look in his eyes tells me he’s seen more than we can imagine after his graduation. 

“What if curiosity gets you killed?” I raise a brow. My father always taught me not to question anything. Things are the way they are for a reason. 

“Then at least you died learning the truth.” He gave a shrug. “It’s better to question and risk death than to be complicit and die ignorant.” 

My brows knit together as I look down at the book lying before me. Naolin has only been out of the quadrant for a year. What in Dunne’s name has he seen out there if that’s his piece of advice?

I brush off the question and ignore Naolin’s gaze burning into me, sucking in a deep breath. This is only the beginning.

[embersofonyx]

Carry You Home | T H R E E

The Empyrean | Carry You Home | ATWWSA

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Warnings (updated regularly) : spoilers for all books, smut 18+ MDNI, canon divergence, Liam Mairi lives, presumed dead character, found injured, hurt/comfort, slow burn, venin hunting, forced proximity, found family, healing from trauma, learning to live, home is a person, emotional intimacy, protective Liam Mairi, Additional Warnings Apply

previous part

L I A M

“Mae!” I call after her, quickening my pace as she moves ahead of me like the ground itself is pulling her forward. “Why are you in such a rush? We just saved an entire city!” 

The words leave with half of a laugh, stil riding the lingering rush of adrenalin and relief that hasn’t quite settled in my chest yet.

Because we did save them.

We arrived in a Northern Krovla town expecting the worst, only to find a single Venin straggler clinging to the last dregs of its life in the wreckage that his kind had already caused. I handle it without a thought, Mae follows behind swiftly, already triaging wounds and deciding who needs her immediate care. Anyone with minor aches and bruises, I secretly use my ice wielding to form an ice pack for them.

This is the fifteenth town in two months. Fifteen places that would have been worse — would have been lost entirely — if we hadn’t been there.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling like I was following her. It started to feel like something I chose.

Because this — this quiet, undeniable knowledge that what we’re doing matters, even if it’s small, even if it’s unseen by everyone behind the wards — is more than anything Basgiath ever gave me. There are no ranks out here. No instructors watching for failure. No one measures your worth by how long you last. Just people who get to keep breathing because you showed up.

And Mae —

Mae was built for this in a way I’m still trying to understand.

In the two months since I decided not to return to Basgiath, she’s changed. Not dramatically, not all at once, but in the slow, careful way of someone who isn’t used to letting anyone in. Conversations that used to end in one-word answers now stretch longer, sometimes without her realizing it. Pieces of her past slip through in fragments — her brothers, the way she talks about the youngest with something softer beneath the words, the way she avoids anything that lingers too long on loss.

And in return, I gave her everything. The chaos of my childhood being the youngest beside my sister in a group that has become the closest thing I have to a family.

Then at night — whether we were stretched out beneath open sky or trapped in some inn that insisted on feeding us before letting us leave — we talk.

About Sloane. About her youngest brother. About everything we’d lost without saying it directly. Somewhere in all of that, something shifted.

She isn’t the girl who looked at me like I was a complication she didn’t want to deal with.

Now there are moments — quiet and easy ones — where she smiles at something I say and doesn’t immediately pull away like she regrets it. Moments where she lingers. Moments where I catch myself thinking —

Well, honestly, I’m not sure what I’m thinking, but I know that whatever it is I’m feeling, it’s going to change everything about this.

“Mae—” I try again, catching up to her as she reaches Dìls and begins securing her pack with quick, practiced movements.

She doesn’t even glance at me. “Zolya.” The word cuts clean through everything else. 

I’m used to only getting city names from her, somehow getting information from that Drift she worked with. “What happened?”

“There was an attack,” she says, already mounting Dìls in one fluid motion that feels less like a decision and more like instinct. “Recent.”

My pulse spikes, adrenaline replacing whatever ease had settled there moments ago. “How recent?”

She finally looks down at me then, just long enough for something sharp and unyielding to flash through her expression. “Recent enough that we’re already late.”

Dìls shifts beneath her, wings spreading as if he’s been waiting for this.

I don’t hesitate. I’m on Deigh before the thought even finishes forming. “Then let’s move.”

One moment we’re cutting through open sky, the wind sharp and familiar against my face, and the next it feels as though something heavier has settled over everything—thick and unmoving, like the world itself is holding its breath.

Zolya doesn’t look like a city when it comes into view beneath us.

The streets are split in jagged lines, buildings collapsed inward as if something forced its way through them rather than burning them down, and the smoke that lingers doesn’t rise in clean plumes. It clings low to the ground, crawling through the ruins in a way that feels unnatural, wrong in a way I can’t quite name but immediately understand.

Dìls folds his wings and drops first, and Deigh follows without question.

The ground rushes up too fast, the destruction becoming clearer with every second until my boots hit stone and the silence hits just as hard.

Because it isn’t empty.

“Mae,” I call in warning as she saddles up beside me.

“Where is everyone?” she asks, a sword already in her hand.

I pull my own from the scabbard on my back, slipping the blade free as I turn to check behind us, scanning the broken skyline, the empty streets, the absence of anything that should be here. “Something isn’t right.”

“Cliffsbane is about a mile north from here,” Mae mutters, already moving forward. “This place should be crawling with drifts of cadets—”

She cuts herself off, breath catching as she steps further into the street.

I turn to follow her—and freeze.

A venin steps out from behind a collapsed wall, its form wrong in a way that still makes my skin crawl no matter how many times I’ve seen them. Then another follows, and another after that, until there are four of them standing in the ruins, not rushing us, not hesitating, simply advancing with the kind of certainty that makes it clear they already know how this ends.

“Mae—” I start, but she’s already moving.

“I see them,” she says, her voice steady in a way that feels almost too controlled. “Take the left.”

I follow her orders, because if there’s anything I’ve learned since July, it’s that Mae knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Pretty healer,” one of the cloaked figures snickers. “Been a long time since I caught you in our territory.”

“I think this is a little outside of The Barrens, no?” she shoots back, stepping forward like she’s the one in control of this situation.

I glance at her, but her focus is locked, sharp and unyielding, fixed entirely on the Venin in front of us. “Hey—maybe don’t taunt the creatures that can drain the very land we stand on?”

Mae gives me the barest flick of a glance before she’s moving.

Before I can even process it, she’s pulling one of the alloy-hilted daggers from her thigh sheath and driving it straight into the chest of the one she taunted, pivoting seamlessly into a slash with her sword that forces the second back.

Holy shit.

She’s fast — faster than I’ve ever seen her — moving like she’s not thinking, just reacting, just ending it as quickly as possible. Another dagger appears in her hand, buried cleanly into a second venin before it can fully recover.

“Any day now, Mairi!” she shouts as three more spill from the alley to her right.

I surge forward, intercepting the closest one and driving my own alloy dagger into its chest. “Three more behind you!” I call, twisting free as it drops.

But they’re not slowing.

And Mae—

Mae doesn’t fall back.

She pushes forward instead, cutting through another with a precision that would be impressive if it wasn’t so reckless, if it wasn’t so clearly edging past control into something sharper, something more desperate.

“Mae, pull back!” I call, pivoting to take another that popped up behind me, but the words don’t seem to reach her through the chaos.

Of course they don’t, because she’s not thinking about herself.

She takes another down, pure will flaring through her movements, faster now, harder, but not cleaner. Not controlled. Three close in on her at once, one forcing her guard high, another sweeping low, splitting her focus just enough—

And the third—

The third doesn’t hesitate. It does exactly what they were doing in Resson. Learning how we fight, and this strikes exactly where Mae is going to be.

“Mae—!” But it's too late.

The hit lands with a force that sends her body back into the stone behind her, the sound of it echoing through the street in a way that makes something in my chest lock tight.

For half a second, everything stops, then it all comes crashing back at once.

I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just move.

The Venin in front of me lunges and I meet it head-on, ending it in one clean strike before turning, already moving toward her, already tracking the others closing in.

There’s too many, too close and one is already too close to Mae.

My hand lifts and I make a split second choice.

Cold floods through me, sharp and immediate, something I’ve kept buried for months, snapping into place with a precision that feels almost terrifying in its familiarity. I don’t hesitate, don’t second-guess, because there isn’t time for it, because she’s on the ground and that is the only thing that matters.

Ice spreads from my palm in a controlled surge, catching the nearest venin mid-motion, freezing it solid before it can reach her. The second follows just as quickly, the ice sharper now, more precise, shattering through it before it can recover.

Silence crashes in behind it.

I don’t look at them, and I definitely don’t think about what I might’ve just just done or what it means.

I’m at her side in seconds, dropping to my knees, hands already pressing against her side where blood spreads too fast, too dark.

“Maelira—hey— princess, look at me.”

Her eyes flutter open, unfocused before settling on me. “Liam…” she breathes.

“I’m here,” I say immediately, leaning closer. “I’ve got you. Stay with me.”

It’s like my survival instincts are out the window because the cold creeps in again and spreads a frost over her injury

Mae inhales sharply, her gaze dropping immediately to my hand before snapping back to my face.

“That’s not farsight,” she says, quieter now, but certain.

“No,” I admit, my voice low. “It’s not.”

Her eyes flick down again, tracking the frost, understanding settling in even through the pain. “You have two.” There’s no fear in it, just curiosity and understanding in a way. Her grip tightens slightly against my wrist.

“Let’s focus on you okay?” I say, brushing off the thought.

She nods as her focus slipst, her weight shifting just slightly.

“Mae,” I say quickly. “Stay with me.”

“I am,” she whispers.

I ease my hand away, the frost holding just long enough as I move, sliding an arm beneath her shoulders and another under her legs as I lift her carefully.

“Hey,” I murmur, adjusting her against me. “You’re not done yet, alright? You don’t get to check out after all that.”

Her head tilts against my shoulder, breath brushing warm against my neck. “I’d be…” she breathes, voice thin, “really annoyed if I did.”

A broken laugh escapes me, catching somewhere between relief and fear. “Yeah,” I say quietly, tightening my hold. “Good. Stay annoyed.”

Deigh crouches low as I reach him, already understanding, and I walk up his outstretched leg with her still held close, securing her against me just as cracking can be heard from behind me.

Fuck, it’s time to go.

Dìls is already airborne.

I don’t look back at Zolya as Deigh launches into the sky, the ruined city falling away beneath us.

I tighten my hold on her, lowering my head slightly toward hers as the wind tears past us.

“Stay with me, princess,” I murmur, unsure where the instinct to call her that came from, but it feels right.

And nothing else matters right now.

“We have to get her to help,” I plead to Deigh.

“Dìls knows where to go. We will follow.” 

I release the slightest breath of relief, readjusting my grip on her.

“I got you.” I mutter repeatedly as I feel her breaths steady out against me, nut whether I’m saying it for her or myself, I’m not sure.

M A E L I R A

“Glad to see you awake, Rowan.” A voice greets me as my eyes blink open.

“Syrena?”

There's a smile on the face of the flier as she sits on the bed beside me. My eyes focus as I take in the room around me.

“What—?” I jolt upright, my gaze catching on the decadence around me. Carved stone. Heavy drapes. Polished wood. “Cordyn?”

My body chooses that exact moment to remind me why I shouldn’t be moving. The adrenaline drains out of me all at once, leaving nothing but pain flooding through every fiber of my being, stemming from my side.

“Careful,” Syrena laughs lightly. “You’ll pull the stitches Trager worked so hard on.”

I drop back onto the bed with a sharp exhale, one hand instinctively pressing to my side before I turn my head toward her with a sigh. “How did I get here?”

I’ve known Syrena for as long as I’ve been out here—considering it was her cousin I ran into three years ago. She’s more exhausted than I remember her being, though she hides it well beneath that same composed exterior.

“That rider you adopted,” she says, her smirk returning like it never left, like she hasn’t just been quietly assessing every breath I take. “The blonde one?”

My stomach drops before she even finishes the sentence.

“He’s sweet,” she adds, something almost amused threading through her tone. “Been worried about you since he carried you here from Zolya.”

“He…” My voice falters slightly before I catch it, my brows pulling together as I push myself up just enough to look at her fully. “Carried me?”

Syrena’s expression shifts—not softer, not kinder, but more interested, like she’s been waiting for that exact reaction. “All the way across Krovla,” she says, almost casually, though there’s nothing casual about the way her eyes stay locked on mine. “Didn’t stop. Wouldn’t even hand you off when we tried to help after he landed.”

Something tightens in my chest, sharp and unfamiliar, but I ignore it. “That’s—” I start, then stop, because I don’t actually have a word for what that is.

Reckless. Stupid. Dangerous. All of the above.

“…unnecessary.”

Syrena huffs out a quiet laugh at that, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so.”

My fingers curl slightly into the sheets beneath me as I try to pull the memory back into focus. Zolya, the smoke, the venin, the hit, then — cold. Not the kind that seeps in slowly. Not the kind that belongs to wind or altitude or long nights without a fire.

My gaze drops to my bandaged side. It wasn’t just cold.

“Where is Liam?”

“He’s been confined to his quarters,” Syrena says, far too casually for what that actually means. “My uncle was not entirely happy with another dragon rider showing up at his door.” She laughs softly, but there’s something sharper beneath it.

Probably down the hall from here. Tecarus has a habit of keeping dragon riders where he can watch them.

“Gods,” I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “He really shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Syrena agrees again, far too easily. “But he is. And now the question becomes—” She leans back slightly, studying me in that same calculated way. “—what you plan to do about it.”

I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is— I don’t know, because two months ago, Liam Mairi was just a rider I dragged out of a ruined city.

And now he’s here. In Cordyn, surrounded by enemies he was raised to hate, with a secret that could get him killed in Navarre and a presence that’s already drawn attention where attention is the last thing either of us should want, and despite all of that— he didn’t let me die.

My fingers tighten slightly against the sheets before I push the thought away, swinging my legs carefully over the side of the bed.

Syrena watches the movement, her brow lifting slightly. “And where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

“To find him,” I say simply, even as the room tilts faintly again.

Her smile returns—sharp, knowing, entirely too satisfied. “Of course you are.”

“What does that supposed to mean?” I turn to the flier, cocking a brow.

“I’m just syaing.” She lifts her hands in mock surrender, already moving toward the door.

I groan as I stand, tugging my boots on. “Spit it out, Cordella.”

She laughs, glancing back at me. “He willingly stayed in enemy territory when he could’ve gone back to Riorson and his merry band of traitors,” she says. “He’s been traveling all over Poromiel with a girl who has more secrets than my uncle—which says a lot, by the way.”

I roll my eyes, reaching for the door handle.

“And he carried you straight to our front door,” she continues, her tone sharpening just slightly, “terrified he was going to lose you. He isn’t just anyone, Maelira.”

“He’s an acquaintance,” I inform her flatly, fingers tightening around the handle.

Syrena’s smirk deepens. “If it wasn’t more than that,” she says, voice light but pointed, “you wouldn’t be trying so hard to deny it.”

It’s at least five minutes of standing outside his door before I actually walk through it.

Syrena’s words flooded my mind. 

“If it wasn’t more than that, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to deny it.”

She doesn’t know what she’s saying.

Liam and I are friends. Friends with too many secrets to feel anything beyond that. Secrets that we need to talk about before this is anything more than what it may or may not be.

I take a deep breath before knocking on the door and pushing my way inside the room.

“If you’re here to question me again, you’ll get the same—” Liam cuts himself off as he turns. “Mae… you’re okay.”

“Thanks to you.” I say softly, closing the door behind me and flicking the lock into place. “We need to talk.”

Liam goes still. There’s fear in his eyes—real, unguarded fear—and for a split second, all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss it away.

Woah, Maelira. Pull back. What the fuck?

“I’m sure he’d enjoy that kiss too,” Dìls hums across our bond and I slam my shields up.

“Busybody dragon,” I mutter, rolling my eyes internally. “You wielded ice,” I say to Liam, cutting straight through everything else.

Liam scoffs, laughing nervously as he runs a hand through his hair. “Good one, Mae. My signet is farsight, remember? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when that Venin threw you?”

“I know what I saw, Mairi.” I hold my ground, crossing my arms as I step closer. “I should have bled out before we ever made it here. I didn’t, because you sealed the wound with ice.”

He hesitates. It’s subtle, but I see it—the flicker of calculation, the instinct to deny, to deflect, to survive. He’d do well in RSC interrogations.

I close the distance between us and reach for his right hand, turning his palm upward in mine. “Show me.”

“Mae—”

“For Amari’s sake, I’m not going to kill or report you, Liam,” I say, my voice sharper now, my dark eyes locking onto his. “You saved my life. I want to see how.”

Liam exhales slowly, something in him giving way as he flips his hand over, letting it rest in mine, and a soft chill runs up my arm.

My gaze drops, watching as pale blue frost blooms across my skin, delicate and intricate, curling into faint, shifting patterns. “Woah…”

“My farsight developed almost two weeks after Threshing,” Liam says quietly, letting the frost linger before it begins to fade. “Then in February, I woke up to half my room frozen.” He huffs out a small laugh. “I thought my friend Ridoc—he’s an ice wielder—was messing with me. Wouldn’t have been the first time. But then I frosted my armoire a few days later…” He shakes his head slightly. “I knew something wasn’t right.”

“Did you ever tell anyone?” I ask, still watching the last of the frost melt away.

He doesn’t pull his hand from mine. “My wingleader.”

My eyes snap up in alarm.

“Xaden,” he adds quickly, softer now. “We grew up together. He was my foster brother after the executions.” His left arm—the one marked with that relic—lifts, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s the only one I told. He helped me control it… helped me hide it.” His hand lingers at my neck. “I practiced in secret. I’ve only used it during Resson…” He pauses. “…and when I saw you hurt.”

“You were worried about me,” I murmured, leaning into his touch before I could stop myself.

“You saved my life,” he says just as quietly. “We’re even.”

I shake my head slightly, my breath catching as I search his eyes. “You never needed to get even with me.” I say, stepping closer.

He meets me halfway, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “I would’ve done it even if you hadn’t.”

“Why?”

His smile shifts—brighter, warmer, like sunlight breaking through the darkest of days. “Because you’re nothing like I thought you were,” he says, his voice dropping, “and everything I hoped you would be,” and then he kisses me.

It’s soft and careful, like he’s giving me the chance to pull away but I don’t.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up before I’m kissing him back, my hand slipping from his to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

His hand finds my hip, grounding me as the kiss deepens, as everything we haven’t said folds into it—every late night conversation, every shared glance, every moment we should have ignored but didn’t.

No one has ever understood me the way Liam does.

 “Liam…” I murmur, pulling back just slightly.

I finally notice the angle he’s bent at just to reach me, the height difference suddenly very real. I’m barely over five foot. He’s — definitely not.

“We, uh—” I stutter, stepping back just enough to meet his eyes again.

Focus, Maelira.

“There’s something I need to tell you before we—”

A loud bang interrupts me.

“I know you did not just wake up from a near-death experience and not come find me to say hi!”

I groan.

“Is that… Catriona Cordella?” Liam asks, his attention snapping toward the door.

“I’ll get rid of her,” I say quickly. “Just promise me we’ll talk, okay? And no matter what she says or does — don’t listen to her.”

Liam lets out a soft laugh. “We’ll talk, Mae. Whatever it is.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Take your time.”

I nod, lingering for half a second longer than I should before stepping out of his arms.

“Maelira!” 

I move faster, unlocking the door and pulling it open— only to be immediately tackled into a hug by not one, not two, but three fliers.

“Man, am I happy to see you,” Maren says from my left, her arm wrapped tightly around me and Cat. “Seeing you unconscious like that? That was scary, Mae.”

“I’m fine, Mare,” I promise her as she backs up, allowing Cat to release me.

You’re the only dragon rider I actually like.” She almost scoffs, trying to play it off. “You can’t go dying on me.”

I smile at her words. “Hey, Cat.” It’s the third flier that keeps my attention. “I heard your brother was the one who patched me up,” I say, lightly bumping the girl.

Tessa shrugs at the mention of her twin brother. “He’s gotten pretty good at field work. He patched most of us up after Cliffsbane.”

“But you’re all okay?”

“We lost a few,” Maren says quietly. “But everyone who made it here is.”

I nod, scanning them quickly, checking for anything I might’ve missed. I wish I had the time to sit with them, but—

“Cat.” Liam’s voice sounds from behind me.

“Liam,” Cat greets coldly.

I blink, looking between them. “You two know each other?”

“My foster brother, the one I mentioned?” Liam says. “They used to be betrothed.”

I turn back to Cat.

She scoffs. “Some betrothal. He spent two months of weekends here, barely spoke to me, and then called it off for some girl.”

“Xaden and Wren had been together since they were teenagers, Cat,” Liam snaps. “Everyone knew he wasn’t going to take the arrangement seriously.”

“He didn’t even give us a chance!” she shoots back. “And I heard he cheated on her, so how’s that working out?”

Liam’s jaw tightens. “For Malek’s sake, Cat—” His hands rake through his hair as he steps behind me. “That has nothing to do with you, and even then you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Cat laughs. “Says the man hiding from his so-called family across the border. Do you even know what’s happening between them right now?”

“Do you?” Liam snaps back.

She steps closer, that same smug confidence settling into place. “I saw them recently. They didn’t exactly look happy.”

Liam stills. “You saw them? Together?”

“Last drop,” she says.

He studies her, then shrugs slightly. “Well that's already an improvement considering the last time I saw them, we were thanking Zihnal if they were in the same room together..”

Cat turns away from Liam with a scoff. “My uncle has requested you both at dinner. Formal attire.” She glances over her shoulder. “Xaden has a closet across the hall. Liam should fit into something.”

“Thanks, Cat,” I say as they start to leave.

Tessa slips back in before I can close the door.

“For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, eyes on Liam, “I was on that drop. They didn’t seem like they were on the rocks.”

“What was Wren doing there?” Liam asks.

Tessa shrugs. “Riorson said something about a gryphon attack on Samara. I think he’s stationed there. It sounded like he got hurt pretty badly.”

“Thanks, Tess.” I say as she nods and slips out. I lock the door again, turning back to Liam, and he’s running his hand through his hair again. “You do that a lot,” I say.

“What?”

“Your hair. You’re always messing with it.” I guide him into a chair, smoothing it down.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to look at me. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

Silence settles for a moment before— “Can I kiss you again?”

The question catches me off guard. “I—” I shake my head slightly. “I need to tell you something first.” I step away, sitting on the edge of the bed, my back to him. “You need to know this before anything else… because it’s going to change how you see me. You might even regret saving me.”

“Princess, ” he says gently, “nothing is going to change how I see you. It’s not like your dad ordered the executions of my, and all my friends’, parents.”

I think I might be sick.

He lets out a small laugh. “That would be—” He stops. “Mae?”

“What if he did?” I whisper.

He frowns. “That’s not possible. The King’s daughter died—”

“Five years, one month, and twenty-eight days ago,” I recite. “To the day when I crossed the parapet.

Silence.

“Maelira… what are you saying?”

I inhale slowly. “Rowan isn’t my last name.”

“What is it?”

“You already know the answer, Liam.”

“Tell me, anyways.”

My voice is steady when I say, “It’s Tauri.”

next part

Everything: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse @poisonivy2267 @babypeapoddd @wolfbc97 @ella423

ATWWSA: @simplyyspring @hiraethjules @ella423

Carry You Home: @taleiaargenis

[simplyyspring]

i can’t stop thinking about them (in reality i can’t stop thinking about wrenley & xaden… especially with the little information that i know 🧍🏻‍♀️)

[embersofonyx]

Carry You Home | T H R E E

The Empyrean | Carry You Home | ATWWSA

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Warnings (updated regularly) : spoilers for all books, smut 18+ MDNI, canon divergence, Liam Mairi lives, presumed dead character, found injured, hurt/comfort, slow burn, venin hunting, forced proximity, found family, healing from trauma, learning to live, home is a person, emotional intimacy, protective Liam Mairi, Additional Warnings Apply

previous part

L I A M

“Mae!” I call after her, quickening my pace as she moves ahead of me like the ground itself is pulling her forward. “Why are you in such a rush? We just saved an entire city!” 

The words leave with half of a laugh, stil riding the lingering rush of adrenalin and relief that hasn’t quite settled in my chest yet.

Because we did save them.

We arrived in a Northern Krovla town expecting the worst, only to find a single Venin straggler clinging to the last dregs of its life in the wreckage that his kind had already caused. I handle it without a thought, Mae follows behind swiftly, already triaging wounds and deciding who needs her immediate care. Anyone with minor aches and bruises, I secretly use my ice wielding to form an ice pack for them.

This is the fifteenth town in two months. Fifteen places that would have been worse — would have been lost entirely — if we hadn’t been there.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling like I was following her. It started to feel like something I chose.

Because this — this quiet, undeniable knowledge that what we’re doing matters, even if it’s small, even if it’s unseen by everyone behind the wards — is more than anything Basgiath ever gave me. There are no ranks out here. No instructors watching for failure. No one measures your worth by how long you last. Just people who get to keep breathing because you showed up.

And Mae —

Mae was built for this in a way I’m still trying to understand.

In the two months since I decided not to return to Basgiath, she’s changed. Not dramatically, not all at once, but in the slow, careful way of someone who isn’t used to letting anyone in. Conversations that used to end in one-word answers now stretch longer, sometimes without her realizing it. Pieces of her past slip through in fragments — her brothers, the way she talks about the youngest with something softer beneath the words, the way she avoids anything that lingers too long on loss.

And in return, I gave her everything. The chaos of my childhood being the youngest beside my sister in a group that has become the closest thing I have to a family.

Then at night — whether we were stretched out beneath open sky or trapped in some inn that insisted on feeding us before letting us leave — we talk.

About Sloane. About her youngest brother. About everything we’d lost without saying it directly. Somewhere in all of that, something shifted.

She isn’t the girl who looked at me like I was a complication she didn’t want to deal with.

Now there are moments — quiet and easy ones — where she smiles at something I say and doesn’t immediately pull away like she regrets it. Moments where she lingers. Moments where I catch myself thinking —

Well, honestly, I’m not sure what I’m thinking, but I know that whatever it is I’m feeling, it’s going to change everything about this.

“Mae—” I try again, catching up to her as she reaches Dìls and begins securing her pack with quick, practiced movements.

She doesn’t even glance at me. “Zolya.” The word cuts clean through everything else. 

I’m used to only getting city names from her, somehow getting information from that Drift she worked with. “What happened?”

“There was an attack,” she says, already mounting Dìls in one fluid motion that feels less like a decision and more like instinct. “Recent.”

My pulse spikes, adrenaline replacing whatever ease had settled there moments ago. “How recent?”

She finally looks down at me then, just long enough for something sharp and unyielding to flash through her expression. “Recent enough that we’re already late.”

Dìls shifts beneath her, wings spreading as if he’s been waiting for this.

I don’t hesitate. I’m on Deigh before the thought even finishes forming. “Then let’s move.”

One moment we’re cutting through open sky, the wind sharp and familiar against my face, and the next it feels as though something heavier has settled over everything—thick and unmoving, like the world itself is holding its breath.

Zolya doesn’t look like a city when it comes into view beneath us.

The streets are split in jagged lines, buildings collapsed inward as if something forced its way through them rather than burning them down, and the smoke that lingers doesn’t rise in clean plumes. It clings low to the ground, crawling through the ruins in a way that feels unnatural, wrong in a way I can’t quite name but immediately understand.

Dìls folds his wings and drops first, and Deigh follows without question.

The ground rushes up too fast, the destruction becoming clearer with every second until my boots hit stone and the silence hits just as hard.

Because it isn’t empty.

“Mae,” I call in warning as she saddles up beside me.

“Where is everyone?” she asks, a sword already in her hand.

I pull my own from the scabbard on my back, slipping the blade free as I turn to check behind us, scanning the broken skyline, the empty streets, the absence of anything that should be here. “Something isn’t right.”

“Cliffsbane is about a mile north from here,” Mae mutters, already moving forward. “This place should be crawling with drifts of cadets—”

She cuts herself off, breath catching as she steps further into the street.

I turn to follow her—and freeze.

A venin steps out from behind a collapsed wall, its form wrong in a way that still makes my skin crawl no matter how many times I’ve seen them. Then another follows, and another after that, until there are four of them standing in the ruins, not rushing us, not hesitating, simply advancing with the kind of certainty that makes it clear they already know how this ends.

“Mae—” I start, but she’s already moving.

“I see them,” she says, her voice steady in a way that feels almost too controlled. “Take the left.”

I follow her orders, because if there’s anything I’ve learned since July, it’s that Mae knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Pretty healer,” one of the cloaked figures snickers. “Been a long time since I caught you in our territory.”

“I think this is a little outside of The Barrens, no?” she shoots back, stepping forward like she’s the one in control of this situation.

I glance at her, but her focus is locked, sharp and unyielding, fixed entirely on the Venin in front of us. “Hey—maybe don’t taunt the creatures that can drain the very land we stand on?”

Mae gives me the barest flick of a glance before she’s moving.

Before I can even process it, she’s pulling one of the alloy-hilted daggers from her thigh sheath and driving it straight into the chest of the one she taunted, pivoting seamlessly into a slash with her sword that forces the second back.

Holy shit.

She’s fast — faster than I’ve ever seen her — moving like she’s not thinking, just reacting, just ending it as quickly as possible. Another dagger appears in her hand, buried cleanly into a second venin before it can fully recover.

“Any day now, Mairi!” she shouts as three more spill from the alley to her right.

I surge forward, intercepting the closest one and driving my own alloy dagger into its chest. “Three more behind you!” I call, twisting free as it drops.

But they’re not slowing.

And Mae—

Mae doesn’t fall back.

She pushes forward instead, cutting through another with a precision that would be impressive if it wasn’t so reckless, if it wasn’t so clearly edging past control into something sharper, something more desperate.

“Mae, pull back!” I call, pivoting to take another that popped up behind me, but the words don’t seem to reach her through the chaos.

Of course they don’t, because she’s not thinking about herself.

She takes another down, pure will flaring through her movements, faster now, harder, but not cleaner. Not controlled. Three close in on her at once, one forcing her guard high, another sweeping low, splitting her focus just enough—

And the third—

The third doesn’t hesitate. It does exactly what they were doing in Resson. Learning how we fight, and this strikes exactly where Mae is going to be.

“Mae—!” But it's too late.

The hit lands with a force that sends her body back into the stone behind her, the sound of it echoing through the street in a way that makes something in my chest lock tight.

For half a second, everything stops, then it all comes crashing back at once.

I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just move.

The Venin in front of me lunges and I meet it head-on, ending it in one clean strike before turning, already moving toward her, already tracking the others closing in.

There’s too many, too close and one is already too close to Mae.

My hand lifts and I make a split second choice.

Cold floods through me, sharp and immediate, something I’ve kept buried for months, snapping into place with a precision that feels almost terrifying in its familiarity. I don’t hesitate, don’t second-guess, because there isn’t time for it, because she’s on the ground and that is the only thing that matters.

Ice spreads from my palm in a controlled surge, catching the nearest venin mid-motion, freezing it solid before it can reach her. The second follows just as quickly, the ice sharper now, more precise, shattering through it before it can recover.

Silence crashes in behind it.

I don’t look at them, and I definitely don’t think about what I might’ve just just done or what it means.

I’m at her side in seconds, dropping to my knees, hands already pressing against her side where blood spreads too fast, too dark.

“Maelira—hey— princess, look at me.”

Her eyes flutter open, unfocused before settling on me. “Liam…” she breathes.

“I’m here,” I say immediately, leaning closer. “I’ve got you. Stay with me.”

It’s like my survival instincts are out the window because the cold creeps in again and spreads a frost over her injury

Mae inhales sharply, her gaze dropping immediately to my hand before snapping back to my face.

“That’s not farsight,” she says, quieter now, but certain.

“No,” I admit, my voice low. “It’s not.”

Her eyes flick down again, tracking the frost, understanding settling in even through the pain. “You have two.” There’s no fear in it, just curiosity and understanding in a way. Her grip tightens slightly against my wrist.

“Let’s focus on you okay?” I say, brushing off the thought.

She nods as her focus slipst, her weight shifting just slightly.

“Mae,” I say quickly. “Stay with me.”

“I am,” she whispers.

I ease my hand away, the frost holding just long enough as I move, sliding an arm beneath her shoulders and another under her legs as I lift her carefully.

“Hey,” I murmur, adjusting her against me. “You’re not done yet, alright? You don’t get to check out after all that.”

Her head tilts against my shoulder, breath brushing warm against my neck. “I’d be…” she breathes, voice thin, “really annoyed if I did.”

A broken laugh escapes me, catching somewhere between relief and fear. “Yeah,” I say quietly, tightening my hold. “Good. Stay annoyed.”

Deigh crouches low as I reach him, already understanding, and I walk up his outstretched leg with her still held close, securing her against me just as cracking can be heard from behind me.

Fuck, it’s time to go.

Dìls is already airborne.

I don’t look back at Zolya as Deigh launches into the sky, the ruined city falling away beneath us.

I tighten my hold on her, lowering my head slightly toward hers as the wind tears past us.

“Stay with me, princess,” I murmur, unsure where the instinct to call her that came from, but it feels right.

And nothing else matters right now.

“We have to get her to help,” I plead to Deigh.

“Dìls knows where to go. We will follow.” 

I release the slightest breath of relief, readjusting my grip on her.

“I got you.” I mutter repeatedly as I feel her breaths steady out against me, nut whether I’m saying it for her or myself, I’m not sure.

M A E L I R A

“Glad to see you awake, Rowan.” A voice greets me as my eyes blink open.

“Syrena?”

There's a smile on the face of the flier as she sits on the bed beside me. My eyes focus as I take in the room around me.

“What—?” I jolt upright, my gaze catching on the decadence around me. Carved stone. Heavy drapes. Polished wood. “Cordyn?”

My body chooses that exact moment to remind me why I shouldn’t be moving. The adrenaline drains out of me all at once, leaving nothing but pain flooding through every fiber of my being, stemming from my side.

“Careful,” Syrena laughs lightly. “You’ll pull the stitches Trager worked so hard on.”

I drop back onto the bed with a sharp exhale, one hand instinctively pressing to my side before I turn my head toward her with a sigh. “How did I get here?”

I’ve known Syrena for as long as I’ve been out here—considering it was her cousin I ran into three years ago. She’s more exhausted than I remember her being, though she hides it well beneath that same composed exterior.

“That rider you adopted,” she says, her smirk returning like it never left, like she hasn’t just been quietly assessing every breath I take. “The blonde one?”

My stomach drops before she even finishes the sentence.

“He’s sweet,” she adds, something almost amused threading through her tone. “Been worried about you since he carried you here from Zolya.”

“He…” My voice falters slightly before I catch it, my brows pulling together as I push myself up just enough to look at her fully. “Carried me?”

Syrena’s expression shifts—not softer, not kinder, but more interested, like she’s been waiting for that exact reaction. “All the way across Krovla,” she says, almost casually, though there’s nothing casual about the way her eyes stay locked on mine. “Didn’t stop. Wouldn’t even hand you off when we tried to help after he landed.”

Something tightens in my chest, sharp and unfamiliar, but I ignore it. “That’s—” I start, then stop, because I don’t actually have a word for what that is.

Reckless. Stupid. Dangerous. All of the above.

“…unnecessary.”

Syrena huffs out a quiet laugh at that, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so.”

My fingers curl slightly into the sheets beneath me as I try to pull the memory back into focus. Zolya, the smoke, the venin, the hit, then — cold. Not the kind that seeps in slowly. Not the kind that belongs to wind or altitude or long nights without a fire.

My gaze drops to my bandaged side. It wasn’t just cold.

“Where is Liam?”

“He’s been confined to his quarters,” Syrena says, far too casually for what that actually means. “My uncle was not entirely happy with another dragon rider showing up at his door.” She laughs softly, but there’s something sharper beneath it.

Probably down the hall from here. Tecarus has a habit of keeping dragon riders where he can watch them.

“Gods,” I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “He really shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Syrena agrees again, far too easily. “But he is. And now the question becomes—” She leans back slightly, studying me in that same calculated way. “—what you plan to do about it.”

I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is— I don’t know, because two months ago, Liam Mairi was just a rider I dragged out of a ruined city.

And now he’s here. In Cordyn, surrounded by enemies he was raised to hate, with a secret that could get him killed in Navarre and a presence that’s already drawn attention where attention is the last thing either of us should want, and despite all of that— he didn’t let me die.

My fingers tighten slightly against the sheets before I push the thought away, swinging my legs carefully over the side of the bed.

Syrena watches the movement, her brow lifting slightly. “And where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

“To find him,” I say simply, even as the room tilts faintly again.

Her smile returns—sharp, knowing, entirely too satisfied. “Of course you are.”

“What does that supposed to mean?” I turn to the flier, cocking a brow.

“I’m just syaing.” She lifts her hands in mock surrender, already moving toward the door.

I groan as I stand, tugging my boots on. “Spit it out, Cordella.”

She laughs, glancing back at me. “He willingly stayed in enemy territory when he could’ve gone back to Riorson and his merry band of traitors,” she says. “He’s been traveling all over Poromiel with a girl who has more secrets than my uncle—which says a lot, by the way.”

I roll my eyes, reaching for the door handle.

“And he carried you straight to our front door,” she continues, her tone sharpening just slightly, “terrified he was going to lose you. He isn’t just anyone, Maelira.”

“He’s an acquaintance,” I inform her flatly, fingers tightening around the handle.

Syrena’s smirk deepens. “If it wasn’t more than that,” she says, voice light but pointed, “you wouldn’t be trying so hard to deny it.”

It’s at least five minutes of standing outside his door before I actually walk through it.

Syrena’s words flooded my mind. 

“If it wasn’t more than that, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to deny it.”

She doesn’t know what she’s saying.

Liam and I are friends. Friends with too many secrets to feel anything beyond that. Secrets that we need to talk about before this is anything more than what it may or may not be.

I take a deep breath before knocking on the door and pushing my way inside the room.

“If you’re here to question me again, you’ll get the same—” Liam cuts himself off as he turns. “Mae… you’re okay.”

“Thanks to you.” I say softly, closing the door behind me and flicking the lock into place. “We need to talk.”

Liam goes still. There’s fear in his eyes—real, unguarded fear—and for a split second, all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss it away.

Woah, Maelira. Pull back. What the fuck?

“I’m sure he’d enjoy that kiss too,” Dìls hums across our bond and I slam my shields up.

“Busybody dragon,” I mutter, rolling my eyes internally. “You wielded ice,” I say to Liam, cutting straight through everything else.

Liam scoffs, laughing nervously as he runs a hand through his hair. “Good one, Mae. My signet is farsight, remember? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when that Venin threw you?”

“I know what I saw, Mairi.” I hold my ground, crossing my arms as I step closer. “I should have bled out before we ever made it here. I didn’t, because you sealed the wound with ice.”

He hesitates. It’s subtle, but I see it—the flicker of calculation, the instinct to deny, to deflect, to survive. He’d do well in RSC interrogations.

I close the distance between us and reach for his right hand, turning his palm upward in mine. “Show me.”

“Mae—”

“For Amari’s sake, I’m not going to kill or report you, Liam,” I say, my voice sharper now, my dark eyes locking onto his. “You saved my life. I want to see how.”

Liam exhales slowly, something in him giving way as he flips his hand over, letting it rest in mine, and a soft chill runs up my arm.

My gaze drops, watching as pale blue frost blooms across my skin, delicate and intricate, curling into faint, shifting patterns. “Woah…”

“My farsight developed almost two weeks after Threshing,” Liam says quietly, letting the frost linger before it begins to fade. “Then in February, I woke up to half my room frozen.” He huffs out a small laugh. “I thought my friend Ridoc—he’s an ice wielder—was messing with me. Wouldn’t have been the first time. But then I frosted my armoire a few days later…” He shakes his head slightly. “I knew something wasn’t right.”

“Did you ever tell anyone?” I ask, still watching the last of the frost melt away.

He doesn’t pull his hand from mine. “My wingleader.”

My eyes snap up in alarm.

“Xaden,” he adds quickly, softer now. “We grew up together. He was my foster brother after the executions.” His left arm—the one marked with that relic—lifts, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s the only one I told. He helped me control it… helped me hide it.” His hand lingers at my neck. “I practiced in secret. I’ve only used it during Resson…” He pauses. “…and when I saw you hurt.”

“You were worried about me,” I murmured, leaning into his touch before I could stop myself.

“You saved my life,” he says just as quietly. “We’re even.”

I shake my head slightly, my breath catching as I search his eyes. “You never needed to get even with me.” I say, stepping closer.

He meets me halfway, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “I would’ve done it even if you hadn’t.”

“Why?”

His smile shifts—brighter, warmer, like sunlight breaking through the darkest of days. “Because you’re nothing like I thought you were,” he says, his voice dropping, “and everything I hoped you would be,” and then he kisses me.

It’s soft and careful, like he’s giving me the chance to pull away but I don’t.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up before I’m kissing him back, my hand slipping from his to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

His hand finds my hip, grounding me as the kiss deepens, as everything we haven’t said folds into it—every late night conversation, every shared glance, every moment we should have ignored but didn’t.

No one has ever understood me the way Liam does.

 “Liam…” I murmur, pulling back just slightly.

I finally notice the angle he’s bent at just to reach me, the height difference suddenly very real. I’m barely over five foot. He’s — definitely not.

“We, uh—” I stutter, stepping back just enough to meet his eyes again.

Focus, Maelira.

“There’s something I need to tell you before we—”

A loud bang interrupts me.

“I know you did not just wake up from a near-death experience and not come find me to say hi!”

I groan.

“Is that… Catriona Cordella?” Liam asks, his attention snapping toward the door.

“I’ll get rid of her,” I say quickly. “Just promise me we’ll talk, okay? And no matter what she says or does — don’t listen to her.”

Liam lets out a soft laugh. “We’ll talk, Mae. Whatever it is.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Take your time.”

I nod, lingering for half a second longer than I should before stepping out of his arms.

“Maelira!” 

I move faster, unlocking the door and pulling it open— only to be immediately tackled into a hug by not one, not two, but three fliers.

“Man, am I happy to see you,” Maren says from my left, her arm wrapped tightly around me and Cat. “Seeing you unconscious like that? That was scary, Mae.”

“I’m fine, Mare,” I promise her as she backs up, allowing Cat to release me.

You’re the only dragon rider I actually like.” She almost scoffs, trying to play it off. “You can’t go dying on me.”

I smile at her words. “Hey, Cat.” It’s the third flier that keeps my attention. “I heard your brother was the one who patched me up,” I say, lightly bumping the girl.

Tessa shrugs at the mention of her twin brother. “He’s gotten pretty good at field work. He patched most of us up after Cliffsbane.”

“But you’re all okay?”

“We lost a few,” Maren says quietly. “But everyone who made it here is.”

I nod, scanning them quickly, checking for anything I might’ve missed. I wish I had the time to sit with them, but—

“Cat.” Liam’s voice sounds from behind me.

“Liam,” Cat greets coldly.

I blink, looking between them. “You two know each other?”

“My foster brother, the one I mentioned?” Liam says. “They used to be betrothed.”

I turn back to Cat.

She scoffs. “Some betrothal. He spent two months of weekends here, barely spoke to me, and then called it off for some girl.”

“Xaden and Wren had been together since they were teenagers, Cat,” Liam snaps. “Everyone knew he wasn’t going to take the arrangement seriously.”

“He didn’t even give us a chance!” she shoots back. “And I heard he cheated on her, so how’s that working out?”

Liam’s jaw tightens. “For Malek’s sake, Cat—” His hands rake through his hair as he steps behind me. “That has nothing to do with you, and even then you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Cat laughs. “Says the man hiding from his so-called family across the border. Do you even know what’s happening between them right now?”

“Do you?” Liam snaps back.

She steps closer, that same smug confidence settling into place. “I saw them recently. They didn’t exactly look happy.”

Liam stills. “You saw them? Together?”

“Last drop,” she says.

He studies her, then shrugs slightly. “Well that's already an improvement considering the last time I saw them, we were thanking Zihnal if they were in the same room together..”

Cat turns away from Liam with a scoff. “My uncle has requested you both at dinner. Formal attire.” She glances over her shoulder. “Xaden has a closet across the hall. Liam should fit into something.”

“Thanks, Cat,” I say as they start to leave.

Tessa slips back in before I can close the door.

“For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, eyes on Liam, “I was on that drop. They didn’t seem like they were on the rocks.”

“What was Wren doing there?” Liam asks.

Tessa shrugs. “Riorson said something about a gryphon attack on Samara. I think he’s stationed there. It sounded like he got hurt pretty badly.”

“Thanks, Tess.” I say as she nods and slips out. I lock the door again, turning back to Liam, and he’s running his hand through his hair again. “You do that a lot,” I say.

“What?”

“Your hair. You’re always messing with it.” I guide him into a chair, smoothing it down.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to look at me. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

Silence settles for a moment before— “Can I kiss you again?”

The question catches me off guard. “I—” I shake my head slightly. “I need to tell you something first.” I step away, sitting on the edge of the bed, my back to him. “You need to know this before anything else… because it’s going to change how you see me. You might even regret saving me.”

“Princess, ” he says gently, “nothing is going to change how I see you. It’s not like your dad ordered the executions of my, and all my friends’, parents.”

I think I might be sick.

He lets out a small laugh. “That would be—” He stops. “Mae?”

“What if he did?” I whisper.

He frowns. “That’s not possible. The King’s daughter died—”

“Five years, one month, and twenty-eight days ago,” I recite. “To the day when I crossed the parapet.

Silence.

“Maelira… what are you saying?”

I inhale slowly. “Rowan isn’t my last name.”

“What is it?”

“You already know the answer, Liam.”

“Tell me, anyways.”

My voice is steady when I say, “It’s Tauri.”

next part

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Carry You Home: @taleiaargenis

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Every Year, Still You | Xaden & Wrenley

Xaden | Xaden Week 2026 | Chasing Shadows

Summary: Snippets of 5 important birthdays to Wreney and Xaden.

Pairings: Xaden Riorson x OC! Wrenley Tavis

Notes: For Xaden Week Day 6: Birthday - @empyreanevents. 

Note 2: Am I late? yes! Did I procrastinate like nobody's business? Also yes! But to be fair, my mom came to visit for my birthday so it was bound to happen lol. ANYWAYS Welcome to G’s 25th birthday and 1st blog anniversary surprise! Where I kill so many birds with one stone because March 30th and 31st mark: my 25th birthday (30th), Xaden's birthday (31st) and the end of the week where I didn't sleep just to read all three of the Empyrean books and dive head first into writing the first few chapters of Chasing Shadows! So in honor of all of that, this was born!

Warnings: its super cute, mentions of parental death, executions, and parental abandonment, fluff, spoilers of Chasing Shadows, Before You Leave Me, and Carry You Home.

Word Count: 5.4k

Xaden’s 10th Birthday

“What do you mean he’s not coming?” Wrenley asks, her horse already being tacked by the stable boys, fingers tightening in the worn leather of the saddle as she turns toward Garrick.

“I couldn’t find him.” Garrick shrugs, guiding his horse out from the stables with far less concern than she thinks this situation deserves. “It’s a big house, princess. He doesn’t want to be found.”

“We can’t go on his birthday ride without him.” The words leave her in a rush, sharp with disbelief, already turning on her heel before anyone can argue otherwise.

“Wren,” Bodhi calls after her, steady as ever, “his mom just left. Let him be. We can still go out, he’ll join if he wants to.”

She stops just long enough to look back at them, braids slipping over her shoulder with the movement, something fierce and unyielding flashing across her face.

“No one deserves to be alone on their birthday.” And then she’s gone.

The walk back to Riorson House feels longer than it ever has, her boots scuffing against the stone path as the sound of the stables fade behind her.

She slips through the side entrance, bypassing the staff as she moves quickly through the halls, checking the rooms she’s found him in before. The study Garrick drags him into. The shadowed alcoves he disappears into when he doesn’t want to be bothered. The corners she’s stumbled across by accident more times than she can count.

“Xaden?” She calls in each room. Each time she’s met with no answer.

Her steps slow as she makes her way up toward the family wing, something uneasy settling low in her chest the higher she climbs. It’s only when she reaches his door that she hears it. Soft and broken.

To anyone passing by, it would be nothing more than the quiet creak of an old house settling into itself.

But Wren hears it. The sound of someone falling apart and her chest tightens instantly, hand lifting toward the door without thinking, fingers curling as she prepares to knock — she stops.

What do you say to someone who just had their mother abandon them?

Wrenley wouldn’t know. Her mother leaves all the time. Missions. Orders. Duties that pull her away for weeks, sometimes months. But she always comes back.

Always.

So what do you say to someone whose mother won’t?

Her hand drops. Instead, she turns and slides down the wall beside his door, settling onto the floor with a quiet exhale. She pulls her knees to her chest, resting her head back against the wood, close enough that she can feel the faint vibration of his sobs through it.

On the other side, his breathing stutters, breaks, falls apart all over again.

Wren doesn’t speak. Doesn’t interrupt, just stays.

The cries come in waves at first, sharp and uneven, each one sounding like it hurts more than the last. Slowly, they begin to quiet, fading into something softer. Something weaker.

Until there’s nothing.

Still, she doesn’t move.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs finally, voice barely above a breath. “If you want to talk.”

It’s not loud enough for anyone to hear.

Just enough that if he’s listening — if some part of him is still reaching — he won’t have to wonder if everyone walked away.

The sun shifts slowly through the windows, casting long stretches of gold across the hallway.

She stays through all of it.

Through the silence. Through the hours.

Waiting.

Because even then, before she understands what it will grow into, what it will cost, what it will become, Wrenley Tavis makes a choice.

If he’s going to learn how to survive this alone — she’s going to be there every step of the way.

Xaden doesn’t remember when he sat down.

One second he’s standing in the middle of his room, the next he’s on the floor, back pressed against the frame of his bed, the cold stone biting through his clothes, his hands clenched tight enough that his fingers ache.

He’s supposed to be outside. Supposed to be meeting Garrick and the others. Supposed to be riding, laughing, celebrating. He’s supposed to be excited to be ten.

Instead, he ignores every sound outside the locked door.

Until the footsteps come. Softer than the others had been. Slower. Careful. They stop just outside his door.

His breathing stutters, catching on the edge of another sob as he squeezes his eyes shut, willing them to leave like everyone else has.

They don’t.

There’s a quiet shift instead. The soft sound of someone sitting down. And still—

No knock. No voice.

Something in his chest twists. A sob slips free before he can stop it, sharp and broken in the silence. He just — he just wants someone to care.

The crying comes harder after that, tearing out of him in uneven bursts until it burns itself out, until all that’s left are quiet sniffles and the dull, aching emptiness settling in its place.

His head drops to his knees.

Time passes. He doesn’t know how much. Only that the light outside his window begins to shift, the sky bleeding into orange, then deeper, slower.

“I’m right here.” The words are soft. Barely there. Xaden’s head lifts, eyes snapping to the door.

Wrenley.

Of all the people he expects — it isn’t her.

“If you want to talk.”

His chest tightens. He pushes himself up slowly, legs unsteady as he crosses the room, hand coming to rest against the door.

Just open it. Accept it.

He should. He knows he should.

His fingers curl around the handle, but he can’t. Not like this. Not when everything still feels like it’s breaking apart inside him, not when the thought of speaking feels like it might shatter whatever fragile control he’s managed to hold onto.

Slowly, he lets go. Slides down the wall instead, back pressing against the door, close enough that he can almost feel her on the other side. 

He doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t leave.

The silence stretches between them, not empty, not suffocating like before. Something quieter. Something steadier.

Evening fades into dusk. Dusk into night.

At some point, the house settles completely, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone else has gone to sleep.

Xaden doesn’t move. Doesn’t sleep — not fully — but he listens.

And every so often, there’s the faintest shift.

A soft breath. Proof that she’s still there. Still waiting. Still choosing to stay.

His chest tightens again, something unfamiliar threading through the ache.

He pushes to his feet suddenly, before he can think too hard about it, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket from his bed.

This time, when he reaches for the door, he opens it.

Wren is curled up just outside, fast asleep against the wall, her braids loose and half undone, her face soft in a way that makes something in his chest twist painfully.

She stayed here — on the floor — all day, for him.

He swallows hard, stepping around her carefully as he lowers the blanket over her shoulders, tucking it in gently so it won’t slip.

She stirs when he shifts her, just enough to slide the pillow beneath her head.

“Xay?” she murmurs, barely awake, eyes fluttering open for half a second.

“Go back to sleep,” he says softly, his hand moving almost without thought as he brushes her hair back from her face, fingers settling into a slow, soothing rhythm.

She sighs, curling instinctively into the pillow, closer to him, like she knows he’s there even half-asleep.

“Happy birthday, Shadow.” The words are quiet and sleep-heavy.

Xaden’s lips curve, small and soft, something warm breaking through the cold that’s been sitting in his chest all day. “Thank you, Little Bird.” His hand doesn’t stop moving through her hair, doesn’t want to. “You made it better,” he adds, barely above a whisper.

He slides down the wall behind her, close enough that her shoulder brushes his leg, close enough that he’ll feel if she moves.

Close enough that he won’t miss it if she leaves, even though he knows she won't.

And for the first time since the night before — the quiet doesn’t feel quite as empty.

His eyes drift shut, and when sleep pulls him under, he lets it.

Xaden’s 15th Birthday

Xaden Riorson doesn’t celebrate his birthday anymore.

Not since the day his mother walked away and took something with her that never quite settled back into place. After that, March thirty-first became something to ignore, something to survive, something to let pass quietly without acknowledgment.

So he does.

Or at least, he tries.

But when a letter with a familiar, distinctive seal would be dropped in front of him at breakfast, something in his chest shifted before he could stop it. His fingers stilled for half a second before he reached for it, brushing over the wax like he didn’t already know who it was from.

Wrenley Tavis.

He never smiled. Never let himself. But he tucked the letter away carefully, like it mattered more than anything else on the table, like the rest of the room hadn't already faded into background noise.

He definitely shouldn’t have been writing back to her every chance he got. Shouldn’t have told her about his days, the small details, the things that don’t matter to anyone else. Shouldn’t be waiting for her replies like they’re the only thing worth looking forward to.

And he definitely shouldn’t be falling in love with his best friend’s cousin.

“She’s off limits,” he mutters to himself the evening of his fifteenth birthday, leaning back against the wall across the room as she laughs at something Garrick says, the sound softer than he remembers and somehow sharper all at once.

His jaw tightens.

“Garrick would kill you,” he adds, like that’s reason enough to stop whatever this is before it becomes something he can’t walk away from.

It isn’t. It never is, because she’s here.

After five years, she’s finally here again, moving through Riorson House like she belongs in it, like she never left, like the space she used to fill hadn’t been empty the entire time she was gone.

And somehow, that makes everything worse.

He leaves before anyone can notice the shift in him, before anyone can question it, before she can look at him long enough to see something he doesn’t want her to.

The stairs are familiar. The path is automatic. Muscle memory guides him upward, away from the noise, away from the people, away from everything that makes the day feel like more than it should.

No one has wished him a happy birthday. No gifts. No quiet acknowledgement. Not even a glance that lingers too long.

Exactly how he wants it.

March thirty-first is just another day.

The highest turret greets him with wind and silence, the open sky stretching endlessly in front of him as he braces his hands against the stone and breathes in air that feels cleaner than anything below.

Up here, he can pretend.

Pretend the date doesn’t matter. Pretend nothing has changed. Pretend he hasn’t spent the entire day avoiding the weight of something he refuses to name.

“Hey.” Her voice cuts through it anyway. Soft and certain and all too familiar.

Xaden exhales slowly before he turns, already knowing what he’ll find.

Wrenley stands halfway through the hatch, pulling herself the rest of the way up with a small huff, hair slipping forward as she brushes her hands off like she hadn’t just climbed into the one place he thought was his alone.

“You’re hard to find,” she says, like it’s an observation and not an accusation.

“You didn’t have to look,” he replies, turning back toward the horizon.

“I know.” There’s a pause, the faint shift of movement beside him, and then the soft thud of something being set down. “I wanted a slice,” she adds, dropping down next to him, close enough that their shoulders brush. “I felt guilty not sharing it.”

He glances over despite himself.

Chocolate cake.

A single slice, uneven at the edges.

His chest tightens.

“You hate chocolate cake.”

“I tolerate it,” she says easily, tilting her face up toward the sky, like the stars are more interesting than the lie she just told. “Sometimes.”

He huffs out something that might almost be a laugh, shaking his head slightly as he looks away again.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I never said I was good at it.”

“You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

She shrugs one shoulder, still not looking at him. “Because I wanted to.”

The simplicity of it hits harder than it should.

Because she remembers. Not the others. Not Garrick or Bodhi or anyone else who might have noticed and chosen to leave him alone.

Her.

She came looking and now she’s sitting beside him like it’s nothing, like he’s not trying to disappear, like she hasn’t just undone every wall he’s spent years building.

He doesn’t touch the cake. Doesn’t trust himself to, because something in his chest is shifting, cracking open in a way that feels dangerously close to something he buried years ago.

She leans back on her hands, gaze fixed on the sky as the first stars begin to appear, quiet and steady in a way that makes something inside him ache.

“You know,” she says after a moment, voice softer now, “for someone who doesn’t celebrate his birthday, you’re really bad at hiding on it.”

He glances at her. “I’m not hiding.”

“Mm.” She hums, unconvinced. “Sure you’re not.”

“I’m not.”

“You disappeared to the highest point in the house,” she points out. “That feels like hiding.”

“It feels like being left alone.” There’s no bite in it. No real edge.

She finally turns her head then, looking at him fully for the first time since she arrived, something quieter settling into her expression. “And yet, I still found you.”

 The words carry between them, heavier than they should be. His breath falters.

She sees you. Even when you don’t want to be seen.

His fingers curl against the stone, gaze locking onto hers in a way that makes it impossible to look away.

“If you didn’t want to be found,” she continues softly, “you could’ve left the house.”

“I thought about it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that… or maybe he does. Maybe it’s sitting right beside him.

“Guess I didn’t try hard enough,” he says instead.

She smiles, small and knowing, like she hears everything he doesn’t say. “Or maybe,” she counters gently, “you didn’t actually want to be alone.”

“Maybe,” he echoes, quieter now.

A beat passes between them, stretched thin with something neither of them names.

“Thank you,” he says finally, nodding toward the cake.

She follows his gaze, then back to him, her expression softening.

“Happy birthday, Shadow.”

Something in him gives with that simple phrase.

He doesn’t think. Doesn’t weigh the consequences, doesn’t consider Garrick or boundaries or any of the reasons this is a terrible idea.

He just moves.

Closes the distance between them, one hand coming up to cup her jaw as he kisses her.

She freezes for half a second, breath catching against his mouth. “Xaden—”

“I know,” he murmurs, not pulling away, forehead brushing hers. “I know, I shouldn’t—”

“So don’t,” she says softly.

He hesitates, searching her eyes.

“If I don’t,” he admits quietly, “I’m not going to stop thinking about it.”

Her lips part slightly, something shifting in her eyes that looks a lot like the same edge he’s been standing on. 

“Wren—”

“You kissed me,” she says, softer now. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t mean to?”

“I meant to,” he admits.

“Then why are you acting like it was a mistake?”

Because it could ruin everything.

Because Garrick—

Because this matters more than it should.

He exhales slowly, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. “Because I don’t want to lose you.”

Her expression shifts, something steady and certain settling into place. “You won’t,” she says simply.

“You don’t know that.”

“You could never lose me, I know that for a fact.””

“How?”

“Because even after all these years, I still know how to read you like a book,” she replies. “Don’t I?”

He searches her again, looking for hesitation, for doubt, for anything that might give him a reason to pull back.

He doesn’t find it.

“Fuck it,” he says quietly, and then he kisses her again.

This time slower, more certain.

She leans into it immediately, hand coming up to fist lightly in his shirt as the space between them disappears completely, the world narrowing down to just this moment, just this feeling, just her.

When they finally pull apart, his forehead rests fully against hers, his breathing uneven in a way that has nothing to do with running or fighting or anything he’s used to.

“Well,” she murmurs softly, a hint of amusement threading through her voice, “that’s one way to celebrate.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes still closed. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

He opens his eyes then, meeting hers, something lighter settling in his chest for the first time in years.

The cake still sits untouched beside them.

But for the first time since he was ten, March thirty-first doesn’t feel like something he has to survive.

It feels like something he wants to remember.

Xaden’s 17th Birthday

Xaden tells himself his birthday doesn’t matter.

He’s gotten good at that over the years. Good at letting the day pass without weight, without expectation, without anything that might linger long enough to hurt.

And yet, he still shows up for the ride this year.

He tells himself it’s for tradition. For Garrick. For the others.

It has nothing to do with the way Wren had looked at him that morning, something soft and knowing in her expression as she’d said, “You’re still not skipping.”

He exhales slowly, adjusting his grip on the reins as they move through the open stretch beyond Aretia, the familiar rhythm of hooves against earth settling into something almost peaceful.

Almost.

He doesn’t miss the way Garrick watched him as they mounted. There's no anger behind his gaze but Xaden wishes there was. That would have been easier than whatever Garrick is holding back.

Xaden’s almost tempted to ask Garrick to just punch him, beat him into the dirt so that Garrick can stop cataloging every movement, every glance, every inch of space between Xaden and Wren to decide whether it’s acceptable.

It isn’t. Xaden can respect though that at least he’s trying. Even if it makes the ride feel tighter than it should.

They set out in a loose line, the familiar rhythm of hooves against earth settling in as Aretia falls behind them, wind cutting clean across open ground. For a while, no one says anything, the silence filled only by the sound of riding and the quiet weight of something unspoken threading through the group.

Wren shifts closer beside him, her mare coming into a trot beside his, falling into perfect pace. She softly flashes him a smile and Xaden can’t resist the urge to reach across and brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Alright,” Imogen finally speaks up, drawing the word out as her gaze flicks between them, sharp and curious, “I’m missing something.”

Bodhi glances over, already halfway to the answer, his expression shifting in that quiet, knowing way of his.

“Missing what?” Xaden asks, gently guiding his horse away from Wren’s.

Imogen gestures between him and Wrenley, vague but pointed. “This,” she says. “Whatever this is.”

Wren doesn’t even try to play it off. “Okay?” She laughs and anyone watching would have seen the immediate ease in Xaden’s shoulders and eyes at her laugh.

“That!” Imogen jolts, pointing towards Xaden who's smiling fondly at Wren. “What the fuck is that?”

Bodhi exhales something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Oh,” he says simply.

Wren smiles faintly, like she’s been waiting for that. “Yeah,” she says.

Imogen’s brows lift. “Wait—seriously?”

“Yes.” THeres no hesitation of deflection in her voice.

Imogen’s grin spreads instantly. “Oh, this is incredible.”

“It’s really not,” Garrick mutters from ahead of them, not even turning around.

Bodhi chuckles at Garrick’s annoyance as he asks, “How long?”

“A little over a year,” Wren answers.

Liam’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Oh—” He glances between them, something like understanding clicking into place. “That makes… a lot of sense, actually.”

Garrick looks personally betrayed.

“You knew?” he demands.

“I didn’t know,” Liam defends quickly, holding his hands up. “I just—suspected. A little.”

“Unbelievable,” Garrick mutters.

“I walked in on them in Oak Grove last year,” Bodhi says calmly. 

“You did not,” Garrick snaps.

“I did,” Bodhi counters mildly. “And honestly, they were pretty obvious.”

Wrenley turns in her saddle to glare at her best friend. “No we weren’t!”

“Wren,” Bodhi sighs with another laugh. “My mom figured it out. You were.”

Panic strikens Wren’s face, clearly trying to figure out if her dad already knew but Xaden’s quick to reach over and take her hand, coming up beside her again.

“Gods, you two are insufferable.”

“That feels unnecessary,” Xaden says.

“Oh, it’s entirely necessary,” she fires back. “Do you know how long I’ve been watching you two circle each other like idiots?”

“We weren’t circling anything,” Wren argues.

“You absolutely were.”

“We weren’t.”

“You were,” Bodhi says.

Wren turns to glare at him. “You are supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” he replies. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Garrick finally slows his horse enough to fall back in line with them, his gaze flicking between Xaden and Wren again.

“I still don’t like it,” he says finally.

“We know,” Wren replies.

“But,” he adds, eyes locking on Xaden now, “I meant what I said.”

Xaden doesn’t look away. “I know.”

“If you hurt her—”

“I won’t.”

It’s immediate. Certain. Unshakable.

Garrick watches him for a second longer, like he’s measuring the weight of those words against everything he knows about him.

Then he nods. Only once as he says, “Good.”

Xaden’s 23rd Birthday

Wrenley tells herself that this year is going to be different. That she isn’t going to do anything for his birthday.

She presses her face deeper into her pillow, like she can smother the thought before it roots, but she has never once forgotten his birthday.

She can barely pull back a breath as she rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, the quiet of her room pressing in too close.

They haven’t spoken in months.

Not really.

Not beyond clipped words in meetings, not beyond necessary acknowledgments that feel more like obligations than anything else.

There are no lingering touches. No quiet glances. No them. Just a fracture that neither of them has tried to mend.

Her throat tightens.

“Don’t,” she mutters under her breath, dragging a hand over her face like she can wipe the feeling away, like she can wipe him away.

It doesn’t work, because up until a few months ago, her entire world revolved around him.

She catches a sob that ties to escape her chest, and she pushes herself out of bed before she can spiral any further, before she can think too long, before she can —

Before she can remember what it felt like when this day used to mean something.

The morning passes like every other. Training. Reports. Leadership meetings.

She throws herself into it, into anything that demands her attention, anything that keeps her moving, keeps her focused, keeps her from thinking about the date that sits heavy and constant in the back of her mind.

It almost works.

Until she finds herself standing in the kitchens, asking for a slice of chocolate cake, before she blindly follows the path to his room.

Why is she doing this at all? Because this is exactly the kind of thing she shouldn’t be doing anymore. Because this is how you hold onto something you’re supposed to let go of.

And yet, she’s slipping into his room, gently setting the plate on the desk and pulling a scrap of paper she knows in his drawer before simply writing, Happy birthday -Wren.

There’s no softness, no Xay or Shadow. Just a simple line frome a childhood friend.

Because that's all she is anymore, and yet she still believes everyone should get a chance to celebrate their birthday.

Wrenley’s 23rd Birthday (Future of CS teaser, to avoid ATWWSA spoilers, do not continue)

Before her teen years, Wrenley used to look forward to her birthday.

Both of her parents would be home, the house filled with warmth and noise and the kind of laughter that made everything feel safe. Her friends would gather without needing an excuse, and for one full day, the world softened around her. She didn’t have to be anything but their Wren.

After her mother’s death, that changed. The day became hollowed out by absence, something she avoided more than she acknowledged. But Xaden hadn’t let her disappear into it the way she hadn’t let him disappear into his. He showed up, stubborn and steady, dragging her out of silence not with words, but with presence.

After the executions—after both of her parents were gone, after she was forcibly separated from everyone but Garrick— Wrenley Tavis stopped celebrating her birthday entirely.

Even when she entered Basgiath, when she was finally reunited with the people she loved most, there were no celebrations. No attention. Just quiet, stolen moments tucked into borrowed spaces where they could all exist together for a little while without the world watching.

It was easier that way, safer not just in her mind but within the reality of the world they lived in.

When her twenty-third birthday arrives, Wrenley would much rather keep it that way. Quiet, controlled, and forgettable, but everything about this birthday feels like the exact opposite.

Because when she wakes that morning, Xaden isn’t there.

The space beside her is cold, untouched long enough that it settles something uneasy in her chest before she can stop it. She tells herself not to read into it, not to let it matter, but the absence lingers anyway.

Instead, when she opens the door, she’s met with her father.

Harlow stands there with a tray balanced carefully in his hands, filled with all of her favorites, a small, soft smile on his face like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

And just like that, she doesn’t get to pretend the day doesn’t exist.

Breakfast is quiet, just the two of them, the kind of stillness that feels intentional rather than empty. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more than she’s willing to give, and for a little while, she lets herself sit in it. Lets herself feel something close to normal.

But it doesn’t last long when Garrick steals her the second she’s finished.

“C’mon,” he says, already halfway down the steps, not even bothering to check if she’s following. “You are not wasting away your birthday inside this house.”

She groans, but goes anyway.

The newly dubbed cousins ride takes them out beyond the city, just the two of them for once, and it should feel easy. Familiar. Like it used to be.

But Garrick is… off.

He’s suddenly too nice, too attentive Smiling at her in a way that immediately puts her on edge. It’s the same look he used to get when he was hiding something.

“What?” she finally asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What?” he shoots back, far too casually.

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“Not like this.”

He just grins.

She lets it go, because maybe she’s reading into it too much. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just the first birthday that feels even remotely normal in years, and they’re all trying too hard to make it something good.

By the time they return to Riorson House, the rest of their squad is waiting.

Lunch feels like chaos.

Imogen and Bodhi are arguing before she even makes it to the table, both of them insisting they should be the one to bring her food, their voices overlapping in a way that makes it impossible to tell who started it.

“You’re going to drop it.”

“I’m not going to drop it.”

“You always drop things.”

“That was one time—”

Liam and Sloane are worse.

They bounce between each other and Wren, talking over one another as they try to fill her in on everything she missed that morning, their energy relentless, impossible to contain.

Mae trails behind them like she’s trying to manage a storm with her bare hands.

“Sit,” she finally tells them both, pushing them toward the table. “Just—sit down and breathe for five seconds.”

They don’t, of course they don’t.

Wren laughs anyway, because she’s missed this. Missed them. Missed the chaos that was being at home, with everyone around her.

Brennan, Renna, and Naolin pass by just long enough to offer quiet, knowing smiles and soft murmurs of “happy birthday” before continuing on their way, something about the way they look at her lingering just long enough to feel… intentional.

She doesn’t have time to question it.

Sawyer drops a tray in front of her muttering, “Eat before they figure their shit out,” jerking his head toward Imogen and Bodhi, who are still arguing across the room.

She laughs again, softer this time.

Kaelin finally intervenes, dragging Bodhi into a chair and sliding into the seat beside him before he can protest, her attention shifting to Wren as she pulls a small package from her bag.

“Happy birthday,” she says gently, nudging it across the table.

Wren’s smile softens as she takes it. “Thank you, Kae.” She opens it carefully and stills. A small copy of The Queen Without a Sword rests in her hands. Her breath catches.

“‘Love isn’t a battlefield,’  the stranger had said. ‘You don’t win it. You don’t conquer it. You choose it.’” The words echo in her mind, her mother’s voice wrapped around them, steady and certain.

“What— how did you—”

“Bodhi mentioned it,” Kaelin says with a small smile. “I found it while cataloguing the library. I figured it belonged with someone who would understand it.”

Wren swallows hard, blinking back the sudden burn behind her eyes as she looks up at them. “Thank you.”

The afternoon pulls her away before she can sit in it too long.

Battle Brief is heavy. There’s no other way to describe it.

New movements. New threats. The kind of information that reminds her, sharply, that nothing about their world has actually slowed down just because she wanted one quiet day.

It’s still a war. It will always be war.

By the time it ends, she’s exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.

And yet, Wren still hasn't caught a single glimpse of her boyfriend. Not once.

The thought settles heavier than she wants it to.

By the time she makes her way back upstairs, she’s done. Done with the attention. Done with the questions. Done with the strange looks her friends keep giving her like they know something she doesn’t.

She skips dinner, chooses the quiet of her room instead.

This isn’t how she wanted today to go.

Because some part of her had — expected something.

From Xaden specifically, and the absence of it has dragged at her more than she’s willing to admit.

The corridor is quiet as she reaches their room.

Wren pushes the door open, stepping inside without hesitation, already shrugging out of her flight jacket, letting it fall against the dresser as she kicks off her boots with a tired exhale.

She barely makes it two steps toward the bed before—

“Happy birthday, Little Bird.”

Her shoulders tense instantly, then relief crashes through her so fast it almost makes her dizzy.

“Xay,” she breathes, a smile breaking across her face as she turns toward the sound, her eyes lifting, expecting him standing, waiting, but instead her gaze drops. Just slightly, just enough for the world to shift beneath her feet.

Because Xaden Riorson isn’t standing in the center of the room. He’s kneeling—

on one knee.

Everything: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse @poisonivy2267 @babypeapoddd @wolfbc97 @ella423

ATWWSA: @simplyyspring @hiraethjules @ella423

Chasing Shadows: @fangirling-galore @sande5098 @javden @littlepippilongstocking @what-will-be-your-verse @xadenstyles @daisydark @messageforthesmallestman @taleiaargenis @littleemissperfecttt @nesiris21 @samriddhisingh @helo1281917 @thatfandombitch87 @jasmineee05 @plants-w0rld @souzzmmaria @crowwnpiece

[simplyyspring]

SCREAMING

[embersofonyx]

Every Year, Still You | Xaden & Wrenley

Xaden | Xaden Week 2026 | Chasing Shadows

Summary: Snippets of 5 important birthdays to Wreney and Xaden.

Pairings: Xaden Riorson x OC! Wrenley Tavis

Notes: For Xaden Week Day 6: Birthday - @empyreanevents. 

Note 2: Am I late? yes! Did I procrastinate like nobody's business? Also yes! But to be fair, my mom came to visit for my birthday so it was bound to happen lol. ANYWAYS Welcome to G’s 25th birthday and 1st blog anniversary surprise! Where I kill so many birds with one stone because March 30th and 31st mark: my 25th birthday (30th), Xaden's birthday (31st) and the end of the week where I didn't sleep just to read all three of the Empyrean books and dive head first into writing the first few chapters of Chasing Shadows! So in honor of all of that, this was born!

Warnings: its super cute, mentions of parental death, executions, and parental abandonment, fluff, spoilers of Chasing Shadows, Before You Leave Me, and Carry You Home.

Word Count: 5.4k

Xaden’s 10th Birthday

“What do you mean he’s not coming?” Wrenley asks, her horse already being tacked by the stable boys, fingers tightening in the worn leather of the saddle as she turns toward Garrick.

“I couldn’t find him.” Garrick shrugs, guiding his horse out from the stables with far less concern than she thinks this situation deserves. “It’s a big house, princess. He doesn’t want to be found.”

“We can’t go on his birthday ride without him.” The words leave her in a rush, sharp with disbelief, already turning on her heel before anyone can argue otherwise.

“Wren,” Bodhi calls after her, steady as ever, “his mom just left. Let him be. We can still go out, he’ll join if he wants to.”

She stops just long enough to look back at them, braids slipping over her shoulder with the movement, something fierce and unyielding flashing across her face.

“No one deserves to be alone on their birthday.” And then she’s gone.

The walk back to Riorson House feels longer than it ever has, her boots scuffing against the stone path as the sound of the stables fade behind her.

She slips through the side entrance, bypassing the staff as she moves quickly through the halls, checking the rooms she’s found him in before. The study Garrick drags him into. The shadowed alcoves he disappears into when he doesn’t want to be bothered. The corners she’s stumbled across by accident more times than she can count.

“Xaden?” She calls in each room. Each time she’s met with no answer.

Her steps slow as she makes her way up toward the family wing, something uneasy settling low in her chest the higher she climbs. It’s only when she reaches his door that she hears it. Soft and broken.

To anyone passing by, it would be nothing more than the quiet creak of an old house settling into itself.

But Wren hears it. The sound of someone falling apart and her chest tightens instantly, hand lifting toward the door without thinking, fingers curling as she prepares to knock — she stops.

What do you say to someone who just had their mother abandon them?

Wrenley wouldn’t know. Her mother leaves all the time. Missions. Orders. Duties that pull her away for weeks, sometimes months. But she always comes back.

Always.

So what do you say to someone whose mother won’t?

Her hand drops. Instead, she turns and slides down the wall beside his door, settling onto the floor with a quiet exhale. She pulls her knees to her chest, resting her head back against the wood, close enough that she can feel the faint vibration of his sobs through it.

On the other side, his breathing stutters, breaks, falls apart all over again.

Wren doesn’t speak. Doesn’t interrupt, just stays.

The cries come in waves at first, sharp and uneven, each one sounding like it hurts more than the last. Slowly, they begin to quiet, fading into something softer. Something weaker.

Until there’s nothing.

Still, she doesn’t move.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs finally, voice barely above a breath. “If you want to talk.”

It’s not loud enough for anyone to hear.

Just enough that if he’s listening — if some part of him is still reaching — he won’t have to wonder if everyone walked away.

The sun shifts slowly through the windows, casting long stretches of gold across the hallway.

She stays through all of it.

Through the silence. Through the hours.

Waiting.

Because even then, before she understands what it will grow into, what it will cost, what it will become, Wrenley Tavis makes a choice.

If he’s going to learn how to survive this alone — she’s going to be there every step of the way.

Xaden doesn’t remember when he sat down.

One second he’s standing in the middle of his room, the next he’s on the floor, back pressed against the frame of his bed, the cold stone biting through his clothes, his hands clenched tight enough that his fingers ache.

He’s supposed to be outside. Supposed to be meeting Garrick and the others. Supposed to be riding, laughing, celebrating. He’s supposed to be excited to be ten.

Instead, he ignores every sound outside the locked door.

Until the footsteps come. Softer than the others had been. Slower. Careful. They stop just outside his door.

His breathing stutters, catching on the edge of another sob as he squeezes his eyes shut, willing them to leave like everyone else has.

They don’t.

There’s a quiet shift instead. The soft sound of someone sitting down. And still—

No knock. No voice.

Something in his chest twists. A sob slips free before he can stop it, sharp and broken in the silence. He just — he just wants someone to care.

The crying comes harder after that, tearing out of him in uneven bursts until it burns itself out, until all that’s left are quiet sniffles and the dull, aching emptiness settling in its place.

His head drops to his knees.

Time passes. He doesn’t know how much. Only that the light outside his window begins to shift, the sky bleeding into orange, then deeper, slower.

“I’m right here.” The words are soft. Barely there. Xaden’s head lifts, eyes snapping to the door.

Wrenley.

Of all the people he expects — it isn’t her.

“If you want to talk.”

His chest tightens. He pushes himself up slowly, legs unsteady as he crosses the room, hand coming to rest against the door.

Just open it. Accept it.

He should. He knows he should.

His fingers curl around the handle, but he can’t. Not like this. Not when everything still feels like it’s breaking apart inside him, not when the thought of speaking feels like it might shatter whatever fragile control he’s managed to hold onto.

Slowly, he lets go. Slides down the wall instead, back pressing against the door, close enough that he can almost feel her on the other side. 

He doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t leave.

The silence stretches between them, not empty, not suffocating like before. Something quieter. Something steadier.

Evening fades into dusk. Dusk into night.

At some point, the house settles completely, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone else has gone to sleep.

Xaden doesn’t move. Doesn’t sleep — not fully — but he listens.

And every so often, there’s the faintest shift.

A soft breath. Proof that she’s still there. Still waiting. Still choosing to stay.

His chest tightens again, something unfamiliar threading through the ache.

He pushes to his feet suddenly, before he can think too hard about it, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket from his bed.

This time, when he reaches for the door, he opens it.

Wren is curled up just outside, fast asleep against the wall, her braids loose and half undone, her face soft in a way that makes something in his chest twist painfully.

She stayed here — on the floor — all day, for him.

He swallows hard, stepping around her carefully as he lowers the blanket over her shoulders, tucking it in gently so it won’t slip.

She stirs when he shifts her, just enough to slide the pillow beneath her head.

“Xay?” she murmurs, barely awake, eyes fluttering open for half a second.

“Go back to sleep,” he says softly, his hand moving almost without thought as he brushes her hair back from her face, fingers settling into a slow, soothing rhythm.

She sighs, curling instinctively into the pillow, closer to him, like she knows he’s there even half-asleep.

“Happy birthday, Shadow.” The words are quiet and sleep-heavy.

Xaden’s lips curve, small and soft, something warm breaking through the cold that’s been sitting in his chest all day. “Thank you, Little Bird.” His hand doesn’t stop moving through her hair, doesn’t want to. “You made it better,” he adds, barely above a whisper.

He slides down the wall behind her, close enough that her shoulder brushes his leg, close enough that he’ll feel if she moves.

Close enough that he won’t miss it if she leaves, even though he knows she won't.

And for the first time since the night before — the quiet doesn’t feel quite as empty.

His eyes drift shut, and when sleep pulls him under, he lets it.

Xaden’s 15th Birthday

Xaden Riorson doesn’t celebrate his birthday anymore.

Not since the day his mother walked away and took something with her that never quite settled back into place. After that, March thirty-first became something to ignore, something to survive, something to let pass quietly without acknowledgment.

So he does.

Or at least, he tries.

But when a letter with a familiar, distinctive seal would be dropped in front of him at breakfast, something in his chest shifted before he could stop it. His fingers stilled for half a second before he reached for it, brushing over the wax like he didn’t already know who it was from.

Wrenley Tavis.

He never smiled. Never let himself. But he tucked the letter away carefully, like it mattered more than anything else on the table, like the rest of the room hadn't already faded into background noise.

He definitely shouldn’t have been writing back to her every chance he got. Shouldn’t have told her about his days, the small details, the things that don’t matter to anyone else. Shouldn’t be waiting for her replies like they’re the only thing worth looking forward to.

And he definitely shouldn’t be falling in love with his best friend’s cousin.

“She’s off limits,” he mutters to himself the evening of his fifteenth birthday, leaning back against the wall across the room as she laughs at something Garrick says, the sound softer than he remembers and somehow sharper all at once.

His jaw tightens.

“Garrick would kill you,” he adds, like that’s reason enough to stop whatever this is before it becomes something he can’t walk away from.

It isn’t. It never is, because she’s here.

After five years, she’s finally here again, moving through Riorson House like she belongs in it, like she never left, like the space she used to fill hadn’t been empty the entire time she was gone.

And somehow, that makes everything worse.

He leaves before anyone can notice the shift in him, before anyone can question it, before she can look at him long enough to see something he doesn’t want her to.

The stairs are familiar. The path is automatic. Muscle memory guides him upward, away from the noise, away from the people, away from everything that makes the day feel like more than it should.

No one has wished him a happy birthday. No gifts. No quiet acknowledgement. Not even a glance that lingers too long.

Exactly how he wants it.

March thirty-first is just another day.

The highest turret greets him with wind and silence, the open sky stretching endlessly in front of him as he braces his hands against the stone and breathes in air that feels cleaner than anything below.

Up here, he can pretend.

Pretend the date doesn’t matter. Pretend nothing has changed. Pretend he hasn’t spent the entire day avoiding the weight of something he refuses to name.

“Hey.” Her voice cuts through it anyway. Soft and certain and all too familiar.

Xaden exhales slowly before he turns, already knowing what he’ll find.

Wrenley stands halfway through the hatch, pulling herself the rest of the way up with a small huff, hair slipping forward as she brushes her hands off like she hadn’t just climbed into the one place he thought was his alone.

“You’re hard to find,” she says, like it’s an observation and not an accusation.

“You didn’t have to look,” he replies, turning back toward the horizon.

“I know.” There’s a pause, the faint shift of movement beside him, and then the soft thud of something being set down. “I wanted a slice,” she adds, dropping down next to him, close enough that their shoulders brush. “I felt guilty not sharing it.”

He glances over despite himself.

Chocolate cake.

A single slice, uneven at the edges.

His chest tightens.

“You hate chocolate cake.”

“I tolerate it,” she says easily, tilting her face up toward the sky, like the stars are more interesting than the lie she just told. “Sometimes.”

He huffs out something that might almost be a laugh, shaking his head slightly as he looks away again.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I never said I was good at it.”

“You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

She shrugs one shoulder, still not looking at him. “Because I wanted to.”

The simplicity of it hits harder than it should.

Because she remembers. Not the others. Not Garrick or Bodhi or anyone else who might have noticed and chosen to leave him alone.

Her.

She came looking and now she’s sitting beside him like it’s nothing, like he’s not trying to disappear, like she hasn’t just undone every wall he’s spent years building.

He doesn’t touch the cake. Doesn’t trust himself to, because something in his chest is shifting, cracking open in a way that feels dangerously close to something he buried years ago.

She leans back on her hands, gaze fixed on the sky as the first stars begin to appear, quiet and steady in a way that makes something inside him ache.

“You know,” she says after a moment, voice softer now, “for someone who doesn’t celebrate his birthday, you’re really bad at hiding on it.”

He glances at her. “I’m not hiding.”

“Mm.” She hums, unconvinced. “Sure you’re not.”

“I’m not.”

“You disappeared to the highest point in the house,” she points out. “That feels like hiding.”

“It feels like being left alone.” There’s no bite in it. No real edge.

She finally turns her head then, looking at him fully for the first time since she arrived, something quieter settling into her expression. “And yet, I still found you.”

 The words carry between them, heavier than they should be. His breath falters.

She sees you. Even when you don’t want to be seen.

His fingers curl against the stone, gaze locking onto hers in a way that makes it impossible to look away.

“If you didn’t want to be found,” she continues softly, “you could’ve left the house.”

“I thought about it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that… or maybe he does. Maybe it’s sitting right beside him.

“Guess I didn’t try hard enough,” he says instead.

She smiles, small and knowing, like she hears everything he doesn’t say. “Or maybe,” she counters gently, “you didn’t actually want to be alone.”

“Maybe,” he echoes, quieter now.

A beat passes between them, stretched thin with something neither of them names.

“Thank you,” he says finally, nodding toward the cake.

She follows his gaze, then back to him, her expression softening.

“Happy birthday, Shadow.”

Something in him gives with that simple phrase.

He doesn’t think. Doesn’t weigh the consequences, doesn’t consider Garrick or boundaries or any of the reasons this is a terrible idea.

He just moves.

Closes the distance between them, one hand coming up to cup her jaw as he kisses her.

She freezes for half a second, breath catching against his mouth. “Xaden—”

“I know,” he murmurs, not pulling away, forehead brushing hers. “I know, I shouldn’t—”

“So don’t,” she says softly.

He hesitates, searching her eyes.

“If I don’t,” he admits quietly, “I’m not going to stop thinking about it.”

Her lips part slightly, something shifting in her eyes that looks a lot like the same edge he’s been standing on. 

“Wren—”

“You kissed me,” she says, softer now. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t mean to?”

“I meant to,” he admits.

“Then why are you acting like it was a mistake?”

Because it could ruin everything.

Because Garrick—

Because this matters more than it should.

He exhales slowly, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. “Because I don’t want to lose you.”

Her expression shifts, something steady and certain settling into place. “You won’t,” she says simply.

“You don’t know that.”

“You could never lose me, I know that for a fact.””

“How?”

“Because even after all these years, I still know how to read you like a book,” she replies. “Don’t I?”

He searches her again, looking for hesitation, for doubt, for anything that might give him a reason to pull back.

He doesn’t find it.

“Fuck it,” he says quietly, and then he kisses her again.

This time slower, more certain.

She leans into it immediately, hand coming up to fist lightly in his shirt as the space between them disappears completely, the world narrowing down to just this moment, just this feeling, just her.

When they finally pull apart, his forehead rests fully against hers, his breathing uneven in a way that has nothing to do with running or fighting or anything he’s used to.

“Well,” she murmurs softly, a hint of amusement threading through her voice, “that’s one way to celebrate.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes still closed. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

He opens his eyes then, meeting hers, something lighter settling in his chest for the first time in years.

The cake still sits untouched beside them.

But for the first time since he was ten, March thirty-first doesn’t feel like something he has to survive.

It feels like something he wants to remember.

Xaden’s 17th Birthday

Xaden tells himself his birthday doesn’t matter.

He’s gotten good at that over the years. Good at letting the day pass without weight, without expectation, without anything that might linger long enough to hurt.

And yet, he still shows up for the ride this year.

He tells himself it’s for tradition. For Garrick. For the others.

It has nothing to do with the way Wren had looked at him that morning, something soft and knowing in her expression as she’d said, “You’re still not skipping.”

He exhales slowly, adjusting his grip on the reins as they move through the open stretch beyond Aretia, the familiar rhythm of hooves against earth settling into something almost peaceful.

Almost.

He doesn’t miss the way Garrick watched him as they mounted. There's no anger behind his gaze but Xaden wishes there was. That would have been easier than whatever Garrick is holding back.

Xaden’s almost tempted to ask Garrick to just punch him, beat him into the dirt so that Garrick can stop cataloging every movement, every glance, every inch of space between Xaden and Wren to decide whether it’s acceptable.

It isn’t. Xaden can respect though that at least he’s trying. Even if it makes the ride feel tighter than it should.

They set out in a loose line, the familiar rhythm of hooves against earth settling in as Aretia falls behind them, wind cutting clean across open ground. For a while, no one says anything, the silence filled only by the sound of riding and the quiet weight of something unspoken threading through the group.

Wren shifts closer beside him, her mare coming into a trot beside his, falling into perfect pace. She softly flashes him a smile and Xaden can’t resist the urge to reach across and brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Alright,” Imogen finally speaks up, drawing the word out as her gaze flicks between them, sharp and curious, “I’m missing something.”

Bodhi glances over, already halfway to the answer, his expression shifting in that quiet, knowing way of his.

“Missing what?” Xaden asks, gently guiding his horse away from Wren’s.

Imogen gestures between him and Wrenley, vague but pointed. “This,” she says. “Whatever this is.”

Wren doesn’t even try to play it off. “Okay?” She laughs and anyone watching would have seen the immediate ease in Xaden’s shoulders and eyes at her laugh.

“That!” Imogen jolts, pointing towards Xaden who's smiling fondly at Wren. “What the fuck is that?”

Bodhi exhales something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Oh,” he says simply.

Wren smiles faintly, like she’s been waiting for that. “Yeah,” she says.

Imogen’s brows lift. “Wait—seriously?”

“Yes.” THeres no hesitation of deflection in her voice.

Imogen’s grin spreads instantly. “Oh, this is incredible.”

“It’s really not,” Garrick mutters from ahead of them, not even turning around.

Bodhi chuckles at Garrick’s annoyance as he asks, “How long?”

“A little over a year,” Wren answers.

Liam’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Oh—” He glances between them, something like understanding clicking into place. “That makes… a lot of sense, actually.”

Garrick looks personally betrayed.

“You knew?” he demands.

“I didn’t know,” Liam defends quickly, holding his hands up. “I just—suspected. A little.”

“Unbelievable,” Garrick mutters.

“I walked in on them in Oak Grove last year,” Bodhi says calmly. 

“You did not,” Garrick snaps.

“I did,” Bodhi counters mildly. “And honestly, they were pretty obvious.”

Wrenley turns in her saddle to glare at her best friend. “No we weren’t!”

“Wren,” Bodhi sighs with another laugh. “My mom figured it out. You were.”

Panic strikens Wren’s face, clearly trying to figure out if her dad already knew but Xaden’s quick to reach over and take her hand, coming up beside her again.

“Gods, you two are insufferable.”

“That feels unnecessary,” Xaden says.

“Oh, it’s entirely necessary,” she fires back. “Do you know how long I’ve been watching you two circle each other like idiots?”

“We weren’t circling anything,” Wren argues.

“You absolutely were.”

“We weren’t.”

“You were,” Bodhi says.

Wren turns to glare at him. “You are supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” he replies. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Garrick finally slows his horse enough to fall back in line with them, his gaze flicking between Xaden and Wren again.

“I still don’t like it,” he says finally.

“We know,” Wren replies.

“But,” he adds, eyes locking on Xaden now, “I meant what I said.”

Xaden doesn’t look away. “I know.”

“If you hurt her—”

“I won’t.”

It’s immediate. Certain. Unshakable.

Garrick watches him for a second longer, like he’s measuring the weight of those words against everything he knows about him.

Then he nods. Only once as he says, “Good.”

Xaden’s 23rd Birthday

Wrenley tells herself that this year is going to be different. That she isn’t going to do anything for his birthday.

She presses her face deeper into her pillow, like she can smother the thought before it roots, but she has never once forgotten his birthday.

She can barely pull back a breath as she rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, the quiet of her room pressing in too close.

They haven’t spoken in months.

Not really.

Not beyond clipped words in meetings, not beyond necessary acknowledgments that feel more like obligations than anything else.

There are no lingering touches. No quiet glances. No them. Just a fracture that neither of them has tried to mend.

Her throat tightens.

“Don’t,” she mutters under her breath, dragging a hand over her face like she can wipe the feeling away, like she can wipe him away.

It doesn’t work, because up until a few months ago, her entire world revolved around him.

She catches a sob that ties to escape her chest, and she pushes herself out of bed before she can spiral any further, before she can think too long, before she can —

Before she can remember what it felt like when this day used to mean something.

The morning passes like every other. Training. Reports. Leadership meetings.

She throws herself into it, into anything that demands her attention, anything that keeps her moving, keeps her focused, keeps her from thinking about the date that sits heavy and constant in the back of her mind.

It almost works.

Until she finds herself standing in the kitchens, asking for a slice of chocolate cake, before she blindly follows the path to his room.

Why is she doing this at all? Because this is exactly the kind of thing she shouldn’t be doing anymore. Because this is how you hold onto something you’re supposed to let go of.

And yet, she’s slipping into his room, gently setting the plate on the desk and pulling a scrap of paper she knows in his drawer before simply writing, Happy birthday -Wren.

There’s no softness, no Xay or Shadow. Just a simple line frome a childhood friend.

Because that's all she is anymore, and yet she still believes everyone should get a chance to celebrate their birthday.

Wrenley’s 23rd Birthday (Future of CS teaser, to avoid ATWWSA spoilers, do not continue)

Before her teen years, Wrenley used to look forward to her birthday.

Both of her parents would be home, the house filled with warmth and noise and the kind of laughter that made everything feel safe. Her friends would gather without needing an excuse, and for one full day, the world softened around her. She didn’t have to be anything but their Wren.

After her mother’s death, that changed. The day became hollowed out by absence, something she avoided more than she acknowledged. But Xaden hadn’t let her disappear into it the way she hadn’t let him disappear into his. He showed up, stubborn and steady, dragging her out of silence not with words, but with presence.

After the executions—after both of her parents were gone, after she was forcibly separated from everyone but Garrick— Wrenley Tavis stopped celebrating her birthday entirely.

Even when she entered Basgiath, when she was finally reunited with the people she loved most, there were no celebrations. No attention. Just quiet, stolen moments tucked into borrowed spaces where they could all exist together for a little while without the world watching.

It was easier that way, safer not just in her mind but within the reality of the world they lived in.

When her twenty-third birthday arrives, Wrenley would much rather keep it that way. Quiet, controlled, and forgettable, but everything about this birthday feels like the exact opposite.

Because when she wakes that morning, Xaden isn’t there.

The space beside her is cold, untouched long enough that it settles something uneasy in her chest before she can stop it. She tells herself not to read into it, not to let it matter, but the absence lingers anyway.

Instead, when she opens the door, she’s met with her father.

Harlow stands there with a tray balanced carefully in his hands, filled with all of her favorites, a small, soft smile on his face like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

And just like that, she doesn’t get to pretend the day doesn’t exist.

Breakfast is quiet, just the two of them, the kind of stillness that feels intentional rather than empty. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more than she’s willing to give, and for a little while, she lets herself sit in it. Lets herself feel something close to normal.

But it doesn’t last long when Garrick steals her the second she’s finished.

“C’mon,” he says, already halfway down the steps, not even bothering to check if she’s following. “You are not wasting away your birthday inside this house.”

She groans, but goes anyway.

The newly dubbed cousins ride takes them out beyond the city, just the two of them for once, and it should feel easy. Familiar. Like it used to be.

But Garrick is… off.

He’s suddenly too nice, too attentive Smiling at her in a way that immediately puts her on edge. It’s the same look he used to get when he was hiding something.

“What?” she finally asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What?” he shoots back, far too casually.

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“Not like this.”

He just grins.

She lets it go, because maybe she’s reading into it too much. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just the first birthday that feels even remotely normal in years, and they’re all trying too hard to make it something good.

By the time they return to Riorson House, the rest of their squad is waiting.

Lunch feels like chaos.

Imogen and Bodhi are arguing before she even makes it to the table, both of them insisting they should be the one to bring her food, their voices overlapping in a way that makes it impossible to tell who started it.

“You’re going to drop it.”

“I’m not going to drop it.”

“You always drop things.”

“That was one time—”

Liam and Sloane are worse.

They bounce between each other and Wren, talking over one another as they try to fill her in on everything she missed that morning, their energy relentless, impossible to contain.

Mae trails behind them like she’s trying to manage a storm with her bare hands.

“Sit,” she finally tells them both, pushing them toward the table. “Just—sit down and breathe for five seconds.”

They don’t, of course they don’t.

Wren laughs anyway, because she’s missed this. Missed them. Missed the chaos that was being at home, with everyone around her.

Brennan, Renna, and Naolin pass by just long enough to offer quiet, knowing smiles and soft murmurs of “happy birthday” before continuing on their way, something about the way they look at her lingering just long enough to feel… intentional.

She doesn’t have time to question it.

Sawyer drops a tray in front of her muttering, “Eat before they figure their shit out,” jerking his head toward Imogen and Bodhi, who are still arguing across the room.

She laughs again, softer this time.

Kaelin finally intervenes, dragging Bodhi into a chair and sliding into the seat beside him before he can protest, her attention shifting to Wren as she pulls a small package from her bag.

“Happy birthday,” she says gently, nudging it across the table.

Wren’s smile softens as she takes it. “Thank you, Kae.” She opens it carefully and stills. A small copy of The Queen Without a Sword rests in her hands. Her breath catches.

“‘Love isn’t a battlefield,’  the stranger had said. ‘You don’t win it. You don’t conquer it. You choose it.’” The words echo in her mind, her mother’s voice wrapped around them, steady and certain.

“What— how did you—”

“Bodhi mentioned it,” Kaelin says with a small smile. “I found it while cataloguing the library. I figured it belonged with someone who would understand it.”

Wren swallows hard, blinking back the sudden burn behind her eyes as she looks up at them. “Thank you.”

The afternoon pulls her away before she can sit in it too long.

Battle Brief is heavy. There’s no other way to describe it.

New movements. New threats. The kind of information that reminds her, sharply, that nothing about their world has actually slowed down just because she wanted one quiet day.

It’s still a war. It will always be war.

By the time it ends, she’s exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.

And yet, Wren still hasn't caught a single glimpse of her boyfriend. Not once.

The thought settles heavier than she wants it to.

By the time she makes her way back upstairs, she’s done. Done with the attention. Done with the questions. Done with the strange looks her friends keep giving her like they know something she doesn’t.

She skips dinner, chooses the quiet of her room instead.

This isn’t how she wanted today to go.

Because some part of her had — expected something.

From Xaden specifically, and the absence of it has dragged at her more than she’s willing to admit.

The corridor is quiet as she reaches their room.

Wren pushes the door open, stepping inside without hesitation, already shrugging out of her flight jacket, letting it fall against the dresser as she kicks off her boots with a tired exhale.

She barely makes it two steps toward the bed before—

“Happy birthday, Little Bird.”

Her shoulders tense instantly, then relief crashes through her so fast it almost makes her dizzy.

“Xay,” she breathes, a smile breaking across her face as she turns toward the sound, her eyes lifting, expecting him standing, waiting, but instead her gaze drops. Just slightly, just enough for the world to shift beneath her feet.

Because Xaden Riorson isn’t standing in the center of the room. He’s kneeling—

on one knee.

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reblog if you wear glasses. too many mutuals don't know they have glasses wearers in their midsts

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Carry You Home | O N E

The Empyrean | Carry You Home | ATWWSA

Word Count: 3.1k

Series Warnings (updated regularly) : spoilers for all books, smut 18+ MDNI, canon divergence, Liam Mairi lives, presumed dead character, found injured, hurt/comfort, slow burn, venin hunting, forced proximity, found family, healing from trauma, learning to live, home is a person, emotional intimacy, protective Liam Mairi, Additional Warnings Apply

L I A M

The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the peaceful, soft kind of silence, but the kind that presses down, heavy and suffocating, leaving my chest aching just to draw a breath. My body screamed in protest, every limb a tangled knot of pain and exhaustion. 

A low, vibrating hum pulled me back from the edge of panic. It was soothing, precise, commanding. My eyes finally focused, and I froze.

She was kneeling over Deigh. My chest tightened at the sight — scales battered, wings twisted awkwardly, breath ragged, and blood everywhere. Her hands glowed faintly, tracing lines along his injuries with the sort of delicate certainty that made everything else fade away. Deigh shuddered under her touch, then exhaled a long, shivering rumble that sounded almost like a sigh of relief.

And then she spoke.

“I’m trying, Dìls. Let me focus.”

Her voice. Clear. Confident. Gentle.

There was another presence too — a smaller, brown dragon perched near her, wings tucked and tail coiling nervously around her legs. It shifted, eyes wide, golden flecks catching the light.

“He’s awake but fragile. You need to be patient,” she said, all the while her hands never left Deigh.

I blinked, disoriented, heart racing. Who is she? How… why…

Panic bubbled in my throat. I tried to call out, but when I called out to Deigh, all that came out was a staggered breath. 

The light from her hands flared faintly, and I felt warmth ripple through the air, Deigh trembling under it. He was alive. Somehow — impossibly — he was alive. And I was alive too. My body ached with the memory of what I’d survived — or what I thought I hadn’t.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could only watch.

She shifted slightly, brushing a hand over Deigh’s neck, murmuring words I didn’t understand. The hum resonated deep in my chest, and I felt Deigh’s trust transfer through the bond. My dragon had accepted her. 

“She’s safe.” Deigh’s voice comes through our bond and my breath catches.

In the corner of my vision, Dìls pressed into the girl’s shoulder, nuzzling, eyes wide and the girl’s voice softened. “Yes… I know. I know it’s frightening. But we’ll get him through this.”

The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she was, it was mesmerizing. Every small motion carried certainty, confidence, a strength I wanted to grab onto. I wanted to be able to stand, to reach her, to tell her… something, anything, but my body refused.

I tried again. Just a whisper, more felt than heard: “Hey…”

Her head tilted slightly, but she didn’t look at me. Not yet. Her focus remained on Deigh.

Of course she’s focused on him, I thought, both awed and frustrated. But she’s… incredible.

I tried to push myself upright, shifting my arms beneath me, and pain shot through my ribs. I groaned, low and unsteady. My heart raced. Deigh stirred, and I panicked, desperate to reach him, desperate to reach her.

“Shhh…” she cooed, still murmuring over Deigh. “You’re safe. You’re gonna be fine.”

I watched her, trying to memorize every detail: the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the steady patience in her hands, the way she coaxed both dragons with the same calm authority. She seemed impossible. Invincible. And… beautiful. Not just in the way people see beauty, but in the way her presence demanded trust and respect all at once.

Finally, after what felt like hours but could barely have been minutes, she straightened slightly. Deigh’s body had relaxed under her touch, the glow around her hands dimming. Carys nudged her shoulder once more, and she looked up. Her eyes met mine briefly. Something flickered — recognition? Concern? Acknowledgment? My chest clenched painfully.

I rasped out, forcing the words: “I… I’m alive.”

Her gaze sharpened, and relief softened the line of her mouth. “Finally,” she murmured. Then she moved closer, but not too close, her voice gentle yet steady. “You’ve been through a lot. Rest now. You’re safe here.”

Safe here.

The words sank into me, and for the first time since I woke up, I believed it. I was alive. Deigh was alive. And she… she saved us.

I shifted slightly again, just needing to be close to Deigh but my body is stiff still from my… did I actually die? I have so many questions. “Don’t worry about Deigh. I’ll make sure he’s alright. You just rest, it’s better for him if you stay calm.”

Rest. I wanted to, but I couldn’t stop staring at her. At the way she moved, how gentle she was for a dragon rider, at the way both dragons trusted her implicitly.

A rider without a riot? I don’t recognize her from Basgiath, or even Athebyne or Resson.

Where did she come from?

Who is she?

How was she able to so easily heal a dragon that died?

I wanted to say something, to do something, but my body wasn’t cooperating. So I simply watched until everything faded to black again.

My eyes open slowly, sunlight filtering through the trees overhead. The sharp scent of pine and damp earth fills my lungs when I breathe in, and though my ribs protest, the pain is dull now. Manageable.

I’m alive.

My fingers flex against the ground beneath me. Dirt. Leaves. A blanket thrown over my shoulders that definitely wasn’t there before.

I blink up at the canopy again, trying to piece together where the hell I am.

The last thing I remember is fire. Venin. Deigh’s roar as we plummeted from the sky. Wrenley’s voice in my head. Making sure Sloane was taken care of. 

Making sure Wrenley and Xaden knew they needed to work things out.

I remember the certainty that I was going to see my parents again. That I was gong out honorably.

I was sure we died.

My heart lurches as I sit up, looking around for familiar red scales. “Deigh?”

A deep rumble answers instantly through the bond. “I am here.”

Relief crashes through me so violently I nearly laugh. I turn my head and immediately regret it when the world tilts slightly.

Deigh is lying a few yards away, wings tucked loosely at his sides. His scales are still scuffed and scratched, but the torn flesh I remember seeing is gone. Completely gone.

He looks… normal. Just tired.

“How…” I whisper.

“That would be me.” The voice comes from somewhere to my left.

I freeze, slowly reaching for the dagger I know is on my hip — where is my dagger?

The owner of the voice sits against a fallen log, one knee drawn up while the other leg stretches out in front of her. A waterskin dangles loosely from her hand as she studies me with an expression that sits somewhere between curiosity and caution.

Now that my vision has cleared, I can fully make out the girl before me.

She looks only a few years older than Xaden, her deep brown hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders and her brown eyes follow my movements.

“Sorry,” she chuckles, holding up my sheaths. “I had to remove them to mend you which worked out because you can’t be too careful over what kind of rider you just saved.”

Her dragon, the smaller brown one from before, lies curled on the otherside of that log, golden eyes watching me carefully.

Dìls.

The name floats up from the fog in my memory.

“I’m glad you're awake. Dèigh was getting restless waiting for you,” she says simply.

Her voice is the same as before. Calm. Steady. Like she never doubted I’d get here eventually.

“How?” I rasp. My throat still feels like sandpaper.

She tosses the waterskin toward me without standing. I barely manage to catch it.

“Drink,” she says. “You were out for two days. Malek knows how long before I found you.”

Two days.

I stare at her over the rim as I drink and—

Sweet Amari, the water tastes like the best thing I’ve ever had.

“What day is it?” I ask, voice still raspy.

She’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Fourth of July.”

Well fuck. 

Two days.

Two actural days since I thought I died.

Two days since she apparently… resurrected my dragon? Resurrection isn’t even possible!

We’re we not dead then?

I lower the waterskin slowly. “Alright,” I say, voice rough but steadier now. “I’ve got questions.”

One corner of her mouth lifts slightly. “I figured you might.”

I glance toward Deigh again. His head lifts slightly, amber eyes calm. Comfortable.

“At least say thank you,” he grumbles softly through the bond and if I couldn’t feel how weak he was already, the softness I hav never known Dèigh to possess would be a dead giveaway. “We would still be dead if not for the Savior.”

I look back at her.

“You healed him.”

“Yes.”

“You healed a dragon that was dead.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “He wasn’t dead.”

“He was.”

She studies me for a moment, then shrugs lightly. “Agree to disagree.”

I blink at her.

Is she serious?

“Who are you?” I ask finally.

Because that’s the real question.

Sure, coming back from the dead is pretty crazy but—

She’s a rider who is miles from an active outpost for a kingdom that has been hiding the Venin problem for too long.

She watches me for a long moment like she’s deciding something.

The brown dragon behind her chuffs and the steam from the dragon blows over her.

“Alright,” she sighs, pushing to her feet. She brushes dirt from her hands as she walks a few steps closer, stopping just far enough away that Deigh doesn’t even think to growl at closeness.

Smart.

Her eyes meet mine again.

Sharp. Observant. Completely unafraid.

“I’m Maelira T– Rowan. Maelira Rowan,” she holds her hand out to help me stand.

Something about the name settles deep in my chest as I reach out to take her hand, allowing her to pull me up.

She’s short. Like, Violet short which is crazy for someone in the Riders Quadrant. It’s already a fucking miracle Violet survived out first year.

Fuck, did she survive?

“I’m Liam Mairi.” I say, shaking the hand that's still firmly held in mine. “Thanks for saving us, Maelira.

“It’s what I do,” she sas with a smile and fuck, she is stunning. “And please, Mae is fine.”

M A E L I R A

The fire had settled into a steady burn by the time the sun disappeared completely.

Liam hadn’t spoken much since we moved from the field where I’d found him. I had hoped to reach Draithus before nightfall, but Deigh was still far too weak to fly, and pushing a recovering dragon was a good way to undo all the work I’d put into healing him.

So I settled for a small cluster of trees along the Cliffs of Draylor, a few miles south of Resson.

The last streaks of sunset had long since faded behind the mountains, leaving only the soft glow of firelight and the quiet chorus of insects hidden in the tall grass.

A stew simmered gently in the pot between us, the scent of herbs and root vegetables I’d scavenged earlier drifting through the cool evening air. I stirred it slowly, more out of habit than necessity, letting the familiar motion steady my thoughts.

Across from me, Liam sat propped against a broad rock, long legs stretched toward the fire. He was still stiff, still moving carefully in the way people do when their bodies haven’t quite decided if they’re finished healing yet.

But he was alive.

And Deigh — who rested just beyond the trees with Dìls, wings tucked loosely at his sides — was alive too.

That alone felt like a quiet miracle.

Every so often I saw Dìls lift his head, golden eyes reflecting the firelight as he scanned our surroundings before settling again beside the larger dragon.

It’s all so peaceful.

Strange how foreign peace feels when you haven’t had it in years.

“How did you find me?” Liam’s voice cut through the quiet, low and thoughtful rather than demanding.

I lifted my eyes from the fire.

There it was. The question I knew he’d been holding onto since he woke.

“And what,” he added after a moment, “are you doing this far outside the wards?”

My body stiffened before I could stop it.

The wards.

After three years, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to live behind them. Forgotten the strange comfort of believing something invisible stood between you and the rest of the world.

I pushed myself away from the fire and leaned back on my hands so I could meet his gaze fully.

He wasn’t suspicious. Just confused. Which is fair.

How do I even answer this?

So I faked my death during my third year and started working with Navarre’ number one enemy by flying to Poromish cities that were attacked by Venin and mending injured civilians so that they can go back to life as normal.

That would go over well.

“You could try that,” Dìls snickered across our bond. “He seems to be of the understanding variety.”

“Yes, thank you for your input that no one asked for,” I shot back.

“He possesses a rebellion relic.”

“That doesn’t make him more trustworthy.”

Children of the rebellion had every reason to hate riders like me. If anything, that relic on Liam’s arm was proof he might have even more reason not to trust me.

But if I gave him the full truth…?

“I didn’t intentionally find you,” I said slowly.

Liam’s brows furrowed faintly.

“Ooh, great start,” Dìls laughed.

“That’s enough from you,” I muttered, forcing my shields up.

“What does that mean?” Liam questions.

“I was on my way to help any injured civilians,” I said with a small shrug. “But you riders did a pretty damn good job getting them to safety. The only ones who still needed help were you and Deigh.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Why?”

Not why I helped him. Why I was there in the first place.

Because I looked exactly like what I used to be: a Navarrean rider with a dragon.

There were a thousand answers to that question.

Because venin leave devastation behind them. Because someone has to help the civilians. Because Navarre refuses to see the war that has already begun.

“Start from the beginning,” Dìls said, pushing through my shields like he always does.

I sighed quietly.

“In my third year, I was sent with a squad of other third-years to cover Athebyne while the active riders rushed to Sumerton’s aid.”

Twelve riders. Twelve dragons. Twelve people who believed the world made sense.

“We’d been stationed there for three weeks.”

The smell of smoke from the fire curled upward, and for a moment it was easy to remember a very different fire.

“There was an attack just before sunrise.”

Liam leaned forward slightly but didn’t interrupt.

“They moved through the camp like shadows,” I continued. “Draining riders before anyone realized what was happening.”

The screaming had started seconds later. Then the dragonfire — not dragonfire.

“There were twelve of us when we went to sleep that night.” I met his eyes across the fire. “Only one of us woke up.”

Silence settled between us.

“You,” Liam said, not like a question but a quiet conclusion. “What did you do?”

“I reported it.”

I see his brows raise in surprise. “You told command?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

I gave a small, humorless smile. “They told me it was just a gryphon attack.”

His jaw tightened.

“They said grief and exhaustion must have confused what I saw. That maybe a flier got into my head and made me see ‘fairytales’.” I exhaled slowly. “They ordered me back to Basgiath for evaluation.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward Dìls before returning to me. “And instead?”

“We found a wyvern close to Dìls size, made it look like he lost his front legs and was drained.”

Understanding dawned across his face. “You faked your death.”

“Yes.” I nod.

For a moment he leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “You figured out that Navarre had been hiding the truth.”

“I knew they were lying,” I said quietly. “For years.” I paused before finishing. “I just didn’t know about what until I saw my best friend dead in her bed.”

Liam studied me for a long moment. “So what have you been doing since?”

“I started out tracking venin movements,” I said. “Going after the smaller groups the fliers couldn’t reach in time.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Dìls shifted, reminding me of his presence.

Not alone. Never alone.

Eventually Liam asked the question I expected. “And the gryphon fliers?”

“One of the Nightwing drifts found me right after I killed a venin and a horde of wyvern in northern Cygnesian,” I said.

His eyebrows lifted.

“Their leader noticed I was mending civilians. We made a pact.”

“What kind of pact?”

“I teach them a better way to track,” I explained. “They kill the venin, then I help the civilians afterward.”

“And you agreed just like that?”

“You don’t get it, Liam,” I scoffed, gesturing toward his arm. “You have the other separatists’ children to trust. You have a visible marker telling you exactly who you can rely on.”

The rebellion relic gleamed faintly in the firelight.

“The four people I trusted,” I said quietly, “the ones I built that trust with… they’re dead.” The words felt heavier than I expected. “And the kingdom they chose to fight for did nothing then,” I continued. “And it’s still doing nothing now.” I looked back at him. “At least the fliers know where the real fight is.”

Liam studied me carefully. “So you’ve been flying around Poromiel for—”

“Three years,” I said, nodding as I ladled stew into the travel bowls from my pack.

“That’s a long time to be on your own.”

I shrugged the comment away as I leaned across the fire to hand him the bowl. He took it carefully and tested a spoonful.

He wasn’t wrong about being alone all this time, but it had purpose. And purpose makes difficult things survivable.

Eventually he said quietly, “You know… most people would’ve left us there.”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

“So why didn’t you?”

The answer came easily. “There was still life in both of you.” I took a spoonful of my own stew, sighing as warmth spread through me. “And I’m a mender. We’re bound to the Healers Codex just as much as we’re are bound to the Riders Codex.”

Across the fire, Liam watched me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

Like he was still trying to decide what kind of person would fake their own death, hunt venin across Poromiel for three years, and drag a rider and his dragon back from the edge of death.

Like he hadn’t decided yet whether I was reckless…

Or exactly the kind of ally someone would want in this war.

next part

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Carry You Home: available

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