It's minute, it's trivial, I heard the Vlachy say. But it is not a minute, trivial problem to me. It is not a minute ask, and if they indeed insist on their madness, on their claim that I was born on the seas and not in the stars, I would go along with it as long as they served my purpose.
Without devouring the dragon's heart, my brother would fluctuate between liquid, dust and solid flesh until the last atom was burned from his body and he would be returned to the skies where he was born.
That was my reasoning behind non-belief.
There was only one thing the Assigner did right in his miserable existence - creating Ari. Perhaps he thought he held dominion, sovereign dominion over the stars because if he could create something so pure, something so good, then there must have been some of that good inside him too.
The White Snake would never admit Ari was a fluke. A lucky fluke, influenced perhaps by the love Vectra bore him, some of that love poured, spilled over into the creation process. Maybe that was how the Divine truly came to life. That was how the protectors of Tripolis fared against the evil inside the White Snake.
We offset it with Vectra's love for him. I often wondered if he knew how deeply her loyalty for him ran. Like a golden vein to be mined for eternity, without end, tirelessly, Vectra would love the White Snake, and he would use her in return.
Her abilities, her sensibilities, her leadership.
I was fine with it all.
Until the Snake decided to end my Ari's life.
Now, I would end his.
I would end the Vlachy and the city port of Aazor if it came to it. I would challenge the Queen of the Twelve Seas and squash her kingdom, dry out her oceans and carve out the hatchling dragon's heart from its chest with my bare nails.
Ari would live. The Light would live.
That was my job, after all, wasn't it?
To bind the chaos of the storm to myself so that others could live free of it.
***
For a moment I couldn't breathe. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed the stillness in Volmira's eyes or the solid comfort of Rosum's presence. They both looked worn, like the land was stealing their light. A pair of Kinsley's women passed them with a cask of rum, arguing amiably over whether to save some for the captain or drink it all in his absence. Volmira crossed the distance first. We clasped forearms, then hugged. It wasn't the bone‑crushing embrace mortals favor; it was careful, measured, as if neither of us quite knew where to put the pieces of ourselves.
"You look tired," she told me, worry slipping past her usual neutrality. "And older."
"I am tired," I confessed. "And I feel ancient."
Rosum's gaze flicked over me and then to Ari. My brother lay propped on pillows near the fire, the baby dragon curled at his side. His skin glowed faintly, but shadows pooled under his cheekbones. "You've been using the heart," Rosum observed.
"Only enough to keep him breathing," I said, my own guilt rising. "The heart isn't ours to burn freely. Salacia…" I hesitated. "She tried to swallow us whole and spit us out. But we bargained."
He nodded. "We heard."
Volmira sank onto a log, smoothing her white skirt. "Tell us," she said. "From your mouth. We cannot trust the witch's half‑words alone."
So I told them. The women nearby let out a bark of laughter at some private joke, knife flashes catching the firelight; behind that rough humor my voice felt thin and dangerous. "We bargained," I said, explaining the bare minimum and keeping the important details to myself.
Rosum swore under his breath. Volmira flinched a little; she had always despised vulgar language. "And you believe she will honor it?" Rosum asked.
"I believe she's hurt and angry," I said. "I believe she wants legs, love, and revenge in equal measure. I believe she knows more about Father than we do."
At the mention of the Assigner, Volmira's shoulders stiffened. Rosum's jaw tightened. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice low.
"She said he marked Ari," I answered. "She said he grows bored with his favorite toys."
Volmira frowned. "Didn't her husband run off on her?"
Rosum shifted his weight; his hoof scraped against a stone. "Father holds the balance—"
"He holds the power," I cut in. "And he hoards it."
Across the fire, one of Kinsley's sailors looked over and murmured something to her companion. The crew were too smart to come closer, but they could feel something was wrong even if they didn't understand the words.
They were on edge and Edward did not yet find a way to placate them, after two women were sacrificed to Salacia in order to buy us passage from the bay.
"He made us to serve," I continued, feeling my voice rise with long‑stifled anger. "But what if there is more to us than service? What if we are allowed to live for ourselves?"
Volmira's fingers tightened in her skirt. She had always believed in the pattern of things. To hear me question the very hand that wove that pattern unsettled her. "You are not a mortal," she reminded me. "We have to take a longer view. We live longer."
"Ari's dying 's because of Father's lesson in suffering. How is that justice?"
Rosum looked at Areilycus, then at me. Even reason falters when confronted with cruelty. "You think we should defy him?" he asked.
"I think we already have," I said. "And I think you have to decide where you stand — with truth, or with tradition. Because if we keep obeying blindly, he will keep breaking us. I won't let him break Ari again."
One of Kinsley's sailors — a tall woman with a rope scar at her throat — came over, wiping her hands on her trousers. "We're low on water," she announced bluntly. "If we don't find more, I'll be drinking salt." She looked at Rosum's horns and blinked once. "Kinsley wants to know when we can sail."
"Where?" I asked.
"To do the ritual," she announced.
I left her hanging.
***
We were integrated into their society, we blended like it was nothing. We were supposed to be safe.
Salacia could not set foot on land, but she still could unleash hellish rain on the port city, and it was all it took for the common folk to curse the Vlachy into the ground - those bastards, those witch-bloody, cursed white devils.
No witch with alabaster skin could bring anything good to the sailors.
Soileen dressed me in their attire, hid the expanse of my hair in a golden hairnet and sow skirts from Taileen grass - the blade grass that blossomed around the lake where we lived during negotiations.
But those negotiations with the witch mother, Rhona, only soured as the time progressed.
"I would not, not in this life or the next, help the bitch queen walk the land that belongs to us."
Ari spent all his time by the water, conjuring the spirit of light and purifying it for drinking as payment for our stay. They no longer had to walk several clicks to get water from the forest well.
The dragon - Bonnie he named it - kept him company while my brother's golden heart liquified inside his chest - slowly, agonizingly so - poisoned by the radiation of the storm.
But the worst days were the days when Volmira and Ros tried to take me back to Millenia.
Those days we fought, ugly and bitter, sometimes using our powers and tossing one another into the lake, attracting the fishermen's and sailors' attention, which the Vlachy did not appreciate.
And Mother Rhona … she could not convince me I was of their blood.
No more than I could convince her to accept the 'bitch queen's' proposal.
They hated Edward enough to banish him to sleep on his ship, yet not enough to condemn him to Salacia's brutal mercy.
The cool evening breeze carried the scent of wildflowers as I made my way down to the shore of the silver lake, where the still waters mirrored the softening sky. Areilycus sat there, his silhouette outlined against the shimmering surface, with Bonnie, his pet dragon, curled up in his lap like some fantastical cat. The sight would have been comforting if not for the weariness that weighed on my bones.
"Ari," I began, "I'm tired. I want to go home."
He looked up, and his gaze softened when he saw me. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, no trace of the solemnity that had painted his features moments before.
"Mila," he said, the sound of my name in his voice like a warm embrace, "you look...beautiful."
My cheeks warmed under his gaze. He wasn't just looking; he seemed to truly see me—this strange combination of borrowed Vlachy finery and my own skin. A golden hairnet held back my hair, allowing a few loose curls to brush my cheeks, and the emerald and sapphire skirts flared softly with each breeze. Even the simple white blouse, loosened a bit more than Vlachy propriety allowed, caught his attention, but what made my pulse quicken was the tenderness in his eyes rather than what they lingered on.
I should have felt exposed, vulnerable even, under such scrutiny, but instead, there was this overwhelming sense of being desired. It was as if his gaze alone adorned me with worth, with significance.
I understood what it meant to be cherished beyond measure, to feel right in someone's world when everything else seemed so utterly misplaced.
"You never tell me I'm beautiful," I said.
Ari's gaze shifted away from mine, finding solace in Bonnie's shimmering scales. He stroked the dragon gently, eliciting purrs that rumbled like distant thunder. Tiny wisps of smoke curled into the air.
"Father would..." His words hung suspended, unfinished, as if saying them aloud might solidify his fears.
I couldn't let him continue, not this time. "He is not our Father!"
Ari rose, the baby dragon swiftly taking flight to find refuge on his shoulder.
"You named him that. You named us family," Ari said, his eyes searching mine for something I wasn't sure I could give.
I stood defiant, my resolve hardening like the ancient stones beneath our feet. "I was trying to make sense of my identity," I told him, "We are not family, we are..."
Ari's expression softened. "We are what?"
For a moment, I wavered, caught in the depth of his gaze. Maybe it was all a lie, like Mother Rhona says. Perhaps I was just a descendant of the Vlachy, made anew by the Creator. But Ari... Ari was not. He was of the stars.
"We are different," I whispered.
My heart felt like a stone in my chest as I turned away from the lake's edge and the brother—or not brother—that I had known all my life.
But before I could slip back into the shelter of my sorrow, Ari's hand closed around my wrist, his strength unexpectedly firm. He spun me gently until our foreheads touched; his warm fingers cupped my face.
"I don't know how to stop feeling this," he whispered, his breath brushing my skin. "I don't know what else to do."
I closed my eyes and let his golden hair fall through my fingers, soft and real.
"Why do you think it's horrible?"
"Because it burns," he said, his voice wavering. "I shine brightest when you're near, but fade when you're gone. Without you, I'm nothing—not the Lord of Light, not the Assigner's servant. Just… lost."
The ache in his words mirrored one I felt but had never named.
"When you figure it out," I said softly, "I will still be here."
I left him there, alone by the water, waiting for sunrise and for answers.
***
We never slept. Sensitives were gifted with the power of the stars. We never rested, we never stopped emanating energy until time would come for us like it came for everything else.
But that didn't mean sleep didn't feel good.
Our beds in the Millenia weaved from stardust softer than hair, silkier than scobs from the Great White Lilac growing in the mountains of Tripolis, were purely decorative.
Meant for pleasure, meant for contemplation and prayer to Father Time to stop running, to stop coming for us, knowing only the Creator had the power to give life.
And take it.
During prayer, we prayed to time, but it was really his partner, the Assigner, his only companion time lent its eternal friendship. We could never demand it of him directly, but to ask the concept as elusive as time to …
We were immortal, like stars.
Until we were not. Like stars.
I couldn't sleep.
The Vlachy slept under the stars, our vardos circled like wagons of old, a tradition unbroken since the days of the great exodus. Yet, tonight, as I lay restless upon my straw mattress, all I could think about were eons of repressed affection from Ari.
He had never dared look at me the way he did tonight.
The beast he kept as a pet, that damned creature with eyes like a human, attentive, intelligent, watched us.
Love had settled into me like a weight, slow and inexorable. I felt it in every quiet moment — especially when I lay awake in the cramped vardo, Soileen and her children breathing softly around me. Ari's touch still lingered on my skin, a phantom warmth that sent my thoughts spiralling.
"Get some rest," Soileen had murmured before sleep claimed her. But no matter how I willed it, rest would not come. The moon hung heavy outside, its cold light slicing through the canvas as if to mock my turmoil. Heat built beneath my sternum.
Lust, raw ache of care I wasn't sure I should feel. I couldn't breathe in that close, shared air.
I slipped from under the blanket, careful not to disturb anyone. My bare feet met the cool earth outside, and the night wrapped around me. Stars blinked above me. My sisters.
Alone in the dark, I let the truth that I'd tried to ignore take shape: what I felt for Areilycus could no longer be kept tidy. It demanded space. It threatened to break me if I refused to name it.
It was too much to hold still. I let my feet lead me away from the caravan, into the waiting trees, past the first row of Hanisay trunks cloaked in moss. The further I went, the more the forest drew me in, its canopy thickening until it blocked out the night sky. The air was damp with soil and the faint tang of salt from the western sea. Here, in the shadow of trunks that reminded me of our childhood hills on Tripolis, I finally stopped fighting the tears. They came hot and silent, soaking into the dirt. I didn't have to be strong here; I didn't have to swallow chaos for anyone's sake.
"Lost again, sister?"
Volmira's voice came from the edge of the clearing where the trees opened toward the sea. In the dim light she was a silhouette etched against the distant glow on the horizon. Peace rolled off her in waves. Seeing her steadied my breaths, even as my chest still heaved.
"Perhaps," I admitted. It was closer to the truth than I wanted.
She stepped closer. Without words, she reached out, palm cool against my forehead. Her touch always quieted and roiled up emotions.
Under her hand, I could feel the heat roiling at my core. If I let that heat burst free, I could scorch everything — the forest, the sea, this world. It was a power I had never wanted to test.
"Easy," she whispered. "Breathe with me."
For a few heartbeats I let her guide me, matching her inhalations, letting her calm bleed into me. Then her question cut through the fragile calm I'd managed to gather.
"What are you doing?" she asked, each word heavier than the last.
"I'm… trying to persuade witches," I joked, too brittle to be funny. Her narrowed eyes told me she wasn't buying deflection.
"You need to come home. Tripolis can't hold much longer without Areilycus. Or without you."The truth clawed its way up my throat. It felt like bile. "Father… he left Ari outside during the diamond storm," I said. "He ordered him to stay out."
Volmira's face tightened in confusion. "Why would Father do that?"
"Cleo was there," I said. "She didn't tell you. Neither did Vectra. They don't want you to face what it means." The wind off the sea carried salt — the same scent that had clung to Ari's feverish skin. I swallowed hard. "Volmira," I tried, my voice ragged, "the Lord of Light is… he's nothing to the Assigner. Disposable. Without him—"
"—without him, Tripolis will die," she finished.
I stared down at the gnarled roots crossing the forest floor.
"All of us may die too," I whispered, the fear spilling out now. "What is one child compared to a thousand? Returned to dust, just as we were before the White Snake breathed life into us." Saying it aloud felt like pulling skin from bone. Accepting that we were only ever pieces of someone else's game — that our powers had never been ours — hurt in a way I hadn't named before.
She was quiet for a moment. The leaves rustled, the waves a distant hush. When Volmira spoke again, there was a tremor under her calm.
"You saw me by the lake. With Areilycus," she said softly.
Shame hit me, sharp and sudden. Heat drained from my cheeks. "If the Assigner finds out," I whispered, "he will kill Ari. And me."
I reached for Volmira's hands, desperate for her strength. "We don't have to abide by his laws anymore. There is another way."
She recoiled, as if my touch burned. "Are you mad?" The words hissed out of her. "You're asking me — peace incarnate — to start a war? Against our nature?" She shook her head, horrified. "That is not what I am."
"It is exactly what you are," I said, my resolve hardening. "You point out imbalance, you call out threats to peace. The Assigner threatens all of Tripolis. Challenging him isn't war for the sake of war. It's refusing to let him keep harming us."
"Mila," she pleaded, "Stop. Please. You cannot win against him."
I heard her love in her words. I also heard fear: fear of Father, fear of what a fight might cost. But how could we not fight? How could we stand idle while he played with life and light like pieces on a board?
"I have to try," I whispered. "Some lines should never be crossed, but some have already been — and not by me."
I had no idea if she would follow me into this fight, but I knew I could no longer pretend obedience was enough.
And if Volmira wasn't on my side, then she was against me.
***
Edward didn't show his face in the encampment for two weeks. My time was running out, the acidic rains that Salacia was sending Aazor corroded fishermen's instruments, the butchers' cleavers, it was … inescapable. Some days it got so bad the rain caused rashes and blisters across the villagers' skin and the only logical solution was to blame the Vlachy.
Neptune was dead and they were afraid that the travelers' presence was upsetting the Queen of Seas.
I tread softly through Rhona's garden, the fragrant herbs releasing their scents with each step I took, a heady mix of lavender and rosemary carried on the breeze. My gaze found him there, in the nurturing glow of the afternoon sun, his golden hair catching the light.
Areilycus knelt beside the dragon, his hands gentle as he offered her a sprig of fresh leaves.
He glanced up, and I could see the fondness in his eyes, an emotion that should have been reserved for kin, not creatures. "It took a while, but I finally figured out that the little girl does not eat meat," he explained.
"The little girl?" I echoed.
Fossil, with her scales shimmering like molten silver, was many things, but a little girl she was not.
"Are you seriously jealous of a beast?" Areilycus asked, rising to his full height. He towered above me now, having abandoned the field of herbs Rhona so painstakingly tended.
I watched him brush the dirt from his hands, a frown creasing my brow. The notion was absurd. Jealous? Of that creature? No, it was more than that—it was the principle of the matter. My brother, my equal in every way, had always been by my side, and now he doted on this …
"You pay that beast more attention than me," I said.
Areilycus paused, his hand hovering mid-air as if he were about to stroke the dragon's snout. He turned towards me.
"I should not have done what I did the other day. I don't know what came over me, please forgive me."
I scoffed. . "We ought to cut out its heart and eat it, do you understand? You need the dragon's heart," I told him.
"I will not hurt an innocent being. Neither will you, is that clear, Milada?"
In that moment, standing in the shadow of his conviction, I realized how far apart we had drifted, how my own heart had grown cold and hungry for the light he so effortlessly wielded. And yet, despite it all, I yearned for nothing more than to bask in that light like the night he grabbed me by the lake like I belonged to him.
Because I did.
I outstretched my hand, focusing my chaos upon the dragon. Bonnie.
This man really named a creature after a pirate. Not after me.
Ari grabbed my wrist and twisted it away from his pet. "Stop this right now before you do something you'll regret."
"Oh," I snatched my hand back. Or at least I tried.
The grip, the pressure around my wrist–was he always this freakishly strong?
"Abandoning my post, breaking about a dozen of Father's laws in order to save your life; I got plenty of regrets, where do you want me to start?"
"You're vile," he said, and it cut too deep for the words to escape by accident. His entire soul signature pulsed in my mind. It burned.
"You're a hypocrite," I spat at him.
"Don't try and heal your wounded ego using me," he said. When he let me go with way too little care, I realized I missed the gentle pain. "Maybe it was foolish of him to attack me, but it's been merely a catalyst for your rebellion. You cannot stand him and this is just convenient enough to rally support of our siblings."
I watched him, the way his eyes softened at the sight of the creature curled beside the smoldering embers of our last fire. No one cared about Areilycus more than I did, not even Areilycus himself, who, with a reckless selflessness that always gnawed at my insides, was ready to dissolve into nothingness for a beast he barely knew. Three days, it had been, three days since the scaled fledgling had stumbled into our lives, and already Ari was prepared to scatter his essence to the winds if it meant the creature's survival.
It was madness—the kind of madness only a being with too much heart could harbor. And as I stood there, amidst the tall grasses that whispered secrets to the dawn, I felt a familiar sickness roil in my stomach. I was sick of it—sick of the danger, of the relentless tug of emotions that seemed so alien to my kind. But it was a feeling all too familiar, too human, and it clung to me like the morning dew to the leaves.
My siblings, they were different, made of sterner stuff, untouched by the whims of sentimentality. But Ari, dear Areilycus, he had something else within him, something that he tried to suppress.
It wasn't the cosmic energy or the fuel of the stars that kindled his spirit—it was something far simpler and infinitely more complex.
It seeped from his pores, radiated from his gaze, imbued every gentle word and tender touch. He loved indiscriminately, fiercely, every creature, no matter how innocent or otherwise. Yet, there was an ache within me, a hollow space that knew this love, as vast as it might be, did not stretch in the direction I silently longed for.
I had watched him, time and again, extend his heart outwards to all but me. But in that moment, when the dawn's light kissed the edge of the lake, I could no longer be just the observer, untouched by his affection in the way I craved. My love for Areilycus broke through its restraints.
His gaze locked on the tiny dragon whiffing softly at his feet. I moved closer, the scent of the damp earth and the musky odor of the slumbering Vlachy mingling in the air. Our eyes met for an instant, and I saw the heat.
His gaze locked on the tiny dragon whiffing softly at his feet. I moved closer, the scent of the damp earth and the musky odor of the slumbering Vlachy mingling in the air. Our eyes met for an instant, and I saw the heat.
Her lips were warm and plump, lightly coated with a gloss that made them shiny and inviting.
As I pressed closer, I could feel his warm breath on my face, his lips soft and pliant, waiting to be mine. My hands were tingling against his cheeks.
This blasted world faded. Then came the snivel, a sound plaintive and childlike that belonged to the baby dragon, a reminder of where we were and who we were supposed to be. But Ari caught me firmer against him, as if the creature's interruption had solidified his resolve rather than weakened it. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the mossy ground.
Our tongues mingled, a tangible symbol of the raw fervor we had both suppressed for what felt like an eternity.
His kiss deepened, grew possessive, and all I could do was take it as a vow that shattered the chains of our twinhood.
I floated in a haze of ecstasy, anchored only by the strength of his embrace. Around us, the encampment slept on, unaware that in their midst, the universe had tilted.