Ruthless 🗡️/ Fourth Wing

Chapter~15

The wind rushes past me, carrying the weight of the sky itself as I soar high above the valley. Arrax's wings cut through the air like a razor, the power beneath me undeniable. The vastness of the world stretches out, endless and wild, but it feels different now. The wind—the way it presses against my chest, the way it tugs at my skin—it feels heavier, charged, as though it carries the weight of destiny.

I glance down at the courtyard as we approach, and my breath catches in my throat. Dragons of every color and size fill the space below, a breathtaking sea of scales and wings. There's a hum in the air—a connection, an unspoken understanding between them. It's overwhelming. The dragons are watching, waiting. I'm struck by the sheer magnificence of them, by how alive they are.

Arrax lands gracefully, his talons gripping the earth with precision. I dismount, feeling the ground firm beneath me, and make my way toward the podium. My heart pounds in my chest as I walk. Today will mark everything. The symbol of what's to come. The marking.

Violet is already there, standing tall with two dragons at her side. She gives me a sharp nod.

"Well, that's new," I murmur under my breath, half to myself, half to her.

She doesn't answer, but there's a flicker in her eyes—something unreadable. We both turn, our backs to our dragons, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The air is thick with anticipation, and I can feel the weight of everyone's gaze, but nothing compares to the dragon's gaze—the way they seem to look into you, not just at you. It's a feeling I can't explain.

But then, something feels off. I wait for the familiar heat of the marking to sear into my back, but instead, a soft voice echoes in my mind.

Not on your back, Fireheart.

I freeze.

What? I think back, confused. It has always been given on the back. That's the tradition.

Because you are the first. The voice hums again. Turn around.

My heart skips a beat.

As I slowly turn, I catch a glimpse of Xaden in the corner of my vision. His eyes are locked on me, intense and unreadable. I can feel the question in his gaze, like he's waiting for something to happen, but I have no idea what.

The dragon before me is massive, a dark silhouette against the light. Its scales are a deep, velvety black, with streaks of crimson that glow faintly, like smoldering embers. Its eyes are onyx, cold and penetrating, yet there's something there—something familiar.

You are worthy of more, the dragon says, its voice rumbling like distant thunder. Your mark will be different.

I barely register the words before a blast of fire encircles me. The heat is unbearable, so intense that my skin feels like it's burning, my body already pushing against the scorching air. I can't focus, my vision goes blurry, and my mind feels like it's being pulled into a vortex. The flames are everywhere, and for a moment, I forget everything—the dragons, the marking, even myself.

Then, everything fades.

I wake to a soft, unfamiliar pressure on my chest, and the steady beeping of machines fills the air around me. My body is heavy, like I'm underwater, and for a moment, I don't know where I am. I open my eyes slowly, and the sterile white ceiling of the infirmary meets my gaze. Fluorescent lights hum above me, flickering faintly.

The realization hits me hard, and my heart skips. A coma. Four days. I was—

I jolt upright, panic flooding through me. My body protests, weak and sore. I try to sit up, but a hand gently presses me back down.