Chapter Text
The sky burned above the jagged cliffs, a turbulent clash of smoke and stormlight that mirrored the chaos of the Tyrrish rebellion. The rocks below Brennan glistened with blood, too much of it.
Naolin knelt beside him, palms slick and desperate against Brennan’s chest, his signet flaring with a wild intensity. Magic crackled between his fingers, drawn from the depths of his own being, from the soul of his dragon, from anything he could touch. “Come on, come on, stay with me,” he gasped, voice strained, teeth gritted as he fought against the tide of death threatening to pull his best friend under. “Don’t you dare quit on me now, you stubborn bastard—”
“I’m not—quitting,” Brennan rasped, his voice a thin whisper marred by blood. “Just.. need to… rest.”
“No,” Naolin barked, his eyes fierce with determination. “No resting. You’re going to make it. You have Renna. You have a future.”
But as Brennan coughed, the sound raw and agonizing, his heart clenched with fear. “She shouldn’t be here. She—” He winced, his breath faltering. “Naol. Promise me—”
A gust of wind heralded Renna’s arrival, and she leaped from her dragon before it even landed, stumbling across the scorched earth. Ash and sweat streaked her skin, riding leathers torn from battle, but her eyes—their fierce determination found Brennan’s instantly, cutting through the chaos like a lifeline.
“No.” Her voice cracked, desperation lacing her words. “No. No, please, Bren—”
Naolin nearly buckled under the weight of his own magic as she reached them, his strength waning. “I’m holding him—barely,” he ground out, pain etched across his face. “But it’s not—it’s not going to last.”
Dropping to her knees beside Brennan, Renna cupped his face in trembling hands, her touch igniting a flicker of warmth in the freezing grip of despair. “Look at me,” she whispered, her voice fierce yet tender. “Don’t you dare look away.”
He blinked up at her, his eyelids heavy as the world around him faded. “You came.”
“You think I wouldn’t?” Renna’s voice trembled, each word steeped in a mix of desperation and fierce resolve. Tears shimmered in her eyes, catching the dying light of the flames around them. “You idiot, I’d follow you to Malek’s side in a heartbeat.”
Brennan's lips curled into a smile, a fragile thing that illuminated his battered face. Her heart cracked open at the sight, raw and vulnerable. “I love you,” she declared, the fierceness in her voice mingling with her tears as they traced paths down her cheeks. “I love you, Brennan Sorrengail. We’re going home. You hear me?”
“You… are home,” he whispered, his voice a mere thread of sound. With great effort, his hand rose, shaking, but he managed to cup her cheek, the warmth of his palm bringing a flicker of solace amidst the chaos. “Everywhere you are, that’s it.”
“Then don’t leave me,” she pleaded, the words catching in her throat.
“I don’t want to,” he choked out, a deep sorrow weighing heavy in his chest. “Renna, listen to me.” His gaze shifted to Naolin, who was visibly trembling, his strength waning like the last light of day. “You have to go.”
“No,” she whispered again, softer this time, her heart imploding with each syllable. “Please. Please.”
“You have to live.” Brennan’s voice, firm and steady now, cut through her despair like a beacon in the storm. “For Violet. For them all. They’ll need you more than ever. Mira will need you. My—my sisters…” As his hand slipped from her cheek, she caught it instinctively, pressing it to her heart, anchoring herself to him. “I can’t do this without you,” she cried, desperation lacing her every word.
“You can. Because you are the strongest person I’ve ever known.” His lips moved in a faint smile, a flicker of light amidst the encroaching darkness. “I believe in you. You remember that. You remember it every single day.”
Suddenly, Naolin groaned, collapsing sideways, and Brennan flinched at the sight, urgency flooding his voice again. “Renna, go.”
With her heart hammering in her chest, Renna bent over him, pressing her lips to his forehead, then to his trembling lips. “I’ll never love anyone like I love you.”
“You will, one day,” he teased weakly, tears shimmering in his own eyes.
“I’ll see you in the stars,” she whispered, sobbing, and then she stood, forcing herself to rise from the ground, away from the most important person in her life.
She didn’t look back. Not even when the bond shattered inside her like breaking glass, a painful echo that would haunt her long after the moment was gone. She flew toward the horizon, half her heart bleeding in her chest and the other half buried in the ruins below.
Captain Auren didn’t look up right away when Renna walked in, eyes remained glued to the report in his hands, the parchment crumpled slightly from the force of his grip. Renna noticed the white knuckles pressing against the edge of the table, a telltale sign of his own struggle to maintain composure.
“You haven’t flown since it happened,” he finally said, his voice clipped and devoid of any pretense of small talk.
Renna stood before him, stiff and uneasy in her wrinkled uniform, the fabric still stained with the remnants of a battle that had taken more than just lives—it had stolen her heart. The blood on her sleeve had long dried, a testament to the past she couldn’t seem to escape.
“I know,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tempest swirling within her. It was the only truth she could offer. Anything more would be a lie woven from the fabric of her pain.
Auren finally lifted his gaze, piercing through the veil of silence that surrounded them. “You haven’t submitted to evaluation. You refused the healer’s clearance to fly.” Renna opened her mouth to protest, but Auren raised a hand, silencing her. “You’re not being reprimanded, Sorrengail,” he said, his tone sharper than she expected. “You’re being given an out.”
Renna blinked, confusion washing over her. “An out?”
“You want to die, lieutenant?” His voice lowered, laden with concern. “Because that’s where this ends. You walk back into active duty in your state, and you’ll be dead before you ever make it back to the skies.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating, slicing through her resolve.
When she finally spoke, her voice trembled but held fast. “I’m not resigning.”
Auren stepped around the table, closing the distance between them, his expression a mix of determination and empathy. “Renna, your bond is unstable. Your heart is shattered. Brennan—”
“Don’t say his name,” she hissed, eyes flashing with warning, a protective fire igniting within her.
“I’m not dismissing your grief. I’m trying to keep you alive. You’re not just a rider—you were a wife with bonded dragons. That kind of loss breaks most people.”
“I’m not most people,” she whispered fiercely. “And you need me here.”
“I need a Lieutenant who’s in the right state of mind.” Auren’s gaze bore into hers, steady and unyielding, as he reached for a scroll on the desk and handed it to her. “Indefinite leave. Effective immediately. When you’re ready to return—if you’re ready—we’ll talk. Until then, go somewhere you can heal.”
She knows he’s not lying, that she can come back at any time. So, she doesn’t thank him. Instead, she took the scroll, turned, and walked out of his office without another word.
Renna stood outside the Sorrengail quarters at Basgiath longer than she meant to, her heart a tangled mess of anticipation and dread. The door loomed before her, solid and unyielding, crafted from rich black ironwood. Memories flooded her mind—a vivid recollection of the day she and Brennan had approached this very entrance, his hand warm and reassuring in hers, their laughter echoing against the cool wood. Now, as she hesitated, her fingers hovered in uncertainty over the door, as if it might scald her if she touched it.
Just as she mustered the courage to strike the door, it swung open, revealing Asher Sorrengail standing in the threshold. He filled the frame, broader than she remembered, though perhaps it was time playing tricks, warping her recollection into something more fragile. His once-dark hair had silvered at the temples, and grief clung to the corners of his eyes like a shadow that refused to dissipate.
Without uttering a word, Asher stepped forward and enveloped her in a fierce embrace, pulling her so tightly against him that it ached. Renna stiffened at first, the shock of his warmth contrasting sharply with the chill in her heart, but then she melted into him, her hands clutching the soft fabric of his cream cloak as her forehead found refuge against his shoulder. They stood there in silence for a moment until Asher pulled back, his voice was low and laced with unspoken promises. “This is your home. For as long as you want it to be.” She nodded, swallowing hard against the swell of emotion.
Footsteps padded softly down the stone corridor behind him, a gentle reminder of life moving forward. Violet appeared—now sixteen, nearly grown, yet still holding onto that unmistakable softness that spoke of innocence lost. She halted mid-step upon seeing Renna, and it felt like a punch to Renna’s chest to see so much of Brennan in Violet.
“Hi,” Violet said quietly.
Renna exhaled slowly, allowing herself to truly feel for the first time in days. She took a step forward, summoning a gentle smile. “Hi, Vi.”
Violet hesitated, but then closed the distance, wrapping her arms around Renna’s waist. In that moment, Renna folded her into her embrace, closing her eyes and allowing the girl to steady what was left of her fractured heart.
“I miss him,” Violet whispered, the words fragile yet heavy with sorrow.
“Me too,” Renna replied.
General Lilith Sorrengail never offered condolences. Renna had expected that, knowing the stoicism that marked her mother in law as sharply as her commanding presence. What she hadn’t expected was the summons to the strategy room at dawn on her fourth day there, the chill of early morning creeping through the cracks of the grand old house.
“You’re not here to wallow,” Lilith stated, her voice a crisp blade as she remained focused on the maps spread across the table, every inked line and colored section detailing the battlefield like a living organism. “You’re here to be useful.”
Renna felt her spine stiffen at the clipped tone, the old instinct to salute bubbling to the surface. “Ma’am—” she began, but the words faltered under the weight of her memories.
“You were my son’s wife. But you were also a lieutenant with six campaigns and three command rotations. And Basgiath doesn’t waste resources.” Lilith's eyes flicked upward, steely and sharp, piercing through the veil of grief surrounding Renna like an icy wind. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Renna met her gaze evenly, the fire of determination igniting within her. “No, General.”
Lilith’s nod was curt, a small acknowledgment that both acknowledged her grief and demanded her strength. “Good. Sit down.” It wasn’t warmth. It wasn’t comfort. But it was a beginning, a lifeline cast into the turbulent waters of her heart.
And by the one-year mark, she stood with Díom on the flight field, the dragon massive and unflinching beside her, a sweeping silhouette of green against the golden dawn.
"Ready, little storm?" Díom’s voice rumbled in her mind.
“No,” Renna admitted aloud, the wind teasing strands of hair from her braid. “But I think I need this.”
Díom exhaled, steam curling from her nostrils as she bent her head low. "Then we go slow. We go together."
Renna climbed into the seat, her fingers tightening around the pommel. Her heart thundered. Not with fear, not exactly—but with the sheer weight of what this meant. Of what she was finally ready to take back.
She gave a nod, and Díom leapt. Basgiath fell behind them in a blur of stone and shadow. The valleys below shimmered in the dawn light, rivers winding through them like veins of silver, glistening under the gentle caress of the sun.
Renna inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the crisp, pure air that surged with the promise of a new beginning. And with that breath, something broke open inside her—a dam that had held back the tide of her grief for too long. It wasn’t silence anymore; it was sound. The wind howled past her ears, a wild symphony that mingled with the rhythmic whoosh of Díom’s powerful wings slicing through the crisp morning air.
As they soared higher, the world below faded into a distant memory, and she could feel the weight of her sorrow lifting, if only for a moment. For the first time since the cliffs of the rebellion, Renna laughed—an unexpected sound that burst forth, foreign yet freeing. It felt like shards of glass falling away from her heart, the sharp edges of pain softening as joy seeped in.
Díom’s laughter echoed in her mind, a deep rumble that vibrated through her bones. “There you are, little storm,” the dragon’s voice resonated, rich and full of warmth. They climbed higher still, bursting through a bank of clouds that loomed like an unassailable wall. As they broke through, the clouds erupted around them in a flurry of white, shimmering like foam tossed by an unseen tide.
Renna leaned forward into the motion, surrendering herself to the rush of wind and warmth that enveloped her. Her palm pressed against Díom’s neck, a reassuring presence that tethered her to this moment. "You’re not lost," Díom told her softly, the words wrapping around her like a balm. "Just finding your way back."
Renna felt the truth of those words settle into her bones as she chose to focus on the now—the exhilarating rush of freedom, the heart-pounding thrill of flight, the promise of a new chapter unfolding.
Snow clung to the corners of the windows, swirling gently against the glass in slow, rhythmic gusts, like nature's own lullaby. The fire crackled low in the hearth, its flickering amber light dancing across the ancient stone walls of the tower’s common room, illuminating the rich tapestries that told stories of long-forgotten battles and victories. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the biting cold that enveloped the world outside.
Renna sat curled on the couch, her boots kicked off beside her. A thick-knit blanket, worn from use yet soft against her skin, draped across her lap, cradling her in a cocoon of comfort. Beside her lay a scribe's report spread open on the cushion—its pages filled with intricate notes on border unrest that Lilith had asked her to review before next week’s strategy brief. Yet, her attention was far from the inked words that spoke of conflict; it drifted instead to the soothing crackle of the fire and the way the shadows danced across the room.
Across from her, Violet sat cross-legged in one of the well-worn leather chairs, the material creaking slightly under her movement. A precariously balanced stack of texts rested on the armrest, their spines a riot of colors. Violet’s silver hair was pulled up in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face, and a quill tapped distractedly against her chin, echoing her growing frustration with the material before her.
“You know, for being the smartest people at Basgiath,” Violet muttered, a playful frown creasing her brow, “the scribes require an unreasonable amount of reading.”
Renna grinned without lifting her gaze, her heart lightened by the familiar banter. “Says the girl who reads like it’s a competitive sport.”
“I do not—”
“You do. It’s endearing.”
Violet rolled her eyes, exhaling softly as she flipped a page, the sound crisp and precise in the otherwise tranquil room.
A sudden knock came at the tower door—sharp, precise, slicing through the warmth of their camaraderie. Renna frowned, instinctively pushing off the blanket that felt like a second skin.
“It’s late,” Violet said, glancing at the ornate timepiece on the mantel, its hands inching toward the hour of dusk. “No one ever knocks this late unless—”
With a determined resolve, Renna opened the door, her heart skipping at the unexpected visitor. A third-year Scribe Cadet stood in the hallway, his face pale under the glow of the wall sconce, the flickering light casting eerie shadows on his anxious features. He held out a sealed letter, his hand trembling slightly as he offered it to her.
“For Lieutenant Sorrengail,” he said softly, the weight of his words heavy in the air.
Renna stared at the seal—its design familiar, a mark she recognized before even touching it. Her fingers closed around the parchment, yet she hesitated, the gravity of the moment anchoring her in place.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, and the boy nodded, relief flooding his expression as he hurried away down the dim corridor.
Renna's fingers trembled as she peeled back the seal, the crack of parchment breaking the silence like a sharp intake of breath. As the letter opened, a rush of dread clawed at her insides, and her breath caught in her throat like a lifeline slipping away.
“No…” she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips as if to deny the truth she feared to confront.
Violet’s voice trembled, laced with concern. “What is it?” The question hung heavy, charged with a desperation to shield herself from the answer.
Renna turned toward her, her heart pounding like a drumbeat. The words clawed at her throat, struggling to break free against the rising tide of despair. “Vi, sweetheart…” Her voice cracked, the vulnerability spilling forth like a dam breaking, and in that moment, Violet’s eyes widened, understanding dawning painfully clear.
Violet staggered back a step, her expression crumpling like fragile parchment in a storm. “No. No, he was—he was fine.” The disbelief dripped from her voice, a desperate mantra against the harsh reality.
Without hesitation, Renna reached for her, pulling Violet into her arms. As if the world had tilted on its axis, they sank down to the floor together, the gravity of their grief crashing over them like a relentless tide.
They remained there for what felt like an eternity. Violet curled into Renna’s side, the familiar position echoing memories of their shared sorrow, and now, it was her father’s loss that shadowed them both. Renna's hand shook as she cradled the letter, thoughts spiraling into an abyss of anguish. Asher had been the calm in their storm, the final thread of Brennan’s wisdom woven into the fabric of their lives, his quiet voice of hope now silenced forever.
With his absence came an unsettling shift, a cold wind sweeping through Renna’s soul, chilling her to the core. She looked down at Violet—her brilliant, stubborn shadow—and the realization struck with sudden clarity: the time for waiting was over.
The following days blurred together, the tower cloaked in a heavy silence that mirrored their grief, each heartbeat echoing their loss. Violet spent most days in her room, Wrenley Tavis and Dain Aetos sneaking out of the Rider’s Quadrant to be there for their friend.
Mira arrived halfway through the wake, her anger manifesting in a punch into the stone walls, splitting the skin of her knuckles. And Lilith—Lilith remained a stoic figure at the edge of the terrace, the storm raging overhead reflecting the turmoil within.
But Renna saw the way Lilith clutched her late husband’s folded cloak, fingers lingering on the fabric as if seeking comfort from a memory that was both sacred and suffocating. The tension in the air crackled, the remnants of shared grief swirling between them like a storm threatening to break. Renna noted the slight quiver in Lilith’s jaw, a fleeting sign of vulnerability as she turned away from the gathered officers, her stoic facade faltering just for a moment.
That night, Renna stood in the general’s office, the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders like a leaden shroud. The room felt both foreign and familiar, filled with the scent of polished wood and old parchment, echoes of decisions made in this very space reverberating in her mind. Gathering her resolve, she forced the words out, the truth she had kept buried for three long years clawing its way to the surface. “I’m going back.”
Lilith didn’t look up from her desk, her movements precise and methodical, as if she could carve away the tension lingering in the room. “No,” she replied, her voice steady, almost mechanical.
“I’m not asking for permission.” Renna’s voice rose, fierce and unwavering, an ember igniting into a flame.
Lilith’s gaze finally lifted, sharp and assessing, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a drawn blade. “You’ve been more valuable here than you ever were in the field.” The words dripped with authority, yet there was an undercurrent of something deeper—fear, perhaps, or a desperate plea to keep her close.
“I’m not alive here,” Renna hissed, the bitterness of her truth tasting like ashes on her tongue. “I’m surviving. There’s a difference, and you know it.”
Lilith leaned forward, the weight of her presence bearing down on Renna, hands braced on the desk like a fortress. “You think throwing yourself into another battlefield is going to heal what happened to Brennan? To Asher?”
“No.” The word slipped out, fragile yet defiant. “But staying here while good people bleed out there makes it worse.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t waver. “You said I was already leading. Let me do it where it matters.”
“You want the front.” Lilith’s voice dropped, dangerously quiet now, as if the very mention of it held the power to shatter them both. “You want death.”
“I want purpose.” Her breath trembled. “And I want a reason to stop running from what I lost.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and fraught, until Lilith exhaled slowly, the sound echoing with resignation. She pulled a sealed folder from her desk drawer, the motion deliberate, each second stretching into an eternity.
“Samara,” she said, her tone carrying the weight of an irrevocable decision. “You’ll command the third strike unit. They’ll report to you directly.”
Renna stared at the folder, her fingers betraying a moment of hesitation, the gravity of the choice before her sinking in. “I thought you’d fight me harder,” she said softly, the tremor in her voice revealing the raw edges of her vulnerability.
Lilith looked away, her expression clouded with an unspoken pain. “Asher said you were ready a year ago. I just didn’t want to lose the last piece of my son.”
Stepping forward, Renna reached for the file—and without thinking, she fetched for the general’s hand–for her mother-in-law’s hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered, the words carrying the weight of her own grief intertwined with gratitude.
“Good luck, Captain Sorrengail.”
Lilith didn’t reply, but as Renna left, she heard the door lock behind her—a finality that echoed in the stillness of the room. And then, faintly, the sound of a woman finally allowing herself to cry.
Renna stood in the center of her room—Brennan’s room—her pack full and resting at the foot of her bed. The familiar surroundings felt laden with memories, every detail echoing the essence of him. The walls, adorned with the remnants of his laughter, seemed to whisper secrets of their shared past. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting gentle shadows that danced across the wooden floor, mingling with the bittersweet ache in her heart.
A soft knock broke the stillness, and then the door creaked open, revealing Violet, barefoot and delicate, her hair plaited neatly down her back like a ribbon of night. The sight of her stirred something deep within Renna, a protective instinct that surged to the surface.
“You’re really going,” Violet said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it rang clear in the charged atmosphere of the room.
Renna turned slowly, her chest tightening at the sight of her. “I am,” she replied, the weight of those words heavy on her tongue, laden with unspoken fears and lingering regrets.
Violet hesitated, her small frame silhouetted against the doorway, before crossing the room with a determined grace. In one fluid motion, she wrapped her arms around Renna, embracing her tightly, as if she could physically pull her back from the precipice of departure. It was still surprising sometimes how fiercely Violet could hold on for someone so small, but in that moment, she was a force of nature, grounding Renna against the swirling chaos of their emotions.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Renna whispered into her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and the faint remnants of childhood innocence. “I already know.”
Violet stepped back, her eyes shining with unshed tears, brimming with the weight of their shared grief. “I need to,” she insisted, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve, her vulnerability laid bare. “When Brennan died… I didn’t think we’d have anything left of him. But then you stayed. And you were this… anchor. Not just for me, but for Mom, too, even if she doesn’t say it.”
“I stayed for him,” Renna said softly, her voice tinged with the warmth of cherished memories.
“And we stayed because of you,” Violet replied, a fierce determination lighting her eyes. “You made it bearable. Losing him. Losing Dad.”
A lump swelled in Renna’s throat, the weight of her emotions mingling with the grief that clung to her like a second skin. It felt as though the very air had thickened around her, wrapping her in an embrace both comforting and suffocating. She opened her mouth to speak, but before the words could take flight, a second voice, rich and warm, broke through the heavy silence.
“She’s right, you know.”
Mira stood framed in the doorway, arms crossed, her posture relaxed yet defiant. The usual sternness etched in her features was softened today, her gaze carrying an understanding that seemed to wrap around Renna like a protective shield. “You kept this family from splintering when everything else fell apart,” she continued, her voice steady yet tinged with an emotion that mirrored Renna’s own turmoil.
Renna blinked rapidly, the intensity of Mira’s words igniting a fire in her chest. Her eyes burned, threatening to spill the tears she had held at bay for too long. “I don’t know if I did enough,” she admitted, her voice cracking under the weight of doubt.
Mira stepped closer, the space between them shrinking, as if closing the distance could somehow bridge the chasm of uncertainty that loomed over them. “You did more than anyone asked of you,” she asserted, her tone firm, laced with a conviction that could not be ignored.
Renna turned her gaze between them, the two sisters who had become such an important part of her life. The little sisters she had never had but had gratefully gained when she had married their brother. One, a fierce warrior proving herself within the wing, and the other, the gentle soul Renna knew would always be safe behind the safety of the walls of the Archives.
“You both know I’ll come back, right?” Renna asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a fragile promise hanging in the air like the last rays of daylight before twilight descended.
Violet’s smile was a bittersweet curve, her eyes glistening with unshed tears that sparkled like starlight against the backdrop of their shared grief. “You better,” she replied, her voice a melodic plea laced with hope.
“And I,” Mira interjected with a playful smirk, a flicker of mischief lighting her features, “am tired of everyone calling you the more likable Sorrengail. Piss some people off as Captain, please.”
Renna laughed, the sound bursting forth like a release of pressure, blinking rapidly to stave off the tears threatening to spill over. “I love you both,” she said, her heart swelling with a fierce affection that transcended words.
“I love you too,” they chorused in unison, the warmth of their bond enveloping Renna like a treasured memory.
With a final embrace the three Sorrengail girls shared, Renna felt fortified, the weight of their support wrapping around her like armor as they walked side by side, the faint echoes of their laughter trailing behind them.
The flight field loomed ahead, an expanse of earth and sky where destinies intertwined with the whispering winds. It was here that Díom awaited her, the sleek form of the green dragon outlined against the canvas of the twilight sky, poised and ready. The air crackled with anticipation, and Renna felt her heart race with the thrill of what lay ahead.
Just before she mounted Díom, Renna turned her gaze skyward, her eyes searching the vast tapestry of stars that began to emerge like tiny beacons of hope against the encroaching darkness. She inhaled deeply, the scent of freedom mingling with the fading light, and allowed herself a small smile—a quiet moment of connection. In that fleeting instant, she knew Brennan was looking down on her, beaming with pride for the path she had chosen.