Oath of the Broken Sword Chapter 4

The silence of the barracks was a lie. It was a thin sheet of ice over a churning river of panic. Every creak of the wooden bunk, every rustle of straw in my mattress, sounded like the approach of Marshal Marcus’s boots. *The God-forging Project requires the bloodline.* The words were a hook in my mind, reeling in every whispered conversation I’d ever overheard, every strange look cast my way. My bloodline. What did that even mean?

Was I some kind of artifact, a key to be used and discarded?

Sleep was a traitor that wouldn’t come. Instead, I replayed the day in a vicious loop. Barrock’s fury, Kaela’s unexpected alliance, the mountain of armor we’d scrubbed until our hands bled. Most of all, I clung to the memory of that sharp, silent warning from Silvershine last night. It had been a spike of pure instinct, a flare in the dark that had saved me from Lilith’s shadowy gaze. The bond was real, and it was the only thing in this gilded cage that felt like it belonged to me.

A soft, insistent tapping at the door shattered the cycle. I froze, heart hammering. Had they come for me already?

But the knock was too quiet, too hesitant for the guards. I slid off the bunk and cracked the door open.

It was Aeliza, the half-elf medic. Her usually serene face was pinched with worry, her fingers twisting the hem of her tunic. “Elia,” she whispered, her eyes darting down the empty corridor. “I need your help. Now. It’s urgent.”

“My help?” I asked, suspicion warring with curiosity. “With what?”

“A dragon. One of the fledglings from the brood caverns. It’s failing. The standard nutritive potions… they not working. I’ve tried everything.” Her voice was tight with a healer’s desperation. “I can’t let it die. Come with me. Please.”

Something in her plea felt genuine, cutting through the usual layers of Aethelgard formality. Or maybe I was just desperate for a distraction from the dread coiling in my own gut. I nodded, pulling on my boots. “Lead the way.”

The brood caverns were deep beneath the main citadel, a place of humid air and the low, rumbling vibrations of sleeping dragons. The smell was overwhelming—ozone, volcanic rock, and the pungent sweetness of the nutrient mash fed to the young. We hurried past larger pens where juvenile drakes slept in piles of shimmering scales, their sides rising and falling in slow rhythm.

Aeliza led me to a secluded side chamber, warmer than the rest. Inside, on a nest of heated stones, lay a small, sickly-looking bronze-scaled dragon. Its breathing was labored, a wet, rattling sound. Its scales were dull, and it barely lifted its head as we approached. A bowl of thick, greenish paste—the standard high-potency dragon feed—sat untouched beside it.

“His name is Ember,” Aeliza said softly, kneeling beside the creature. “He hatched weak. The others… they shun him.” She gestured to the bowl. “He won’t eat. Without sustenance, his core will fade within days.”

I watched the little dragon’s struggling breaths, a pang of sympathy piercing through my own fears. It was an outcast, like me. “What can I do? I’m no healer.”

“Just… help me prepare a new batch,” she said, her voice dropping even lower. She handed me a small, sharp knife and a ceramic bowl filled with raw, magically-infused meats and glowing herbs. “Chop these finely. I need to adjust the alchemical balance. And…. The ingredients are potent.”

I took the knife, my mind still half-caught on Marshal Marcus’s words. *Bloodline.* As I focused on dicing the strange, root-like herb, my hand, raw from scrubbing armor, slipped. The blade nicked the tip of my thumb. A single, fat drop of blood welled up and fell, splashing directly into the mixture.

“Damn it,” I muttered, sucking on the cut.

Aeliza froze. Her eyes widened, fixed on the bowl. For a horrible second, I thought she was angry at the contamination. But then, the paste began to change. The dull green luminescence intensified, swirling with threads of silver and gold I’d never seen before. The mixture itself seemed to thicken, emitting a warm, enticing aroma that was nothing like its previous chemical smell. It smelled like… life.

Ember stirred. His head, which had been limp, lifted. His nostrils flared, and a weak but interested chirp escaped his throat. He dragged himself toward the bowl and began to eat, gulping down the mixture with a vigor he’d never shown before.

Aeliza stared, first at the dragon, then at me, her expression a mask of sheer terror. She grabbed my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. “You saw nothing,” she hissed, her voice trembling. “Do you understand? Nothing! Your blood… it cannot be known. To anyone.”

The pieces clicked into place with terrifying clarity. My blood. The God-forging Project. The failing dragon, suddenly revitalized. Aeliza wasn’t just a medic;

she was a keeper of secrets, and she knew what I was.

“What is happening to me?” I whispered, my own fear mirroring hers.

“I don’t know all of it,” she admitted, releasing my wrist and quickly stirring the remaining paste, trying to make thevery sheen dissipate. “But I’ve read texts… ancient texts about the old bloodlines. Their vitality is… transformative. A drop could heal; a vial could create a monster. If the Marshal or, Gods forbid, the Twilight Covenant knew the extent of it…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. I was a walking, talking strategic resource. A commodity.

We stood in silence as Ember finished the bowl, his scales already taking on a healthier sheen. The victory felt hollow, poisoned by the new, immense weight settling on my shoulders.

***

The next morning, the weight was still there, a leaden cloak I couldn’t remove. It made the heavy flight leathers feel even heavier as we assembled on the highest training ledge, the Wind-Shear Spire. Below us, the world dropped away into a dizzying mosaic of clouds and distant mountains. This was it: our first official aerial combat drill.

Kaela was already there, checking the straps on her sleek, blue-scaled drake, Tempest. She moved with an enviable, fluid confidence. Our eyes met for a second, and the unspoken acknowledgment of our strange bonding in the armory passed between us. Then it was gone, replaced by the cool, competitive gleam I was coming to expect.

“Recruits!” barked Instructor Ryen, his voice carried away by the wind. “Today, you learn the Dance of Death. Simple rules. You and your assigned partner. Get a solid tap on your opponent’s shoulder with the practice blade. First to three points wins. No lethal maneuvers. Try not to fall to your deaths. It creates paperwork. Pair up!”

Fate, or more likely Ryen’s sadistic sense of humor, paired me with Kaela. A murmur rippled through the other recruits. This was the match they’d been waiting for: the noble prodigy versus the border-rat upstart.

I swung into Silvershine’s saddle. The moment my hands grasped the reins, a familiar calm seeped into me. *//Nervous, little spark?

//* Her voice, like polished silver, resonated in my mind.

*//Terrified,//* I thought back. *//She’s better than me. You know she is.//*

*//Skill is a tool. Instinct is the hand that wields it. Do not watch her movements. Feel the air. Feel the intent. I will be your eyes.//*

Ryen shouted, “Begin!”

Kaela and Tempest shot upward like a bolt from a crossbow. I urged Silvershine to follow, the wind whipping tears from my eyes. The game was simple: gain the altitude advantage. Kaela was faster, her drake more agile. Within seconds, she was above me, diving down, practice blade extended.

I saw the move coming—a classic Falcon’s Dive. My mind went blank with panic. But then, a cool certainty washed over me. It wasn’t my own.

*//Now. Bank left. Hard.//*

I wrenched the reins. Silvershine rolled left so sharply the world became a spinning blur. Kaela’s blade sliced through empty air where my shoulder had been.

*//She expects a counter-climb. Drop.//*

I pushed Silvershine into a sudden, weightless dive. Kaela overshot, her momentum carrying her past. For a second, I had her exposed. I pulled up, leveling my blade for a tap on her back.

But she was already reacting. Tempest twisted in mid-air, a move I didn’t think was possible. Her blade came around in a sweeping arc. *Clang! wooden practice swords met. The impact jarred my teeth.

We broke apart, circling each other like hawks. Kaela’s eyes were narrowed, not in anger, but in intense calculation. “You’re not this good,” she called out over the wind. “Who’s teaching you?”

“Just trying not to die!” I yelled back, the half-truth tasting bitter.

We clashed again and again. Each time, Silvershine’s guidance was there, a whisper in my soul telling me when to dodge, when to feint. I wasn’t fighting Kaela;

I was a conduit for an ancient predator’s instincts. I scored a point with a lucky, desperate lunge. She scored two with flawless, technical precision. The match was tied, two to two. The final point.

We were both breathing heavily, our drakes snorting plumes of steam into the cold air. This was it. Kaela knew my tricks now. She wouldn’t fall for the same instincts twice.

She came at me not with a dive, but with a complex, spiraling charge, her blade a blur. It was her signature move, the one no one had been able to counter. I was trapped. There was nowhere to go.

Panic surged. But beneath it, Silvershine’s presence was a steady, cold flame.

*//She is all technique. No heart. She fights the opponent she expects. Show her the one she doesn’t.//*

“What?” I thought, confused.

*//Trust your blood.//*

The words from the cavern echoed. *Transformative.* In that split second, I didn’t think. I acted on a surge of something wild, something that felt both foreign and deeply mine. Instead of trying to parry or dodge, I dropped my reins.

I stood up in the stirrups, balancing precariously as Silvershine stalled her wings. I let Kaela’s thrust come at me, moving. At the last possible moment, I fell backwards, sliding off Silvershine’s side, hanging onto the saddle with one hand. Kaela shot past, her blade hitting empty air once more. Using the momentum, I swung myself back up, and as Silvershine surged forward, I tapped the back of Kaela’s shoulder.

Silence. Then, a roar from the other recruits on the ledge below.

We landed. My legs were shaking so badly I could barely dismount. Kaela jumped off Tempest, striding toward me. Her face was unreadable.

“That wasn’t a standard maneuver,” she said, her voice low and even.

“It was the only one I had left,” I replied, my voice shaking.

She studied me for a long moment, her gaze searching my face for the secret instructor she was sure existed. She saw only my raw, undisguised fear and exhaustion.

“A draw,” she declared loudly, turning to Instructor Ryen. “The final touch was… unorthodox. A fluke. It doesn’t count.”

Ryen grunted, scribbling on his slate. “Fine. A draw. Dismissed.”

As the others dispersed, Kaela paused beside me. “A fluke today, Elia. But flukes have a way of becoming habits.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. “And habits get people noticed. Be careful what you draw attention to.”

She walked away, leaving me alone with Silvershine and the chilling certainty that my two worlds—the terrifying secret of my blood and the brutal reality of my training—were about to violently collide. The Dragon’s Wing Trials had just begun, and I was already running out of places to hide.