The storm that had raged around them for hours began to thin, the thick sheets of rain breaking into curtains of silver mist that clung to Serelyth's wings. Lira held tightly, her arms wrapped around the dragon's scaled neck, her hair plastered to her face. Each breath carried the taste of salt and rain, each heartbeat in her chest quickened by the sheer force of the winds they had flown through.
Then, through the gray veil of storm, a shimmer appeared—at first only a spark, like a sunbeam piercing a crack in the clouds. But as Serelyth angled her wings and descended lower, the spark widened into a vast expanse that made Lira's heart catch in her throat.
The lake.
