Chapter 6— Wings Over Bloodwater
The river was wrong.
Kairo could feel it long before they saw it—like the Tear whispering in his bones, warning of something lurking beneath the surface.
Bloodwater River cut through the heart of the Frostmarch Vale, wide enough to swallow whole ships. Tonight, moonlight glazed its restless waves, and the wind carried the scent of iron and something far fouler. The bridge ahead was nothing but blackened timbers dangling over the currents.
Behind him, Princess Lyrenmoved with careful urgency, her sapphire cloak snapping in the cold air. At her side, Master Ryn, the monk with the strange, spiral tattoos, tightened his grip on the staff that never left his hands.
"Kairo," Lyren called softly over the wind, "you feel it too, don't you?"
He didn't answer—that alone said everything.
They had been traveling for days, skirting patrols, wild beasts, and worse: the Ashfang Brotherhood, the mercenary cult sworn to the Tear's destruction—or possession. For whatever reason, the Dragon's Tear was valuable enough to make even kings spill blood willingly.
Tonight's pursuit was different.
The Brotherhood was gone.
Something else was chasing them.
Halfway across the ruined bridge, the Tear pulsed in Kairo's pouch, sending a jolt of warmth up his arm. He stopped, staring out over the rushing water.
It wasn't water anymore.
Shapes moved beneath the waves—huge, shadowy wings, scales gleaming faintly silver. A low rumble rose, trembling through the planks beneath their feet.
Ryn's eyes went wide. "It's awake," he whispered.
"What's awake?" Lyren demanded.
Before either could answer, the water erupted.
A massive, serpent-like form launched skyward, shedding torrents of spray. Its body was a perfect blend of beast and dragonfly—long, sinuous tail, wings that shimmered like glass, and a face crowned with delicate bone-like antlers. Eyes of molten gold fixed on Kairo, and the roar that followed shook the air so violently that the bridge groaned in protest.
The Tear was burning against his chest now, each heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the creature's wings.
Voice in his head:Child of Dust…
Kairo stumbled, clutching his head. "What—who said that?"
The creature swooped low, talons scraping the broken timbers before pulling upward again. Lyren drew her sword, but the monk raised a hand. "Don't," Ryn said firmly. "That is a Sky Wyrm, bound to the Tear."
Bound. That word made Kairo's stomach tighten.
The beast narrowed its gaze, and something inside Kairo shifted. A sudden flood of images pierced his mind: castles crumbling under molten fire, armies scattering beneath the sheer shadow of wings, and a vast hand—scaled and ancient—closing around the Tear itself.
When the visions faded, he was gasping for breath.
"Kairo," Lyren said urgently, "we have to move—now!"
But he didn't move.
He *knew* the Sky Wyrm wasn't here to kill them.
It was here to test him.
The creature dove.
Kairo's instincts screamed to run, but something else—something deeper—made him plant his feet. At the last instant, instead of striking, the Wyrm landed hard enough to splinter the bridge, its massive head lowering until one golden eye filled Kairo's vision.
The Tear pulsed again.
In his mind, the voice returned: *Prove yourself… or drown in the Bloodwater.*
Before he could respond, the Wyrm surged back into the air, climbing high above the river—then folded its wings and plummeted straight toward them.
In one heartbeat, everything became choice:
Run and live.
Stand and connect.
Or fight something no mortal could hope to kill.
Kairo drew in a ragged breath, feeling the Tear's energy swirl through his veins. Electricity sparked along his fingertips.
"Guess I'm not walking away from this one," he muttered—and stepped straight into the path of the Sky Wyrm.