Noah.
I wake to the soft crackle of fire and the scent of spiced bread. For a moment, I forget where I am. The ceiling above me is slanted wood, etched faintly with curling patterns that shimmer faintly in the morning light. The blankets wrapped around me are thick and warm, nothing like the silky bedding back at the Reizei estate. But still comfortable.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I didn't wake up in fear. No beast roaring, no portal tearing, no nightmare of my parents' faces vanishing in the glow. Just… warmth.
It felt foreign even.
I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes, and the memory of yesterday settles in again: Kael Emberveil's voice, heavy and strong; Serenya's gentle smile; Lyraea's steady hand leading me through the door. My chest aches, but it doesn't collapse inward the way it used to.
When I step into the main room, the Emberveil home greets me with the same steady warmth. The hearth burns low, filling the space with a faint haze of smoke. Serenya is there, her back turned as she slices thick loaves of bread. Her hair is dark, almost black, and it falls in smooth waves down her back, catching firelight like strands of silk.
She turns at the sound of my footsteps, her smile soft but genuine. "Good morning, Noah. Did you rest well?"
I nod, clutching the edges of my tunic. "Yes… thank you."
"Good," she says, placing bread and a bowl of stew on the table. "Eat while it's warm. You'll need your strength."
I sit, the wooden chair creaking beneath me, and glance around the Emberveil home. Everything here feels lived-in: shelves lined with carved wooden figures, herbs strung in bundles along the rafters, weapons mounted neatly on the far wall. There is a balance, strength and tenderness sharing the same space.
As I eat, Kael enters. His presence fills the room instantly. He's wearing a hunter's cloak, dust clinging to his boots, and his stone-gray eyes flicker with quiet fire. What catches me most, though, is the light reflecting off the faint scales at the edges of his eyelids.
I freeze, my spoon hovering in midair.
They glint faintly like emerald stone, the same way my father's once did.
Kael notices my gaze but doesn't comment. He only inclines his head and sits across from me. "You'll walk the village with me today," he says. "It's time you see Tharidya with your own eyes." He then smiles softly, "it'll be good for you."
The words make something inside me stir , nervousness, but also something else. A fragile kind of hope.
The village of Tyuinwood is nothing like the quiet, cloistered grounds of the Reizei estate. It's alive.
Wooden houses cling to the edges of the floating land, their balconies facing the vast sky. Rope bridges crisscross between platforms, swaying gently with the wind. Everywhere I look, there are colors: banners dyed in deep reds and blues, hanging lanterns carved with dragon motifs, stalls spilling with fruits that glow faintly with mana.
And the people , the Thyridyns, they move with an energy I've never seen before, not even when i was Jeremiah Arnold. Children chase each other with sticks that spark faintly at the tips. Women barter with bright scarves wrapped around their waists. Men carry crates of shimmering stone, their laughter deep and unshaken.
But it's their faces that draw me in.
At first glance, they look like any other people. But then I notice it: the men, every adult male Thyridyn I pass has faint scales at the edges of their eyelids, glittering like gems in the sunlight. Each pattern is different, some sharp and jagged like shards, others smooth and rounded.
I can't stop staring.
It's the same mark my father bore. A mark of blood, of belonging.
Kael must've seen the wonder on my face, because he says quietly, "The scales come with age, with the strength of our bloodline. The men of Tharidya carry it openly. It is both a gift and a burden."
"Why only the men?" I ask before I can stop myself.
He chuckles softly. "Because the women carry other gifts. Power does not always show on the skin, Noah."
His words make me glance back at Serenya, walking gracefully beside us with a basket in hand. Her power isn't in scales or scars, but in the warmth she radiates, the way she steadies the air around her.
For the first time, I feel a spark of comfort. My father came from here. His blood, his strength, it isn't lost. It lives all around me.
Later, Lyraea pulls me away from the bustle of the market, her copper hair shining in the sun. She leads me up a winding path toward a hill overlooking the village. From here, the world seems impossibly vast, a sea of clouds stretching endlessly, the floating continent drifting like a ship above the abyss.
She plops down in the grass and pats the spot beside her. "So," she says with a mischievous grin, "what's it like, being a fancy boy?"
I hesitate, staring at the horizon. How do I answer such a rude question? My life was comfortable thats all. Besides my world had been walls, training yards, and my father's shadow guiding me.
Still, I try. "It's… Quiet. Plus where im from, the trees don't float, and the sky doesn't stretch forever. My home was built of stone and wood, and there was always a fire burning. My father taught me to fight. My mother…" My voice falters, and I press my hands to the grass. "My mother taught me to be gentle."
Lyraea tilts her head, studying me. "Sounds… cozy."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "That's one word for it. I used to think it was boring. Now I'd give anything to see it again."
Her smile softens, and she lies back in the grass, arms folded behind her head. "You'll find your way back. My father's stubborn, and when he says he'll help, he means it."
I glance at her, surprised by the certainty in her voice. She says it like it's fact, not hope.
The wind brushes against us, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and distant cooking fires. For a long moment, we just sit there, the silence comfortable. For once, I don't feel like an intruder.
I feel… at ease.
That night, as I lay in the Emberveils' home again, I stare at the ceiling etched with those curling patterns and think of everything I saw today. The laughter of the villagers. The glimmer of scales at the corners of men's eyes. The way the sky seemed endless, yet somehow less frightening than before.
I think of Lyraea's words.
And I realize something I haven't dared admit until now:
I'm grateful. Grateful to be here, even if it isn't home.
The grief is still there, sharp and heavy. But it's no longer the only thing inside me.
For the first time since my world shattered, I let myself believe in tomorrow.
End of Chapter.