The Five Realms

Chapter 18: Fate II

Chapter 18: The Golden Dissonance

Fate stood near the edge of the field, arms folded tightly across her chest, fingers worrying the frayed edge of her shirt cuff. Goldenia lay at her feet, head pillowed on her front claws, pearlescent scales shifting uneasily beneath the flicker of the glamour spell Maria had taught them all. It was failing again. Slivers of radiant gold broke through like sunrise under water.

The clearing buzzed with movement and heat. This was week three of daily training, and the others had started to look... not just comfortable, but powerful.

Joey and Chyna faced off in the center, wooden blades clashing in an elegant, furious rhythm. Sparks of dust flew with each strike. There was no gentleness in their sparring, no warmth. Chyna moved like a coiled spring, sharp and cutting, eyes narrowed. Joey met her beat for beat, his stance smoother, more calculated—yet his jaw was tight, his grip aggressive. The two of them fought like rivals trying to prove something, trying to win.

They weren't just sparring—they were communicating. There were no words, but somehow they still spoke. A head feint here, a half-step there, and the other responded like they'd rehearsed it. Twin telepathy, maybe. Or maybe just something older, something blood-deep. Whatever it was, it was unnerving.

Nearby, Beanca leaned against a fallen tree trunk, arms resting on her knees as she watched. Her face was calm but distant—her dragon, Emeraldsa, curled beside her with tail swaying lazily. Beanca didn't say anything, but the way her eyes followed Joey, then flicked to Chyna, told Fate she was watching more than just technique.

The weirdest part? Joey didn't spar with Beanca the same way. No. When they trained together, it looked like... a duet. They moved like dancers who didn't realize they were falling into something more than rhythm. They didn't talk either, but the space between them seemed charged, like every dodge and sweep was laced with a secret they hadn't spoken aloud.

Fate couldn't watch it for long without feeling like an intruder.

Instead, her gaze drifted to Steven and Ares.

Now that was different.

Steven was halfway through a basic aerial signal exercise—sword out, feet braced, calling out bursts of Draconic phrases that echoed off the trees. Ares, his dragon, was already shoulder-height now, crimson scales catching the light like embers, prowling the edge of the circle with a restless hunger. He didn't fly yet—none of them did—but his wings stretched with purpose, anticipation crackling just beneath the surface.

Fate's lips curved upward before she realized it. She liked watching Steven. Not just because he was easy on the eyes—though he was—but because he'd made her laugh, made her forget the weight for a while. And maybe it was the way he coaxed Ares into obeying with grins and sideways jokes, or the way his jaw tightened when he got serious about drills, like there was something under his calm that no one else had earned the right to see.

She hadn't even meant to like him, not really. But there it was.

Ares roared—a baby roar, not even remotely threatening—and headbutted Steven in the back of the knee. Steven cursed, stumbled, then started laughing, rubbing the dragon's head. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, you want your turn."

Fate smiled. Then she winced as Goldenia's glamour flickered again, revealing a shimmer of scale and haloed tail before the spell reasserted itself like a sigh.

She crouched down beside the golden dragon, whispering, "Come on, Goldie. Help me out here. I already feel like I don't belong."

Goldenia didn't respond. Her eyelids fluttered, half-asleep. Fate sighed. Even her dragon wasn't motivated today.