RISE: B1 — 3. The Scarred Tempest Queen

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Ayla took a breath and adjusted her waterproof leather cloak, ensuring the yellow silk cap was snug under her hood and mask was securely covering her nose down. The storm outside the buffer zone was louder now as she stepped toward the door.

With practiced ease, she unlatched the first metal door, hearing the solid clunk of the mechanism disengaging. It swung closed behind her as she entered the narrow passage of the buffer zone—a place between the inner sanctity of their dorms and the storm-ravaged exterior. 

The second, she used a cranking lever to open, the gears fighting the sharp winds outside to pull the door outward. The wind tugged at her cloak, carrying the scent of wet stone and metal as the rain peppered her. Ayla pulled her hood lace tighter and entered the gale. Pressing the diamond activator on the opposite side, it slowly swung closed.

Descending the stairs, she made her way toward the administration building. The foundation’s campus stretched out before her, a complex maze of black metal structures and stone pathways carved into the mountainside of Windscar. Despite the constant assault from the Soul’s Tempest after the dragon’s attack, the city pressed on, defiant against the elements.

She paused at a railing, using it to steady herself, the constant roar of thunder echoing through the city. Ayla allowed her gaze to drift over the city below. From this vantage point, she could see how much damage the last few cycles had done to the cavern wall—a gaping wound, exposing the city to the relentless storm.

There were still sections of dragonfire still burning after six cycles, not hot enough to burn the black metal but enough to liquify black stone, creating more problems. Most of it had been rediverted or cut out and shoved off the side of the cliff; not even the rain could quench the legendary flames.

Luckily, Nulina had kept the damage outside of the residential living areas, using her powers over wind to redirect it. Still, the damage to the cavern itself was a major issue; it could hardly even be considered a cavern anymore with the gaping holes that exposed the city to Soul’s Tempest.

If that wasn’t enough, the weather had grown harsher, sweeping down on Windscar with a ferocity that sent most indoors. Kids these days didn’t play in the streets, as she had. Now, all she saw were huddling figures beneath their waterproof cloaks, battling the storm to make it to their destinations.

Below, workers struggled to reinforce the cavern wall, using massive black metal rods, each one taking the blacksmiths a full cycle to forge, in a futile attempt to create a barrier against the tempest. But it would be decades more before they made real progress, especially with the highborn controlling every major decision, or so the Elders complained.

If you want to see change, then you have to get stronger and rise to the top… Anyone can become Tempalis King or Queen. So why does everyone complain instead of doing something? If Kael was alive… I bet Nulina and him could have beat the Roc King. 

Black metal boxes moved slowly along wires suspended above the city and blown back and forth in the wind, transporting goods from the lowlands up through the storm and into the highlands. Only goods—no people. Survival of the fittest was more than a slogan sold to them, it was reality. Windscar couldn’t afford to grow soft, and she agreed with the nobility; those too weak to endure the storm had no place in their world and could go to the lowlands.

Male, female, it’s all the same. It’s survival of the fittest for the roc and us. Even the Celestials follow the same creed. Every noble made it up there on their own merits for future generations. It’s not impossible. I can do it. I’ve trained my whole life for this… I have to do it for Kael. I have to believe I can do more than survive… I can rise to the top.

Ayla sighed, pulling her cloak tighter as she turned away from the view and continued her ascent. The wind nipped at her face as she continued toward the administration building.

She passed men, women, and children, using the railing when necessary; the remaining walls still allowed them enough safety to move freely without harnesses, as they did when climbing from the lowlands to Windscar, or from Windscar to Tempalis. The kids were being reckless, as kids often were, going about their choirs and challenging their friends to various dares.

Most of those who passed her clutched their waterproof cloaks tightly, their black leather slick with rain. Ayla nodded in acknowledgment to a few as she passed, her pace steady and outfit setting her apart, though the weight of her upcoming conversation with the Elder pressed down on her.

Reaching the heavy metal door of the administration building, Ayla hesitated. The thought of speaking with the Elder made her stomach churn.

He’s going to try to convince me not to attend the Military Academy…again. Not a word about Amaris going, but me? No, I’m not the ‘chosen one’ or a ‘believer’ so it’s not the same.

Ayla clenched her fists, the thought souring her mood further after her heartwarming time helping Julia. Fairy tales made for adults, like the child’s fable the old ladies tell little girls about the Fire Empress and the Redlight. They’re just stories used to scare young women, like me, from leaving the stormlands. Especially when I have trade skills and a mind for it, leaving a vacant position.

She smiled while looking after a group of little orphan boys who were challenging each other to see who could brave the storm longer without masks on.

Or will he take the declining population angle this time like some of the lowland protestors? Plenty of girls have two or three children before reaching their twentieth cycle and attending the academy. We can’t help but reach for something greater. I don’t remember my parents, but I knew plenty of girls just like me who helped little girls have hope.

With a final deep breath, she went through the two doors and stepped inside. The warmth of the building nipped at her face as she lowered her mask, the contrast to the cold wind outside momentarily soothing. The grand hall loomed before her, designed to hold the entire orphanage body for important announcements or meetings.

Ayla’s boots echoed against the stone floor as she made her way up the stairs toward the Elder’s office. Once making it to the second landing, she proceeded to the left wing until she stood outside his door.

She hovered outside for a moment, listening to the soft shuffling of papers from within through the air vents. The room smelled faintly of parchment and ink—a stark reminder of the Elder’s endless bureaucracy and research, attempting to decipher the Solaraeth old language. He took them as prophetic and truth while she thought they were just story books written for children.

After a moment’s hesitation, she knocked, her fingers brushing the air vent above the door as she leaned in further, listening for his voice. There was a beat of silence, then the familiar gravelly tone called out, “Come in.”

Bracing herself, Ayla pushed the door open and stepped into the Elder’s office, the well-oiled metal not making a sound. The room’s musky smell was a comforting yet suffocating scent that reminded her of the countless times she’d stood in this very spot, facing the man who’d shaped so much of her life, including her ravenous hunger for books and education.

The interior was dim, lit only by a few diamond lights embedded in the walls, their soft glow casting long shadows over the Elder’s cluttered desk. Stacks of books and ancient scrolls towered precariously on every available surface, creating an almost labyrinthine atmosphere that reflected the labyrinth of thoughts swirling in Ayla’s head.

The walls were lined with shelves, filled with relics and records she’d seen him pour over with Amaris in secret: stories of their people. Tales her cousin had once thought were just fables, like her, but now she was somehow a believer.

Her eyes darted to the back corner, where she knew a hidden door was concealed behind a tapestry depicting a long-forgotten battle, purportedly. Behind that door, the Elder had shared the old myths with Amaris, carefully passing down tales of heroes and the clash of gods, all while thinking Ayla had no idea.

But she’d snuck in more than once, silently observing from the shadows to ensure her cousin was safe. Amaris may have devoured those stories like they were the truth, but to Ayla, they were nothing more than beautiful lies to sweep young girls off their feet into a better, fairytale life.

Elder Eldric Thorne looked up from his desk, his gaze softening the moment he saw her. His weathered face was etched with lines of concern and scars, a look that made Ayla’s stomach churn with guilt. But she steeled herself, taking a breath before speaking.

“I’m leaving in four days for the ceremony,” she bluntly stated, her voice not cold but firm. “That’s that. I’m late to take care of Nulina, so if you’ve got anything to say to stop me, save us both the time.”

Eldric leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching hers with a deep sadness. He was quiet for a long moment, letting the weight of her words settle between them. It was still much shorter than it would have been had they gotten into another fight.

When he finally spoke, his tone was tinged with melancholy. “You’re as stubborn as your mother,” he said, shaking his head. “No…perhaps even more so. I heard about the episode last night. You seem to have bounced back, as usual. I worry about you.”

Ayla smirked, her left hand finding her hips in a casual defiance. “That’s ironic, considering my mother ran off illegally to the northeastern boreal forest, chasing after answers to your stories, leaving Kael, my dad, and me alone for a few cycles, breaking my father’s heart into an early grave. Maybe she thought she’d find one of your fairy tales out there.”

The Elder’s expression didn’t change at her sharp words. He just sat there, watching her, his fingers idly tracing the edge of a worn scroll on his desk. “You mock them,” he quietly said, “but those fables carry truth, Ayla. I won’t be able to convince you of that. Youth either swallows them whole or starves themselves trying to prove they don’t need the nourishment… I did not agree with your mother’s decision. You do not need to prove anything, to her or Kael.”

Ayla’s smirk faded, her chest tightening as she crossed her arms. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m just trying to show the younger girls there’s more than one way to change the world—without giving them false hope.”

Eldric sighed, his gaze drifting toward the tapestry that concealed the hidden room. “I’ve said all I need to, Ayla. I’m here for when you do have questions…and are ready to listen. Your life is your own…no matter the impact it has on those around you.”

A flicker of frustration sparked at those words, making her gloved fingers press into her sides. “You are… Kael and Amaris are encouraged to rise beyond the stormlands,” she snapped, the words escaping before she could stop them. “But with me—even before I had these terrible episodes—you’ve been sticking your leg out to trip me up my entire life. Sure, I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me, but every time I find something I love, you belittle it!”

His mouth tightened, and for a moment, Ayla thought he would snap back, but instead, his voice was softer than she expected. “It’s different with them,” he said, his words careful. “You are not ready for the academy. They are. You don’t know what awaits you there. Your brother…he was prepared in ways you cannot imagine. And you…cannot bond with a roc.”

The comment sent her pulse racing, a hot flush rising to her face. “I can’t—you don’t… I’m not—”

He raised a hand, cutting her off gently. “I don’t want to have this fight again, Ayla. My heart can’t take it—not at my age. Please, give me a few days to think about how to address my feelings before expressing what really concerns me since you are going through with this.” Eldric’s face took on a fatherly sorrow that pricked her heart. “I care deeply for you, as I did for your mother, Ayla.”

The admissions startled her, and whatever retort she had died on her lips. She stared at him, the room suddenly feeling too small, too quiet. “…What’s this really about?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“As I said, I need time to ponder my response,” he said, avoiding her question again. “Getting to today’s business that requires your attention…”

The elder sat back in his chair, a thoughtful expression moving his aged face. “A noble boy has made a pilgrimage down from the highlands… He wishes to meet the legendary Nulina.” 

Ayla’s brow furrowed, taken aback by the shift in topic. “Meet Nulina? Isn’t she more or less blacklisted from the highlands by the Storm King after…the incident? She’s not too fond of other roc or highborn, Elder.”

Eldric rubbed between his eyes. “He requested it. Try to tell him that yourself.” He hesitated, then added, “Most of us in the stormlands know what you’re planning with her. This will be your last chance to test it before the entrance ceremony, so make all your hard work over the last six cycles count…for her sake.”

Ayla’s stomach dropped. Is he…saying he believes I can make it work?

Yet, he wasn’t done tossing her into the storm, a sad chuckle shaking his frame as he placed another brick on her chest.

“Also, the rail line to the lower stormlands has stopped working,” he continued, his tone more official now. “Jaron—the head blacksmith and still your current boss administrator—asked me to let you know that if you’re heading to the lowlands, you may as well be useful. Fix it.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he delivered the final blow. “And be the guide for the last protest group from the lowlands while you’re there.”

Ayla clenched her fists, her heart sinking at the added responsibility. She could feel the pressure of a task typically her cousin handled pressing down on her. Amaris had the best record for getting people through the storm. He was giving her one last chance to turn back or rise to the challenge.

Adding a tight smile, Ayla nodded. “I’ll make sure every one of them makes it… I’ll even bring the doomers up the slopes on my back if I have to.”

Without waiting for a response, Ayla turned on her heel and left, the door closing softly behind her. On her way out, she couldn’t help but feel her subdued emotions rising again. This isn’t going to stop me, old man!

Ayla exited the administration building, the heavy metal doors closing behind her with a familiar, solid thud. The wind clawed at her cloak, sending ripples through the waterproof leather, and the ever-present roar of the storm wrapped around her like a harsh, living thing.

She pulled her hood tighter, securing her yellow silk cap beneath it that protected her braided hair. The wet stone steps beneath her boots were slick, making each step toward the main street require calculated footing.

On her way out, she stopped by her room to snatch her sheathed shortswords and pulled out her brother’s unique aviator sunglasses only Skybound obtained: Nulina had given them to her, and who was going to say no to a seventy foot tall living storm. Slipping them on, the world tinted, making her smile; it always comforted her, wearing what little of her brother’s gear she’d been allowed to keep.

In the streets, raven lords strode with predatory grace, their massive, feathered forms cutting through the wind as their riders guided them through the tumult. Beside them, horses clad in electrical grounding material pulled heavily laden carts, each one struggling against the turbulent winds as they moved toward their destinations. The goods inside the carts were carefully wrapped in protective layers, safeguarding them from the storm’s relentless moisture.

Ayla passed by miners, most of them men with hardened expressions, their faces etched with cycles of toil. The stormlands demanded strength, and these men bore the brunt of that burden. They worked tirelessly to carve out the black rock of the mountainside, using the tools she herself had helped forge. Black metal, shaped by her hands, powered by gem technology and the lightning cables they ran through the city’s veins, made this brutal work possible.

She reached the ladders leading to the upper levels and took a moment to steady herself. The climb was always a test of endurance, but Ayla had been doing it long enough that her muscles knew the rhythm instinctively. Her gloved hands wrapped around the cold metal rungs, and she paced herself, rising level by level, her breath fogging in the air as she ascended.

When she reached the top, the main street opened up before her, a familiar path lined with black metal and stone. Protestors gathered at the edges, their figures huddled against the biting wind, desperate for a better view of the city that, to them, must have seemed like a marvel. To Ayla, it was just home, its beauty dulled by the daily struggle to survive. Their cries would be heard by the highborn at the ceremony.

At the heart of Windscar, the giant diamond that marked the center of the city gleamed, its light refracting through the storm-tossed air. Ayla squinted at it through the veil, at the highest point of the city, noting the brightness—it was somewhere between noon and midday.

She sighed and shifted her gaze forward. The colossal black door built into the side of the mountain loomed ahead, as imposing as ever along the road out of Windscar, along the winding path to the highlands.

Just outside the door, a raven lord stood beside two tall men and a giant cart, filled with the sacred storm fruit delivered to Nulina every day. One of the men was speaking to a much smaller figure, cloaked in a leather cloak: Mera.

Ayla’s heart lifted slightly at the sight of the girl she had been training. Even from a distance, she could see the girl’s tension, her body language tight with nerves.

I guess she forgot the right combination to press the diamonds to get inside. Typical. I had her write it down, but I bet she forgot it inside last night.

Steeling herself, Ayla forced a smile and approached. The wind tugged at her as she walked, pushing against her back as if trying to drag her away, but she pressed on, lowering her mask as she neared the group.

“Ayla!” Mera’s voice was laced with concern the moment she saw her. The teen hurried forward, almost being blown off her feet, her eyes wide beneath her hood. “Are you okay? Is it…getting worse?”

Ayla waved off the concern with a half-smile, not wanting to dwell on her coughing fits at night, though her chest still ached from earlier. “I’m fine. Really. Just the usual.”

The taller of the two men turned to her, his eyes visible beneath the hood of his stormclad beast leather gear. They were a striking shade of light amber, almost golden, and something about his gaze gave Ayla pause. She didn’t miss the long sword strapped to his hip.

He was highborn, that much was obvious from the way he carried himself, but there was a warmth in his eyes that didn’t fit with the usual hardened competence she had come to expect from the noble class. At least, not the few she’d met throughout the cycle.

“We should go inside,” Ayla suggested, breaking the moment as a hail of rain peppered them. “There’s no point standing out here in the storm.”

“That would be great,” he chuckled, his voice as warm as his eyes. 

Mera nodded eagerly, and Ayla led the way to the smaller door beside the giant gate used for Nulina. She pressed the combination of crystals to connect the electrical support before cranking the handle, feeling the resistance of the wind as the mechanisms groaned in protest before finally giving way.

The raven lord and its rider stayed outside, not saying a word. It was always someone new from the Calvary Core, stationed beside the daily cart, its content provided by a few respectful male roc who sought Nulina’s favor each day.

Ayla glanced at the contents while moving to the door, the top open: white and pulsing with energy, the storm fruit hummed with condensed power.

The giant storm fruit came from the roc sacred lands in the northern storm zone and was necessary nutrition for the colossal black eagles, much more for Tempest Queens, who required them daily to maintain their strength.

Once inside and out of the storm, the tall man, nearly a head above her, pulled off his mask and silk cap, sweeping back dark, slightly windswept hair. His smile was genuine as he extended a hand to her. “Caden Valen,” he introduced himself, “and no need for formalities. I’m not one to stand on ceremony.”

Ayla’s gaze lingered for a moment on the offered hand before she clasped it briefly. “Ayla,” she responded, letting go just as quickly. “And allowing me to be myself is a plus. I’m the one keeping this place from burning down.”

Caden chuckled, a deep sound that contrasted with the storm outside. “You seem more than qualified for that by the looks of this place… I heard you’re one of the few women blacksmiths. Did you make all of this black metal…stuff,” he questioned, casting his eyes around the little projects she’d done over the cycles. “The highborn still aren’t sure how you manage to shape it, which…is why we barter for your goods!”

Shrugging and trying not to let the compliment go to her head, Ayla followed his gaze. “And we need a lot of support from the Tempalis Kingdom to even grow enough food to live. It’s a group effort. As for blacksmith work, I don’t work often in the main forge. I make all the designs but a lot of this stuff are projects other blacksmiths have helped me on.” 

“Humble. I like it,” he said, keeping eye contact with her.

Mera fidgeted with her gloves before stepping forward. Her face was flushed beneath her hood, and she muttered, “I-I’m Mera. We already spoke, but, umm, yeah, Ayla’s training me to take over Nulina’s care.”

Caden’s amber irises flicked to the young girl of fifteen cycles, his smile softening. “So you’re taking over looking after the famous roc queen, huh? Big shoes to follow. Impressive.”

Mera stammered for a response but only managed a nervous nod, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. Ayla bit back a smile. Famous? Nulina would eat that up.

Shaking her head, Ayla motioned toward the inner door leading to the inner cavern. “We should get inside before this storm tries to drag us back out. And, Caden—” she pointed toward the workshop tucked into the corner of the entry hall “—please don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

Caden raised his hands in mock surrender that really contrasted his strong appearance. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Though, I have to admit, it’s rare to see a blacksmith’s workshop this well-equipped. Black metal, too. Most smiths I know in the highlands can barely handle basic steel.”

Ayla’s eyes narrowed, briefly wondering who taught him manners if he would so blatantly fish for commentary on trade secrets, before dodging the implied question. “I don’t particularly enjoy talking about myself to strangers, nobility or not.”

“Fair enough! I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, sounding genuine and clasping his hands behind his back. “I’ll be here. Just let me know if Nulina is willing to see me.”

Giving him a simple nod, she led the way through the branching corridor, Mera by her side. The hum of storm energy grew stronger as they approached Nulina’s lair. Sparks of electricity crackled in the air, the sharp scent of ozone filling her lungs. Mera, usually chatty, grew silent, her steps slower.

The moment they stepped into the chamber, the vastness of Nulina’s lair opened up to them. The air was thick with charged energy, making the hairs on Ayla’s arms rise.

Jagged black metal embedded in the stone walls glinted under the occasional arcs of lightning that crackled through the chamber. The ceiling arched impossibly high, a testament to the size Nulina needed to even stretch her wings halfway. Despite the grand scale, the space felt suffocating under the sheer presence of the Tempest Queen.

Nulina herself towered over them, even while curled inside her nest in the far corner, her massive frame taking up most of the cavernous room. Her feathers, dark as storm clouds, shimmered with an almost metallic sheen. Each movement sent tiny sparks skittering along her wings, the electric charge so intense that it caused small arcs to jump between her and the metal-laden walls.

If not for the storm rods placed around the room, they would have been electrocuted simply by being near the giant black eagle. Her sharp beak, capable of piercing through black metal itself, rested just inches from the ground as she glared in their direction, her black eyes reflecting the lightning strikes flickering outside.

Even sitting, Nulina’s size was overwhelming. When fully standing, she could easily match the tallest buildings in Windscar. Her scarred left wing still emanates power, despite the damage from the dragon fire; most of her feathers where the flames seared would never grow again, not even the Celestorian unisus healers could mend the damage. But it didn’t make her any less formidable.

A far more gentle breeze swirled around the room compared to what Ayla expected, which meant she was more worried than mad; it was a good sign. Mera took a step back, her lips parting in awe and fear, still unaccustomed to handling the sassy old bird.

Ayla simply put a hand on her hip and tilted her head with a smirk aimed at the Celestial bird. “Missed me that much, huh?” Her tone was teasing, but there was no denying the respect behind her words.

Nulina’s feathers puffed up with irritation, sparks crackling louder as they rippled through the massive black plume. She remained silent, her gaze like a brewing storm, dark and brooding. The wind picked up, swirling around the room with a force that could have easily carried her against the ceiling had the bird directed it that way, but Ayla stood firm, unflinching.

Mera let out a small squeak and stepped further behind Ayla, her wide eyes flicking between the tempestuous roc and her. But Ayla didn’t break her stare, a small smirk pulling at her lips.

“Oh, stop trying to look cool and teasing Mera. Can you at least say something instead of looming like a storm cloud and trying to look spooky?”

Nulina’s wing twitched, the sparks dancing around her feathers settling into a gentler crackle. She huffed, a sound that resonated like distant thunder, before turning toward the large cylindrical tube suspended from the ceiling. In one smooth motion, she inserted her beak into one of the openings, drawing in the energy she needed to maintain her strength.

The moment her beak connected with the tube, electricity surged through her feathers, filling the room with a radiant hum of power. The wind swirled in a sharp gust, but Ayla remained unfazed, while Mera instinctively clutched at her hood to keep it from flying off.

The gusts died down, and then, in a tone that was low and feminine but resonant, Nulina spoke. Her voice, when it came, was like the calm center of a storm—gentle but carrying the weight of her size. “You should stop worrying me with these episodes. It’s bad for my feathers.”

Only a few roc could speak in such a controlled, human way, typically only those of Tempest Queen status, and Ayla’s designed device worked like a charm to allow just about any roc to speak normally. Of course, she’d taken the design from a theory book her brother had brought her from the highlands but that was beside the point. It worked.

Ayla chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, now you care about appearances?”

Nulina’s feathers fluffed in mild amusement, the sparks calming as she adjusted her stance. “If you didn’t keep pushing yourself in this attempt to get me airborn again, I wouldn’t have to. Don’t think I haven’t heard the whispers in the wind… It’s ready.”

A warm silence fell between them, the storm outside barely audible over the electric charge that filled the air. Despite Nulina’s size and power, there was a bond between them that transcended the roc’s imposing presence. Not quite the spiritual bond she’d shared with her brother, but an emotional one. She wasn’t just a Tempest Queen to Ayla; she was family, albeit a cranky, electrified one.

Nulina’s large, intelligent eyes narrowed slightly as her gaze shifted from Ayla to the door to the workshop behind her. “I know about the highborn boy. Let him in.”

Knowing how far Nulina’s ears truly reached, Ayla gave an exaggerated bow, her hand swept out dramatically. “Of course, your majesty.” Nulina’s chuckle rumbled through the chamber like rolling thunder as Ayla turned and led Mera back through the cavern.

As they approached the workshop, Mera’s voice came out in a nervous whisper. “How can you be so casual with her? She’s so…scary when you’re not around. She’s a Tempest Queen, Ayla. I mean…even crippled, she can fight other Tempest Queens. She’s terrifying.”

Ayla’s expression softened. “Because it’s what Nulina needs,” she whispered, her eyes briefly flicking back to the giant roc’s chamber. “She doesn’t need to be reminded of what she lost—just what she still has.”

They found Caden where they had left him, his attention drawn to the array of tools and weapons lining the walls of the workshop. He looked up from the designs of the project she’d been working on for the past six cycles as they approached, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

“A blacksmith and storm rider. Is there anything you don’t do? I don’t think I’ve met a more bold woman.”

At least he didn’t touch it. And yeah, it’s illegal to ride a roc…but who is going to tell Nulina that? Only the Roc King, and he hasn’t left the sacred lands for who knows how long. I’ll probably be long dead before he shows up again.

Ayla waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, they’ll know soon enough. It’s only illegal if anyone challenges it anyway. You wanted to meet Nulina? Well, she just said you can come in,” she said, her tone a little guarded despite the smile she managed to muster. “Fair warning…she may kill you. You do know what happened?” she probed.

Caden’s amber eyes flickered with recognition, and he stepped back slightly, nodding as he glanced around the expansive workshop. “Just to be clear, I’m not condemning you, and I do know about her confronting the other rocs after the dragon attack?”

He breathed in deeply, his gaze returning to her. “Scaring Tempest Queen Kalista over some argument no roc will talk about? Mhm. Everyone knows about that little scuffle that destroyed a portion of the palace.”

“Yeah…” Ayla exhaled sharply.

I wanted answers, too… But if Nulina won’t give them to me, no one will. Another reason to become a Skybound myself. I need access to all the reports.

Caden chuckled softly, but there was a seriousness in his tone when he added, “Nulina choosing to live amongst the people of the stormlands has caused a stir in the highlands. Just her being here makes people tip-toe around the topic. A Tempest Queen gets what she wants, as you said, crippled or not; she could still manhandle most rocs I’ve seen.”

Ayla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes stayed sharp. “Then I hope you’re ready, because she doesn’t take kindly to hesitation. C’mon. She’s waiting.”

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