Page 92 of The First Scar
He started to turn. I saw the beginning of it—that familiar instinct to find me, to grin, to call out.
But, he turned his back on me instead and rejoined the group he was with. One of the rebels gestured toward me. Brannick shook his head, murmuring. The rebel glanced my way, then quickly found the floor.
I kept walking. Pretended I hadn't noticed.
My stomach clenched. I'd secured both Keys. I'd passed their missions. I'd bled for this cause, lied for it, nearly died for it.
And still, all they saw was the monster.
Serenya walked close at my shoulder, a quiet anchor. Dreadscale at my back.
I found an empty spot at the end of a long table and sat, staring at my plate without seeing it. The whispers hadn't stopped. If anything, they'd grown louder now that I wasn't moving.
"—did you see Eryndor after? He couldn't even—"
Then Maxx sauntered towards us with a ravaged apple in one hand, that infuriating smirk firmly in place. His eyes held no fear. Just that strange, defiant amusement I was startingto recognize as his armor against a world that took itself too seriously.
"You could level the palace, Flameheart, and I'd still ask you for fashion advice."
Dreadscale grunted and I snickered at the juxtaposition of the two.
Maxx slid onto the bench beside me without waiting for an invitation, bumping my shoulder.
I tried to eat. Tried to focus on the tasteless porridge, the scrape of my spoon against tin, anything but the eyes I could feel crawling across my skin.
It didn't work.
My gaze kept drifting. Scanning the tables. The entrances. The shadows where a male in dark armor might stand, watching without being seen.
Nothing.
I checked again. The corridor leading to the training grounds. The alcove near the back where he sometimes took his meals alone.
Empty. All of it.
Eryndor was gone.
Had he left? Slipped out in the night, back to the King who held his leash? Or was he just hiding somewhere, nursing wounds I'd carved into him, deciding whether the cost of staying was worth what I might do to him next?
Maxx took a bite of his apple and gestured toward Dreadscale with it. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be teaching her the mysteries of the Shadow, you're remarkably terrible at small talk." He leaned back, studying the Dragonborn with exaggerated interest. "Do you practice being this intimidating, or is it a natural gift? I'm genuinely curious."
Dreadscale didn't blink. Didn't move. Just sat there like a statue carved from volcanic rock.
"See, that." Maxx pointed the apple at him. "That right there. Most people at least twitch. You're unsettling, friend. Deeply unsettling."
Dreadscale quirked an eyebrow at Maxx. "Shallow waters are easily disturbed," he deadpanned.
Maxx staggered back, hand over his heart like he'd been struck. "He speaks! Mark the day, Flameheart. We've witnessed a miracle."
I pressed my lips together suppressing a smile.
Then the air shifted.
A figure stepped from the milling rebels. She crossed the stone floor without a sound, Nyra. One of the Seer Twins. Her veiled face gave nothing away as she glided past our table, close enough that I could have reached out and touched her.
She didn't stop or look at us.
But her voice—resonant, meant for my ears alone—threaded through the noise like smoke through a keyhole.
