4: Darken War

17: Alexandria

Chapter Seventeen: Alexandria

We scaled the cliffs silently, the stone cold beneath our fingers and the sky graying with the veil of early morning mist. The wind tugged at our clothes, and the sound of the distant battlefield echoed faintly behind us—horns, the clash of metal, the cries of war. But here, above the dwarven capital of Dourhold, it was eerily quiet.

The dwarves built underground, hiding their halls beneath the mountains like secrets. Only one structure breached the earth: a single tower, rising like a solitary fang out of the stone. That would be our way in.

We reached the top of a cliff directly across from the tower. The gap was narrow—just wide enough to be fatal.

Alexander knelt beside me, pulling a rope from his pack and tying one of his throwing axes to the end. "We could try throwing this across," he said, gauging the distance.

"There's nowhere for it to catch," I said, pointing. "The stone is smooth all the way around. No ledges. No battlements. The only way across is through that window." I gestured to the single, narrow opening halfway up the tower wall.

Seraphina leaned forward. "Why not fly over and attach it?"

I looked at her flatly. "I can't fly."

Calista tilted her head. "That's a lie."

I blinked. "What?"

"You lied," she repeated, calm but certain. "Not to us. To yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I said, my voice sharper than intended. "I lost the ability to fly in my past life."

"No," Calista said, her voice quiet but firm. "You gave up the will to fly. Not the ability."

Seraphina offered the rope to me. "She can tell when people lie—even to themselves. So if she says you can, you can."

I stared down at the rope in my hands, trying to steady my breath.

Fly.

It felt like a word carved from another lifetime—sharp-edged and sacred.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to remember. The old battles. The old fear. The thunder of wings, the rush of wind. I remembered descending upon armies from above, sword in hand, wings stretched wide behind me like a living storm. They had called me a monster. A demon. The sky's executioner.

But I wasn't born with that rage—I learned it. I became the monster they feared because it was the only way I knew how to survive.

And then came the battle that changed everything—the one against my sister. She had stood in my path, shaking, eyes filled with tears. She had said I looked like a beast. That I terrified even those I loved. And in that moment, I had dropped from the sky and sworn never to fly again.

Because I didn't want to be feared.

Because I didn't want to be him.

"I gave up flying to give up war," I said at last, my voice quiet. "I thought if I stayed on the ground, maybe I'd stop feeling like a weapon."

"But you're not fighting now because someone ordered you to," Alexander said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You're fighting to protect your people. Your children. Us."

I met his eyes.

And nodded.

Slowly, I stretched out my wings.

The joints cracked. The muscles tensed. The familiar weight of them ached, like lifting a part of myself I had buried deep. I flapped once—twice—and felt the ground fall away beneath me.