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Assistant: Title: Orphic
        Author: icarus_chaos icarus_chaos 
        Chapter: 18/18 
        Summary: Lily O’Connell did not know belonging.  She had never known what it meant to be part of a place — to exist among people and simply fit, like a missing piece of a puzzle finally found.Lily O’Connell did not know how to feel.  She could mimic emotion — smile, laugh, even cry when necessary — but none of it was real. The joy, the pain, the fear… all just shadows behind glass.Lily O’Connell felt empty.  A void lived where a heart should be, and no matter how much she gave or took, it never filled.But Lily O’Connell read.  She consumed books like a woman starved — devouring stories, breathing words, bleeding ink. Within the pages, she belonged. Within them, she felt. As if she’d been born not to live in the world,but to lose herself in ones others had written._All it took was a planned fall — deliberate, desperate.  A bridge, a breath, a step. And then Lily O’Connell tumbled into the water... and into a world that wasn’t her own.A world of dragons and war, of power and blood.All she found was a name.One scribbled in the margins of a diary that didn’t belong to her —Iselda Abellona-Mikhaila.
            
            The following text has been faithfully transcribed from Navarrian into the modern language by Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant at Basgiath War College. All events are true, and names have been preserved to honor the courage of those fallen. May their souls be commended to Malek.
        Contents: Chapter 18: soulstice - xvii
    

    

        
          
          
            Recovered correspondence from Wing Leader Xaden Riorson to Cadet Iselda Abellona-Mikhaila.
          
        

      
        
          I don't own anything except my OC's, plot and dialogues!
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
     
   “We’ll be alright.” 

   - Recovered correspondence from Wing Leader Xaden Riorson to Cadet Iselda Abellona-Mikhaila. 
 “I think I scared the f@ck out of Imogen when I said, ‘I’m not interested in making my private arguments public,’” Iselda muttered, a touch of smugness in her voice as her fingers traced idle patterns along the bare skin of Xaden’s chest.
     
They were in his bedroom now. The fight, both physical and emotional, had burned itself out, leaving behind the raw, aching kind of closeness that followed only after tearing down every wall. She lay sprawled across him, her cheek pressed over his heartbeat, a steady rhythm grounding her in a way nothing else could. Her legs were tangled with his under the thin blanket they hadn’t bothered to pull fully over themselves. She wore only a black tank top and loose pants now, her braid undone and hair spilling across his chest like a silver river.
     
Xaden was shirtless—he always ran warm, and right now he radiated comfort, his hand resting on her waist, fingers splayed like he needed constant reassurance that she was there, breathing and real. The soft thrum of his thumb brushing against her side in a rhythmic circle made her feel like a lullaby was being written in real time on her skin.
     
He let out a low, amused huff, his chest rising under her. “You did, she just won’t admit it. I think she nearly dropped her fork, actually.”
     
She grinned into his skin, teeth barely brushing against it. “Good. She shouldn’t have asked. Not unless she wanted the truth served with a side of blood.”
     
“You’re terrifying when you’re angry, you know that?” he murmured, tilting his head to press a kiss into her hair. “I think I loved you even more watching you shut down a room with a sentence.”
     
“You have a strange taste in women, Riorson.”
     
He chuckled again, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her bones. “No. I just have taste. Period.”
     
She laughed softly, then fell quiet again, the silence between them no longer thick with tension, but something warmer, something fragile and intimate. She listened to his heartbeat and tried to memorize it, as if doing so would keep him here, with her, always.
     
“You’re not allowed to die,” she whispered.
     
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. And for tonight, she let herself believe him.
     
“Don’t leave me without a note this time,” she murmured, voice barely audible against the heat of his skin, as she tapped his chest with a light, half-hearted smack.
     
He caught her hand, laced their fingers together, and brought it to his lips. “Never, Future Wife,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
     
She looked up at him through her lashes, something soft blooming in her eyes despite the exhaustion weighing them down. “You say that like it makes me forget how you just disappeared this morning.”
     
He sighed, brushing his thumb along her fingers. “It was a sh@tty call, I know. I didn’t want to wake you… I didn’t want to risk another fight before we could even breathe through the last one. I just needed time to think.”
     
“And you couldn’t scribble even a ‘be back soon, love you’?”
     
“Didn’t have paper,” he said, deadpan.
     
“You had your chest,” she countered.
     
He smirked. “Next time, I’ll carve it in.”
     
She rolled her eyes, laughing despite herself. “I’ll hold you to that.”
     
He pulled her closer, shifting so they were fully wrapped around each other, like neither of them quite trusted the world to keep them together without the physical confirmation. His lips found her temple.
     
“I’ll never leave you wondering again, Iselda,” he promised, voice steady now. “Not a single time. If I leave, even for five minutes, you’ll know exactly where and why.”
     
She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she nestled closer to him, let out a long breath, and whispered, “Good.”
     
They lay in silence for a while after that, limbs tangled, hearts steady. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the quiet didn’t feel like a crack waiting to split them apart. It felt like a promise.
     
 ‘Is the fight over?’  Nighf drawled, his tone bone-dry, clearly unimpressed with the theatrics.  ‘Because if I have to listen to one more emotionally charged sparring match with conveniently timed monologues, I may actually incinerate something.’ 
     
Iselda blinked against Xaden’s chest, lips twitching. She didn’t move, just sent a tired pulse of energy toward her bonded dragon.  ‘It’s over. For now.’ 
     
 ‘For now,’  Nighf repeated ominously, sounding every inch the ancient, cranky abyss-beast he was.  ‘Your lover is dramatic.’ 
     
 ‘You told me we were fated,’  she reminded, smirking.
     

   ‘And still dramatic.’ 

     
 ‘It was getting a little tiring,’  Sgaeyl chimed in, her tone clipped and cool in that ever-so-precise cadence.  ‘Although I will admit, it was cathartic to watch you two finally say what needed to be said. Through swordplay. And swearing.’ 
     
 ‘And blood,’  Nighf added.  ‘Can’t forget the blood. I’m still offended that neither of you drew your weapons with intent. I would’ve preferred a challenge. That was barely a proper display.’ 
     
Iselda rolled her eyes and buried her face into the warm skin of Xaden’s chest. “Our dragons are judging us.”
     
“I know,” Xaden replied, not missing a beat. “They were judging me through the whole spar. I could feel Sgaeyl humming like she was watching a play.”
     
 ‘Because it was one,’  Sgaeyl sniffed.  ‘An angsty, sword-filled romance drama with a very obvious resolution.’ 
     
 ‘They love each other more than they love themselves,’  Nighf muttered,  ‘and it terrifies them. All it would take is one slip and they’d break into pieces. I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.’ 
     
Iselda let out a long, exhausted sigh.  ‘We’re trying. That’s all we can do.’ 
     
 ‘Try harder not to nearly kill each other next time,’  Sgaeyl suggested, ever-practical.
     
 ‘Next time?’  Nighf repeated.  ‘Oh there will be a next time. This is them we’re talking about.’ 
     
And though she groaned aloud, Iselda couldn’t help but smile. Because despite the heavy truths, the stubbornness, the fury and the fear, she was still here. He was still here. And their dragons—however dry or judgmental—were still tethered to them.
     
She reached for Xaden’s hand again and laced her fingers through his. “They think we’re a mess.”
     
He kissed her knuckles again. “We are. But we’re  their mess.”
     
He took her hand gently, the one adorned with the ring he’d placed there in a moment that had been quiet, but life-altering. His thumb brushed over her fingers until it came to rest on the cool metal.
     
Iselda raised a curious eyebrow at the sudden focus, her eyes flicking between his face and their joined hands. His expression had softened entirely now—no trace of the earlier fire or hurt remained. Just a quiet reverence.
     
He turned her hand slightly, letting the firelight catch on the ring’s glinting surface. The band was crafted from dark silver, nearly black in some lights. A row of alternating amethysts and onyxes ran through the center—royal purple and deep obsidian, their edges smooth and beveled. Above and below, the ring was lined with two slim rows of perfectly cut diamonds, glimmering like frost around the core of shadow and magic.
     
“It looks better than I imagined it would on you,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to the band—right over the centre.
     
His voice was barely more than breath, but it wrapped around her heart like a tether.
     
Her throat felt tight, her voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “You imagined this?”
     
“Of course I did,” he said, not looking away from her hand. “When I realized you were the only one who ever saw all of me and didn’t flinch. When I found myself waking up with your name already on my mind.” He kissed the ring again, slower this time, then looked up at her with that look that always undid her—equal parts awe and gravity. “I've imagined this for a long time.”
     
Iselda blinked, warmth pooling in her chest. The earlier storm between them felt like a far-off thing now, still present in the haze of memory, but no longer clawing at her ribcage.
     
The ring felt heavier somehow, more real.
     
She smirked softly, voice wry as she teased, “I figured you were more the soul-bonded-for-life-and-battle kind than the romantic ring type.”
     
He gave a quiet laugh. “Says the girl who threatened to kill me if I ever sacrificed myself for her.”
     
“I stand by that.”
     
“And I stand by this,” he said, lifting her hand again to his chest, right over his heart. “You're it for me, Little Ghost. No matter how we fight, how angry we get… it’s always going to be you.”
     
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his cheek, just under his scar. “Good. Because I don’t plan on taking this off. Ever.”
     
He sat up, pulling her with him until they were shoulder to shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around her waist, as if now that the storm between them had passed, he wasn’t willing to let her drift even an inch away.
     
“Good idea,” he murmured, taking her left hand and lifting it to his lips. His thumb brushed over the ring—its dark band shimmering in the dim light, the alternating amethysts and onyx catching every flicker like stardust. The twin rows of diamonds sparkled like frost. “I’ll make sure the wedding ring matches so you can wear both,” he added, voice lower now, like a vow.
     
She chuckled, soft and surprised, and leaned her temple against his shoulder for a beat before straightening again. “What have you planned so far?” she asked, tilting her head to glance up at him.
     
Xaden’s face lit up in that rare, unguarded way that made her breath catch. “Where do I start? The ceremony venue is going to be surrounded by wildflowers—field-grown, untamed, just like you. The air’ll be thick with them, and the ground will look like it’s been painted with color.”
     
She blinked. “You’ve really thought this through.”
     
He grinned. “That’s not even the half of it. Your dress—if you decide on a dress,” he amended quickly when he saw the way her lips parted in amusement, “will have the longest train in recorded history. I’m talking yards. It’ll be made of iridescent dragon scales, woven with protective threads, glimmering every time you move. It’ll look like the sky when you fly.”
     
Her eyes widened. “Dragon scales?”
     
“Sgaeyl and Nighf have agreed to donate,” he said solemnly, clearly trying not to smile. “Sgaeyl might have been a little... begrudging. Nighf was entirely too smug about it.”
     
She laughed, full-bodied and incredulous. “You’re ridiculous.”
     
“I love you,” he said, utterly unrepentant. “And we’ll match, of course. I’ll have my own suit lined with a scale weave too. Maybe the same colour to go with your amethyst.”
     
She gave him a playful nudge. “And what if I don’t wear a dress? How are you so sure I won’t show up in a pantsuit?”
     
He grinned like he’d been expecting that. “Then I’ll get you a pantsuit with a train,” he replied without missing a beat. “It’ll still be made of dragon scales. You’ll still look like you command the heavens. I’ll adjust.”
     
She narrowed her eyes. “Will you wear a matching pantsuit too?”
     
“Only if you want me to,” he said, pressing another kiss to her temple. “But let’s agree right now—I’ll wear whatever makes you smile when you walk toward me.”
     
She bit her lip, cheeks warm, heart full. “You’re really doing all this?”
     
“I already started sketching the venue layout,” he admitted. “There’s going to be a lake. A clear one. Reflections of us under the stars.”
     
“Gods, Xaden,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder again, quieter now. “You’re really serious about me.”
     
He kissed the crown of her head. “Little Ghost, I’ve been serious about you since the moment you made my soul feel like it belonged again.”
     
“Wasn’t that first year boy—Jeremiah—killed for being a mind reader today?” she asked, her voice low with a dawning realization. Her eyes were already widening.
     
Xaden, moving to kiss her, nodded grimly. “Yeah. Why?”
     
Iselda’s breath caught. Her pulse quickened. “F@ck,” she whispered, stumbling back a step. “I just remembered something.”
     
Xaden paused, “What is it?”
     
Her voice shook. “Violet… Violet will be attacked in her room tonight.”
     
His eyes sharpened, all sleep and softness from earlier gone in an instant. “How do you know?”
     
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “The book. Fourth Wing. Jeremiah dies today. And tonight—four unbonded men, two unbonded women, and a Wing Leader—Amber Mavis—she lets them in. Violet’s attacked. It’s today.”
     
There was no more hesitation after that.
     
They moved as one, urgency pulsing through their limbs. Xaden grabbed his gear and tossed her hers. She shrugged into the leather with speed honed by need. He moved toward her, kneeling briefly to strap her thigh holster in place as she fisted her hair back into a braid.
     
She pulled open a drawer and retrieved a set of daggers. Without a word, he stepped behind her and helped her sheath two of them across her back, the hilt of the third slipping into the strap on her calf. She turned, reaching for his sword belt, tightening the straps and checking the sheath clips for a fast draw. He met her eyes as she handed him his second dagger, and his fingers brushed hers longer than necessary.
     
“You ready?” he asked, voice low, steady, his own fury barely restrained beneath the surface.
     
“Always,” she said, breathless.
     
Before they left, he caught her hand and leaned in, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to her lips—a silent promise. She returned it, just as fast, her hand brushing his cheek.
     
Then they were gone—silent, focused, dangerous. Their footsteps pounded through the halls as the moon climbed higher, and danger crept ever closer to Violet Sorrengail’s door.  They burst in through the door, and chaos met them head-on. Violet was on the ground, bleeding from a cut above her brow, scrambling back as four men closed in. Iselda moved on instinct. She reached for the first of the attackers, but the unbonded women were already lunging. A dagger flew from her hand, catching one clean in the throat. The second reached for a blade—but didn’t get the chance to use it. Iselda’s boot caught her square in the ribs, and the woman crumpled, gasping. But she wasn’t fast enough. One of the men had Violet pinned by the shoulders, another raised a dagger. No. Desperation surged like a tidal wave. She didn’t think—she commanded. Gravity turned hostile. The air cracked around her as a pulse of invisible force surged out. The men screamed. Dropped. Crushed to their knees. Bones splintered audibly under the sudden, immense pressure. Daggers clattered to the stone floor, forgotten. Blood erupted from noses, mouths, ears—every soft place rupturing under her will. Iselda gasped, the force rushing out of her in an unstoppable wave. Her knees buckled, and she staggered back, only to land against Xaden’s solid chest. His arms closed around her instinctively, steadying her. The room was dead silent—except for Violet’s choked breaths.  ‘You’re amazing, little one,’  Nighf murmured in her mind, low and warm with awe.  ‘Activating a signet that’s never existed before.’   ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,’  she whispered back, shaken.  ‘Not yet.’  
   ‘But you saved her. Your soul knew. It answered her fear.’ 
 She blinked, vision blurred, hands trembling from the aftershock. Xaden stepped forward, checking the bodies swiftly—no survivors. His voice was grim. “That was… effective.” Violet stared at Iselda, wide-eyed, shock giving way to recognition. “You—you saved me.” Iselda knelt beside her, brushing blood-matted hair away from her friend’s face. “Always.” Violet didn’t ask how Iselda had known. She only reached for her hand and held it tight. She pulled Violet into a hug, her head resting gently atop the shorter woman’s hair as the adrenaline still coursed through her veins. The door slammed open again. Bodhi and Garrick skidded into the room, panting, eyes instantly scanning the scene—bodies splayed unnaturally across the floor, blood pooled in wide, uneven strokes. Violet, battered. Iselda, pale but standing. Xaden, sword still drawn. Bodhi blinked. “Who painted the room red?” Xaden didn’t smile. “Iselda activated her signet. Crushed the men by increasing the gravity around them.” “Gravity?” Garrick echoed, his eyes wide with something between awe and alarm. “That’s—I’ve never even heard of a gravitational signet.” “Yeah,” Bodhi muttered, still staring. “That’s insane.” “You’re on cleanup,” Xaden said flatly, nodding toward the mess. “No argument here,” Bodhi muttered, stepping carefully over a shattered wrist bone. Iselda turned her full attention back to Violet, holding the girl by the shoulders, her voice gentler now. “Where are you hurt?” Violet winced as she shifted, breath hitching slightly. Her eyes narrowed. “Ribs?” Violet gave a tight nod. “Can I take a look?” She waited for the small nod of permission, then carefully lifted the hem of Violet’s tunic. Deep purple bruising spread across her side, ugly and tender-looking. But the skin wasn’t sagging or warped. Iselda pressed lightly. “Not broken,” she murmured in relief. “Just bruised. We’ll wrap it.” Xaden had moved to the door, eyes sharp. “We need to get her out of here before word spreads.”  ‘You’re calm now,’  Nighf whispered gently.  ‘But your power remembers. It’s awake now.’  
   ‘Then it better be ready to listen.’ 
 Because this wasn’t over. Not even close. She knelt down to help Violet with her boots, gentle and efficient—but before her fingers could even brush the laces, Bodhi was already crouching beside them, his hands moving quickly to untie the blood-spattered leather. Iselda paused, then looked up at Xaden with one perfectly arched brow.She knelt down to help Violet with her boots, gentle and efficient—but before her fingers could even brush the laces, Bodhi was already crouching beside them, his hands moving quickly to untie the blood-spattered leather. Iselda paused, then looked up at Xaden with one perfectly arched brow. The look she gave him screamed,  He likes her.  Xaden gave a barely-there smile and nodded once, amused and unsurprised. He’d seen it too. She rose, letting Bodhi tend to Violet as she moved to retrieve her cloak from the back of a nearby chair. Once Violet’s boots were back on and fastened, Iselda reached down, pulling the exhausted girl to her feet with a gentleness only she could manage. “Let’s get you out of here,” she murmured. Violet nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open. Outside the door, the hallway was quiet. Garrick stood guard, posture tense, weapons ready. No one dared come near—not yet. Iselda pulled Violet into the shadows, wrapping her own cloak tightly around the girl’s small frame. She buttoned it up with fast, sure fingers, then tugged the hood low over Violet’s face. Her hand found Violet’s and didn’t let go. “Stay close,” she said softly. Xaden fell into step behind them, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his entire frame a wall between them and the world. The hallway opened up as they walked, fast but measured, shadows from the flickering wall lamps stretching long across the stone. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it was focus. Purpose. They moved like ghosts through the citadel. Toward the Flight Field. Toward safety. Toward the next step in the war they hadn’t realized had already begun. When they reached the Flight Field, the night air hummed with tension—until the first gust of wind signaled their arrival. Seven dragons landed in a synchronized storm of wings and power, the wind from their descent roaring louder than anything human. The earth trembled under their collective weight. Andarna touched down first, her golden scales glowing moonlight-silver. Behind her came Tairn, black as the night he ruled, landing with a thunderous crash. Then Sgaeyl descended, sleek and deadly in her cobalt majesty, wings folding like blades. But they weren’t alone. A red dragon landed with a roar that echoed across the valley, wings flaring wide. Then the vibrant orange one followed, its descent nearly silent—grace in motion. Last came the forest-green dragon, who let out a low rumble upon spotting Iselda, something warm and fond in its gaze. And finally, Nighf—her abyssal shadow, blue and black scales rippling like the sea at midnight—touched down without sound, his presence commanding even among giants. Andarna wasted no time. She darted forward, trilling softly, her golden nose nudging gently against Violet’s bruised ribs. “I’m okay,” Violet whispered, crouching to touch her dragon’s muzzle. “Just a bruise. It’ll heal.” Tairn and Sgaeyl stayed close behind her, watchful, but the rest of the dragons had their focus elsewhere. The red, orange, and forest-green dragons all turned to Iselda, and without hesitation, they laid down at her feet—three immense creatures bowing not just with deference, but with worry. One nosed gently at her boot. Another rumbled softly. The third’s eyes glinted in the dark as if asking,  Are you hurt?  Iselda blinked at them, overwhelmed by the sudden affection. “I’m okay,” she murmured, her voice softer than before. They seemed to sigh in relief in perfect unison. Then Nighf stepped into the center of their loose circle and lay down first. The others immediately curled around him and Iselda, forming a protective nest of limbs and wings. She stood at the heart of them all, cloaked in scales and loyalty. Xaden watched the scene unfold, arms crossed, jaw tight. Sgaeyl nudged him pointedly as if to say  don’t be ridiculous , but he didn’t look away. “Do all your dragons worship you, or just these three?” he muttered under his breath. Iselda didn’t even glance at him. “Jealous, Riorson?” He grunted. “Absolutely.” And for once, she didn’t tease him. She just smiled—tired, but real—as she sat down against Nighf’s massive side. The others curled tighter, forming an impenetrable wall of scale and strength. Tonight, nothing would touch them. Not while their dragons stood guard. Violet blinked at the wall of dragons curled around Iselda like a living fortress, then looked up at her with narrowed eyes full of suspicion, amusement, and bruised exhaustion. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Is there something going on between you two? Other than just your relationship of sexual intercourse, of course.” Iselda choked on her own breath. “Don’t say it like that.” Violet’s eyes sparkled despite her bruised face. “Why? It’s technically accurate.” Before Iselda could muster a comeback, Xaden—smug b@st@rd that he was—strode into the protective ring of dragons like he owned it. He barely spared Violet a glance as he walked right up behind Iselda and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest with practiced ease. “She’s my fiancée,” he said, all satisfaction and silk. Iselda’s eyes flared a stormy mercuric silver as she twisted around to glare up at him. We did not talk about telling anyone yet, her look said. He just smiled down at her like he was the sun itself and she was the only one allowed to orbit it. Violet stared between them, wide-eyed. “Wait—what?” Iselda sighed, rubbing at her temples like she was already too tired to manage either of them. “We got engaged two days ago.” Violet’s mouth opened. Then closed. “Okay, that… doesn’t explain anything, but I’m happy for you? I think?” Xaden, unbothered, decided this was the perfect time to elaborate. “The ceremony will be outdoors,” he began, tone reverent, like he was discussing strategy for a war campaign. “In a valley surrounded by wildflowers. Not the polished ones, either—field-grown, untamed, like her.” Iselda’s brows shot up. Violet glanced at her, mouthing, Untamed? “Oh, and the dress,” Xaden continued, completely undeterred, “if she chooses a dress, will have the longest train in recorded history. It’ll be made of iridescent dragon scales, woven with protective threads. It’ll shimmer every time she moves, like starlight. Like the sky when she flies.” Iselda blinked at him. “Xaden—” “Sgaeyl and Nighf have agreed to donate scales,” he added. “Sgaeyl might have been a little… begrudging about it. Nighf, however, was entirely too smug. I think he’s waiting for someone to ask him to officiate.” From the side, Nighf snorted, proud and unbothered, resting his chin at Iselda’s feet. “And we’ll match, of course,” Xaden continued with maddening joy. “I’ll have a suit lined with the same scale weave. Or if she wears a pantsuit with a train—and honestly, I’d die happy either way—I’ll get a matching one.” “You’ve really thought this through,” Violet said, trying not to laugh. “He has plans,” Iselda deadpanned. “I do,” Xaden said, smugness practically leaking out of his pores. “Whether you wear a dress, a suit, or your battle leathers with a celestial cape, you’ll still look like you command the heavens. I’ll adjust.” Iselda leaned back against his chest finally, exhaling a long breath. “He’s ridiculous.” “And in love,” Violet added softly. Iselda didn’t argue. Didn’t look away either. Her stormy eyes just stayed locked on Violet’s, the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m not promising the train.” “You will once you see the sketches,” Xaden whispered near her ear. “Of course there are sketches,” Violet muttered, stunned. “You two are insane. Perfect, but insane.” “I can’t believe you’re getting married,” she whispered. “Neither can I,” Iselda muttered. But when Xaden’s arms tightened around her and Nighf gave a pleased huff behind them, she didn’t try to escape either. “We haven’t set a date,” Iselda clarified, brushing a few strands of platinum hair from her face. Her tone was light, but there was a softness behind it, a vulnerability she rarely let slip through. “It’ll happen when it happens.” “Set a date yet,” Xaden added, his arms still loosely wrapped around her, voice laced with teasing but threaded with something sincere. Violet stared at them, and then something shifted in her face—her eyes lit up, bruised but bright, silver and violet gleaming like polished steel. “Wait—so you are serious about this. About the wedding. Like real wedding wedding. Not just a battlefield-bonded, let’s-not-die-tomorrow kind of thing?” “Very serious,” Xaden confirmed, grinning at her. “Ridiculously serious.” Iselda rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. Violet let out a laugh that startled even her, clutching her ribs from the jolt of pain. “Ow. Okay. Hurts to laugh. Worth it though. You two are absurd.” “We know,” Iselda said dryly, “but you’re still coming.” “Oh, I’m not just coming,” Violet declared, planting her hands on her hips. “I demand a role. I’ve earned it. I’m the one you two traumatized with your sexual tension and near-death bonding for weeks. And also—let’s not forget—I was almost murdered tonight and you saved me.” “You mean we saved Violence,” Xaden said with mock solemnity, nudging Iselda as he said the nickname. Violet blinked. “Violence?” Iselda smirked, arms crossing as she leaned slightly into Xaden. “Your nickname. Because of how violently angry you were at him for, like, half the year. And for all the times you’ve threatened to stab him.” Xaden chuckled. “It felt fitting. I’ve seen dragons run when you’re mad.” “And yet I’m still here, enduring this slander,” Violet muttered, but she was grinning now, the sound of her breathing a little easier. “Honestly, if you don’t let me help plan this wedding, I’ll start writing my own invitations and passing them out to everyone.” Iselda raised an eyebrow. “Even to Colonel Aetos?” “Especially him,” Violet said. “I’ll say the dress code is full Venin cosplay.” Xaden actually laughed—one of those rare, genuine sounds that echoed low in his chest. “Gods help us.” Iselda sighed, but her eyes were warm, stormy silver meeting violet. “We want you there, Violence. Not just attending. There. Beside us.” Violet blinked, stunned for a moment. “...You really mean that?” “We wouldn’t have made it through tonight without you,” Iselda said quietly. “And we wouldn’t want to celebrate without you.” Xaden’s voice was lower, but steady. “You’re family now.” Violet opened her mouth, closed it again, then muttered, “Okay, but if I cry at this stupid wedding, I’m blaming the dragons.” “Oh, speaking of dragons,” Xaden said, glancing at Iselda with a sheepish grin, “I may or may not already have the venue prepared.” Iselda blinked. “What?” “It’s a clearing in the hills. Wildflowers. Open sky. Sgaeyl found it during a flight, and I—might’ve commissioned someone to sketch layouts. Just… in case.” “Just in case, he says,” Violet whispered in disbelief, watching Iselda turn toward Xaden with a raised brow that promised teasing later. Nighf, still curled protectively behind them, let out a knowing rumble. Iselda leaned into his warmth, grateful for the safety, the ridiculousness, the love that surrounded her tonight. They had survived. And when the wedding came—whenever that would be—Violence would be standing right there beside them, bruised and bright and entirely, irrevocably loved. _ She stayed quiet as Violet’s gaze darted between Tairn and Andarna, widening in slow, dawning realization. “She’s… a hatchling?” Violet’s voice was barely above a whisper. Iselda didn’t answer. Xaden did, though—his head jerked slightly as he turned toward her, the surprise and something bordering on horror crossing his face. “She’s a what?” Iselda winced. She tried—truly tried—to slip out of his arms and toward Nighf like it wasn’t a big deal, like she might have just forgotten a minor detail. But the vice-like grip around her waist tightened just enough to halt her retreat. He’d noticed.  ‘That’s why I chose you,’  Andarna’s soft voice broke through, a murmur in the silence. Her golden head lolled slightly, flopping gently against Tairn’s leg as she yawned.  ‘Of course you wouldn’t know,’  Tairn added, voice rumbling like thunder behind a mountain.  ‘Feathertails aren’t supposed to be seen.’  He cast a sideways glance at his mate, and to everyone’s surprise, Sgaeyl didn’t even roll her eyes. She simply lowered her head and exhaled slowly, a long breath that ruffled the grass. “If leadership knew riders could take her gifts for themselves,” Xaden said, still stunned as he stared at the barely-awake hatchling, “rather than depending on their own signets…” “She’d be hunted,” Violet whispered, horrified.  ‘Which is why you can’t tell anyone what she is,’  Sgaeyl’s voice slid into their minds like cold wind.  ‘Hopefully she’ll mature once you’re out of the quadrant, and the elders are already placing more… stringent protections on the feathertails.’  Violet nodded solemnly. “I won’t. I swear. Andarna, thank you. Whatever you did… it saved my life.”  ‘I made time stop,’  Andarna admitted with a sleepy blink. ‘But only for a little bit.’ Her head swayed again as she leaned harder against Tairn, exhaustion clinging to every movement. “What did she say?” Xaden asked Violet, his voice soft, reverent. “She said… she can pause time,” Violet replied, her voice a little shaky with the weight of what that meant. “Briefly.” Xaden’s entire frame stilled. His features slackened in disbelief as he turned toward the golden dragonet. “You can stop time?” he repeated, the words foreign even as he spoke them.  ‘And now we can stop it,’  Andarna murmured. Her eyelids fluttered, her breath slowing.  ‘In small increments.’  “In small increments,” Violet echoed, then turned to look at the baby dragon with the kind of fear that only came with love. “And if I use it too much, I could kill you.”  ‘Kill us,’  Andarna said firmly, rising to her feet with quiet dignity despite her size and youth.  ‘But I know you won’t.’  The tiny weight of that trust hit all of them hard. Violet placed a gentle hand against Andarna’s muzzle. “I’ll do my best to be worthy.” “You are,” Iselda said quietly, stepping forward now, her voice calm but firm with conviction. Her mercuric silver eyes softened as she looked between Violet and Andarna. “You were always worthy.” Xaden let out a slow breath and finally loosened his hold on Iselda, his hand brushing lightly against hers as if to steady himself in the face of the impossible. Andarna shifted, yawning again as she moved towards and nestled against Nighf’s massive flank, using it as a pillow without shame. The older dragon let out a low rumble of amusement, curling his tail protectively around her as if she were one of his own hatchlings. Xaden turned toward Iselda, who was now looking suspiciously angelic. Too angelic. She offered him a sweet, innocent smile—the kind that screamed I absolutely did the thing, but good luck proving it. His brow arched.  ‘You knew?’  he asked mentally, his voice low and edged with disbelief. She didn’t even pretend.  ‘I might have forgotten to mention it.’  
   ‘Forgotten? Forgotten to tell me she’s a f@ck@ng time-stopping hatchling?!’ 
 She pressed her lips together, that little crinkle forming between her brows as she fought a smirk.  ‘In my defense… she’s very small. And shiny. And adorable. Also? Technically classified.’  He stared at her. She offered a mental shrug.  ‘You were busy being angry at the world and brooding in corners. It didn’t seem like the time.’  Xaden pinched the bridge of his nose.  ‘You’re going to be the death of me.’  
   ‘Unlikely. I like you too much for that.’ 
 There was a beat of silence, filled only by the soft exhale of dragons and the quiet rustling of wind through the grass. Then, grudgingly— ‘You’re lucky I love you.’   ‘I know,’  she replied, and this time her smile was softer. Quieter. True. “Now the question was, who guided the attack,” Xaden said. “That’s easy,” Iselda shot back. “Wing Leader Amber Mavis.” 
  
  

    
      
        
        
          violence.ok y'all theory time:1. i think 4th book is about finding a way to bring back xaden and at the end, they find it and employ the process:as for how it's done i suspect that it has everything to do with the irids. they won 600 years ago right? when the irids were still there, so the irids have our answer, they know how to break the bond of the venins with the earth, but they're just witholding said information. Andarna's able to burn Venin because of being an irid not because her adolescent fire is generally hotter.]so it's possible that Xaden's answer lies within Andarna and Sgaeyl. He had to break his bond with Sgaeyl to establish a bond with the Earth, to break this bond, an irid breaks his bond with the earth while at the same time sgaeyl establishes his bond with her again, he could with a very little chance bond with another dragon to stabilise his soul- OR a soul bond can be established between Violet and him to stabilise his soul.Tairn's need for a cycle of rest could be stem from Sgaeyl and Xaden breaking their bond, possibly with the help of an irid (maybe the elder who came for Andarna). SO, both Sgaeyl and Tairn could be in a cycle of rest.Lemme know what you think in the comments.'
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