Through Smoke and Ashes

Thirteen||Knowledge

"Go on, then," I said, jaw tight. My hands curled into fists at my sides, though I didn't remember making them. This was a mistake. And I knew it. Every bone in my body screamed it, every breath I took was shallow with tension. What in the name of the gods was I doing speaking with a Rin?

He didn't move. Not a twitch. Just stood there like a statue carved from dusk and smoke, his gaze locked on mine. His eyes, pale, silver-white, almost translucent like milk-glass, held no reflection, no light. Just bottomless silence. I resisted the instinct to recoil. Those eyes didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Didn't look away. Rumors said they held the souls of the dead, frozen in glass. Looking into them now, I half believed it.

"First," the Rin said, his voice smooth as river stone and just as cold, "what have you been taught about our kind?"

I grimaced, forcing my shoulders to square, spine stiff as a blade. "That you're spawns of the abyss," I said flatly. "Sent to spread plague and corruption through the human race." I kept my tone even, clipped, as though reading a report. "That your blood is toxic. That your breath can melt skin. That even your shadow is cursed." I paused. "It's what we were told growing up. In school. Everywhere."

The Rin huffed softly, almost amused. "People do come up with the most ridiculous stories." He stepped forward, casually, like we were taking a stroll through the woods and not standing on the edge of an abyss. His boots crushed fallen leaves, the sound sharp in the quiet between us. "We came from the same gods as everyone else. We even worship them. Once, not long ago, our kind had a place among yours. A seat on the Council of Pontheugh—back when it was still called the Council of Balance."

My eyes narrowed. Balance? There was no balance anymore. Only fire and fear. War and survival.

"The Council used to represent all species," he continued. "Dragons. Humans. Sirens. Rin. Even those who are no longer known once had a voice. But now? Now it's dragon riders alone. The rest of us have been... erased. Forgotten."

I watched him carefully. His voice hadn't changed, but there was something bitter curled beneath the words. A sharpness. A wound still bleeding.

"Whenever the Council begins to doubt a people," he said, quieter now, "they push them out. Or worse—hunt them. Exile them. Drive them to extinction. They never trusted us, not after Mavka was chosen."

"Mavka?" I asked.

He nodded, the motion deliberate. "One of our own. A Rin woman. Brilliant. Wise. She served the Council better than most. But her voice made them nervous. She challenged their greed. Their fear. They made her death look like an accident." His lips thinned. "She was burned in a chamber meant to heal and our people were shoved out. Convenient, wasn't it?"

He rubbed a hand over his face, and for a moment, he seemed tired. Worn. Like someone carrying centuries of grief on his back.

"After she was gone," he said, his voice returning to that soft, sharp calm, "it didn't take long before we were driven from the Council's lands. Accused of treachery. Of poisoning crops. Of stealing children." His eyes found mine again. "You were raised on those lies."

I clenched my jaw. I had never heard this before. If even part of what he said was true, it would shatter everything I'd been taught.

"Go on," he said, gesturing with two fingers. "What else have you been taught?"

I hesitated. "You... have poison in your bite. Enough to kill a human."

His smile was thin and unsettling. A flash of fangs. "True. And enough to paralyze a dragon."

I blinked, thrown. "Then that's why the hunters are using it on dragons?"

His expression darkened. That faint amusement vanished like mist. "They've captured my people," he said, each word a knife. "And they're using us. Draining us. Keeping us alive in cages just long enough to extract venom. To coat their blades. To keep the dragons subdued, docile."