Rejected | ? Xaden Riorson

I watch Vi head in the opposite direction. I know she’ll be alone, because that’s who she is. I run through her entire route in my head, estimating the distance, the risk, and I still feel calmer just knowing that Riorson will be watching her.

He has to, because he promised Lilith.

It’s actually strange that I’m willing to entrust him someone so important.

I don’t know him.

Not really.

I’ve found out a lot about him—just a fraction of his family, something about his life before the quadrant, his involvement in the rebellion, and the possibility of another rebellion. Of course, I know he knows about the threat beyond the Borders, and he seems like my way of helping in the war.

But those are thoughts for another time.

I wander the valley for about half an hour. The forest around me is green, dense, disturbingly quiet. Every step makes more noise than I’d like. I can hear my own breath, my own footsteps, my own heartbeat.

My legs carry me on their own. Somewhere among the moss and roots and shadows that reach out for me, as if they know something I don’t yet.

The pull is stronger.

Not like a voice, not like a specific direction—more like… pressure. A compulsion. My chest pulling me forward while my stomach protests.

I keep thinking to myself that maybe I should tell Ridoc and Sawyer. Not everything—just a little bit of the truth. Something that will let them know why I’m here in the Quadrant, even though I defied my father and wanted to be a healer.

I did it only as a form of defiance.

I saw it even when I was younger.

How my father hates me.

How he’d rather see me dead than see me succeed.

But I can’t tell Liam yet. Not because I don’t trust him. Quite the opposite. I trust him enough that I know he’d tell Riorson right away. And Riorson? He looks like he has wires under his skin instead of nerves and knows everything five steps ahead. I don't need him to know everything.

Not yet.

But maybe... I could give him another hint whose side I'm on.

A step. Another. Leaves crackle.

I look up just in time to see movement. From the right. Among the trees.

A dragon.

Green. Elegant, slender, scales like lichen, and eyes... cold. At first I think he's ignoring me. But then he looks me straight in the eye—and the world stops for a moment.

It's a decision.

I know it.

And I know it's not a "yes."

It's a verdict.

He growls. Quietly. He breathes, and I can already feel the heat in the breath. Instinct pulls me back. I take three steps, trip over a root, but I don't stop. Fire flashes past my shoulder, constricting the air beside me.

I run.

Not overly heroic. More like desperately, stumbling, with branches in my hair and sweat in my eyes. But I run because the dragon is serious. He didn’t want me.

He wanted to burn me.

A walking torch.

I stop at the stream, my hands resting on my knees, my heart pounding in my ears. My throat burns, but I’m not dead.