CHAPTER 115: THE ELVEN WELCOME

Some people would argue that certain aspects of what he was experiencing should be considered fine.

For one, the weather was great.

Two, the view should’ve been great. He was sure many would pay unimaginable sums just for the chance to see what he should’ve been enjoying.

And most of all, he was experiencing something rare. Truly rare. A mortal flying atop the dragon lord.

Because really, how many people could claim they’d mounted a dragon lord and lived to tell the tale?

Now, please bear in mind this was not the kind of mounting that should ever cross his mind, or anyone’s mind for that matter. This was the survival kind—the kind where you risk your life in the hope of making it out alive.

Okay, scratch that. Even that sounded wrong.

Anyway. He was flying while riding on the dragon lord’s back. There. Simple.

If only.

If only they weren’t being pelted by magical wind blades while Riley screamed his guts out.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

The sound ripped out of him, torn between sheer terror and outrage, as Kael tilted sharply to the left. A shimmering arc of wind sliced past, close enough to make Riley’s hair stand on end.

And then came another.

The attacks happened suddenly, like hidden turrets springing to life, targeting them with mechanical precision. Razor-thin wind blades honed in on them, one after another.

Riley, who had been trying to practice keeping his eyes open—so he could at least pretend to enjoy the view—finally cracked them wide just in time to see a wind blade screaming straight for his face.

His shriek nearly outdid the blade’s whistle.

Kael flipped them upside down. Clean, controlled, deadly precise. Riley’s stomach, however, decided it had been betrayed and immediately tried to launch itself into his throat.

The world spun, sky became ground, ground became sky again, and Riley clung to a golden scale with every ounce of strength his mortal fingers could muster.

"I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS!" he screamed, voice cracking as another gust whistled past his ears.

Kael righted them with a snap of his wings, golden arcs cutting through the air like scythes. His tail streamed in the wind, golden eyes glowing with calm calculation, as if dodging weapons of mass destruction was just Tuesday for him.

Meanwhile, Riley was busy deciding which regret he wanted engraved on his tombstone.

The worst part? He could see it now, looming in the distance: Silvara’s barrier. The massive ward stretched across the horizon like a crystalline dome, glowing faintly, as though daring them to try.

And the turrets? Oh, the turrets were only warming up.

The moment they got within range, the next barrage was already screaming toward them.

Kael folded one wing, spinning into a narrow dive. Wind blades tore past, clipping close enough that Riley swore he felt them shave microscopic layers off his ears.

His grip slipped. His heart dropped. And in that terrifying instant, Riley realized that if he let go, he wouldn’t even have the dignity of hitting the ground. No, he’d be diced into lettuce before then.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The scream carried all the way down to the forests beneath them.

And above it all, Kael’s voice cut through, steady, commanding, utterly unbothered.

"Hold on."

Hold on, he says.

As if Riley had any other option.

But then, other beings—especially dragons—would’ve told Riley he really didn’t need any other options.

Why? Because the dragon lord had already placed a spell on him. Which meant that even if Riley somehow let go, screamed himself into unconsciousness, or fainted like an innocent maiden, he’d still remain stuck to Kael.

In other words, Riley was basically glued on.

So yes, even if Kael decided to become a new amusement park attraction by spinning, flipping, and corkscrewing through the skies, Riley would still be plastered to his back.

Of course, Kael would argue there was a reason for this. If Riley didn’t cling harder than the spell itself, then how would Kael know if the twig had gone limp, lost consciousness, or worse—died?

Then again, wouldn’t Kael himself feel the pain secondhand if Riley really succumbed to something terrible?

Who knew. In the end, it didn’t matter. The dragon lord simply wanted it this way. Consider it a fee for having to maneuver carefully through a storm of normally useless wind blades.

Because what if one of those blades slipped past his notice? What if he tanked it and it rebounded on Riley?

Or what if it struck some part of this all-too-fragile aide and Kael didn’t get to sense it in time?

So now, instead of simply flying straight into the barrier like he normally would, Kael had to actually account for each incoming blade, shifting away in case one rebounded in a direction he didn’t like.

Meanwhile, Riley was not comforted. Especially since he didn’t even know about that magical glue, nor did he receive any logical explanation.

He was praying.

Gripping every golden scale within reach. Flattening himself desperately against Kael’s back. And thinking, with mounting outrage, about why on flipping Eryndra they were being attacked by the very people who had summoned them.

What kind of welcome was this supposed to be?!

Apparently, the usual kind.

The kind meant to prove that it was truly the dragon lord approaching. Because if it were him, such defenses would be useless.

But then again, considering this, another thing had to be true. If it couldn’t even delay someone like the dragon lord, then it likely wouldn’t be effective against anyone arrogant enough to move against a race as powerful as the elves.

__

Back inside the palace of Silvara, pacing echoed across polished marble floors.

An elf whose features were normally gentle and beautiful now wore a mask of worry and fear.

"Brother, are you even sure this will work? What if it doesn’t? Then what would happen?"

"Lina, stop pacing," came the firm voice of Lord Arlen Elowen, the current High Lord and father to the woman in question.

He straightened in his chair, tone grave. "We don’t have much of a choice right now. Your brother is right. For now, we risk it with this."

"But Father—" Lina protested, her pale hair whipping around her shoulders as she spun back.

"Was there really a need to welcome them like this?"

Another voice cut in, belonging to a fair elf with a single braid draped to one side—a look that often made outsiders mistake him for a woman.

Lord Arlen could only sigh. Obviously, he understood their misgivings, but still replied, "If we simply opened the borders, even temporarily, what if something worse happened? And if it truly is him, then he will think nothing of the defenses."

Darin Elowen, the diplomat of the family, pressed his lips together tightly. Outwardly, he looked calm. Inwardly, his thoughts were less polite.

This wasn’t about whether Kael Dravaryn could get through their defenses. He had no doubt the dragon lord would. His real fear?

That Kael would arrive safely... but in a towering rage.

Wouldn’t that be even worse?

Not like what had already happened to Silvara wasn’t bad enough.

If only he hadn’t turned his back for a single moment...