The Five Realms

Chapter 14: Chyna V

Chapter 14: Born of Fire and Stone

The basement still smelled faintly of cedarwood and old parchment. Rows of towering bookcases stretched into shadows, warm golden sconces flickering against stone walls. The room had always felt like a strange blend of sacred and suffocating—Isendorn's quiet haven, too scholarly for her tastes when she was younger. Now it felt like the only place that could hold what was happening.

Chyna stood just behind her brother, arms folded tight, her fingers digging into her sleeves. She stared at the man who only minutes ago had been their quiet, oddball history teacher—Professor Morzansson.

Correction.
Murtagh.
Apparently, the Murtagh. Rider. Myth. Liar.

The name meant nothing to her, not really, but the energy in the room shifted when he spoke it aloud—as if the air itself had recognized him.

Beside her, Lavendel stirred. The lavender-scaled hatchling clung softly to her shoulder, its rhythmic breathing almost syncing with her pulse. The tiny dragon chirped, then went quiet again, curling tighter into her neck.

It was the only warmth Chyna felt.

"I feel like I'm in some fantasy knockoff," she said aloud, her voice just a touch too loud. "Any moment now, someone's going to give us cloaks and a riddle."

No one laughed. Not even Steven.

Joey stepped forward. He was trying to hold it together—always the calm one, always the anchor—but his shoulders were too tense, and Chyna could feel the flicker of fear behind his steady front.

"This is real," he said under his breath, not quite to anyone. "It's all real."

Chyna let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and gave a short, humorless laugh.

"I liked it better when the weirdest thing in our life was your terrible taste in cereal."

No one responded.

She glanced toward the stairs briefly, half-wondering if Carly had overheard any of this. But Maria had made sure—Carly was safely at Reagan's house for the afternoon. Supposed to be a sleepover. Normalcy, or at least the illusion of it. One of the few things they could still protect.

The truth hung in the library like humidity, heavy and inescapable. The walls, lined with tomes Chyna had once pretended to ignore, now loomed like silent witnesses. She caught sight of the old tapestry above the fireplace—the one she'd always thought was just some fantasy art. A silver dragon coiled around a tree of fire. Now she wondered if it was history.

Murtagh stepped forward, his posture regal without trying to be. "You were never meant to find out like this," he said. "But there's no going back now."

Chyna's throat tightened. Lavendel shifted again. The dragon was picking up on her agitation, her doubt, her fear.

She looked at the others: Fate, silent and wide-eyed. Beanca, fists clenched tight. Steven, staring like he was trying to memorize everything. And Joey... trying to be strong. He always did that.

She hated it.

She hated all of it.

"I want answers," she said finally. "Real ones. No more riddles. No more secrets."

Lavendel chirped again, a sharper note this time—almost like agreement.

Chyna squared her shoulders, eyes locking on Murtagh's.

"Start talking. I want answers."

The silence that followed was thick—punctuated only by the distant rustle of pages from one of the enchanted books shifting on its own. A nervous breeze of old paper.