Page 2 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
The stranger sweeps an arm outward in a violent arc. Without warning, a powerful gust erupts from the crack in the mountain, carrying with it the stench of damp earth and something else. Something wrong. The whirlwind bursts forth with unnerving speed, hurling debris across our camp like weapons.
Everyone drops to the ground. I crouch and shield Rhealyn and me with Wind Wall. Yet, through the barrier, the maelstrom catches her, lifting her slender form off her feet as if she weighs nothing.
“Rhealyn!” I lunge forward, fingers stretching towardher outstretched hand. Our fingertips brush, a moment of contact too brief to be real. Too brief to pull her to me.
I summon more wind to my command, bending currents to counter the stranger’s power. The elements strain against each other, but his force proves far greater than mine. His control is unlike anything I’ve witnessed in any wind elemental.
Rhealyn struggles against the pull too, her body contorting as she fights the inevitable. Her hazel eyes lock with mine, terror and something else—resignation?—reflected in them.
Then she’s gone, pulled into the mountain’s depths as the stranger retreats, taking her. The fissure seals behind them, rock melding seamlessly. Seconds tick like lifetimes. My mind refuses to accept what my eyes are witnessing: the mountain whole again, as if it never split open, as if it didn’t just swallow Rhealyn whole.
She’s gone. Gone!
The realization crashes through me like an avalanche, burying every other thought beneath its weight. A vast hollow emptiness spreads through my chest.
“What the fuck?!” Dakar approaches, batting at the lingering dust in the air. “Where they go?”
I barely hear him as I fall to my knees. My fingers dig into the freshly sealed cracks where many fissures were moments ago. Solid. Unyielding. Not even the faintest trace remains to betray what happened. The mountainside has perfectly healed itself, as if the stone mass were living flesh knitting back together after a wound.
In my desperate clawing, something glints against the dark stone—Rhea’s onyx ring. The silver with its intricate swirling patterns catches what little light remains in the day. I clutch it tightly in my palm, the metal warming against my skin as I silently promise to return it to her. This ring will find its way back to its rightful owneras soon as I find her.
Desperate, I surge to my feet, fury igniting inside me like dragon fire.
“Cliffbecker! Stonefist! With me, now!” My voice carries across the devastated camp, leaving no room for question or hesitation.
My boots hammer the uneven ground as I sprint toward the mountain face. The spot where Rhealyn vanished mocks me with its seamless façade.
“Vaylen.” Dakar’s voice rings out behind me. “What in Heratrix’s name are you doin’?”
I ignore him, focused only on the task, on getting her back. The image of her fingers brushing mine—so close yet not enough—fuels my desperation.
When I reach the cliff, I press my palms against the stone. There’s no evidence of the break. Nothing except the remnants of arcane power lingering in the air like the scent after rain.
Cliffbecker and Caspian arrive at my side, breathing hard.
“Sir?” Cliffbecker looks at me, confusion written across his weathered face. He’s the oldest, most experienced Skydune in the Sky Order.
“Dig,” I command the Skydunes. “We have to get through. Now.”
Caspian Stonefist, one of the new recruits, looks at Cliffbecker, waiting for his lead.
Cliffbecker shakes his head. “The mountain sealed itself, and it looks like?—”
“I don’t give a damn what it looks like,” I growl, striking the hard surface with my fist. Pain shoots up my arm, but I welcome it. “Rhealyn is in there. We’re getting her out.” They stare at me. “Are you both deaf? I said dig!” My voice shatters the stunned silence, carrying the weight of command that’s served me well as High Prime.
Cliffbecker and Stonefist exchange an uncertain glance. Their hesitation fans the flames of my desperation.
“Now!” I roar, the word exploding from my chest with such force that a gust of wind ripples outward, stirring the debris at our feet.
Finally, they snap into action. The Skydunes raise their hands toward the rock face, fingers spread wide, deep lines of concentration etching their foreheads. The ground rumbles in response to their summoning, the very earth recognizing its masters’ call.
Stonefist grunts with effort as chunks of stone pull away from the mountain, hovering before him in a suspended cloud of earth and rock. Sweat beads on his brow despite the night’s chill. Beside him, Cliffbecker works with the practiced precision of a man who has spent decades bending stone to his will, carving a deeper hollow into the mountainside.
I channel my power into controlled Wind Blasts, sweeping the loosened debris away from our makeshift tunnel. The fine dust that threatens to choke us disperses under my command, yet my lungs still burn with each breath.
“Faster,” I urge, though I know they work at their limits.
“The mountain fights back, High Prime,” Cliffbecker says. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
