Darius walked with Imogen at his side, their hands still clasped as they made their way toward the war chambers.
The corridors around them were lit with strips of sunlight and flickering torchlight, dancing like old memories on the walls.
Imogen looked up at him, her voice soft but curious. “Is it always like this after a battle?”
Darius glanced down at her, his thumb brushing gently along her knuckles. “Not always.”
“But the magic…” she said, brow furrowed. “It’s still changing, isn’t it? I can feel it. Like it’s waking up, but… slowly. Like it’s unsure.”
He nodded. “That’s because it is. The old world broke a long time ago, Imogen. And the magic went quiet. Not gone… just waiting.”
Her eyes glowed faintly in the shifting light. “Waiting for what?”
Darius looked forward, toward the tall double doors ahead carved with sigils long since faded. “For someone to sing it back.”
The east tower was quiet.
Dust hung in the air, catching in shafts of golden morning light that poured through tall arched windows. The corridor was silent, ancient, filled with the hush of long-forgotten things and yet, as Imogen and Darius approached, the air felt almost… expectant.
Darius paused before the door, his hand resting on the iron latch. He glanced at Imogen.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded once, jaw set.
“I need to know what she left behind.”
Darius exhaled slowly and opened the door.
The hinges creaked, groaning like something exhaling after being sealed for years.
Inside, the room was exactly as Cordelia had left it.
Dust blanketed the floor and window ledges, but everything else was meticulously preserved. Books were stacked in organized towers beside the bed. Scrolls were rolled and tucked into shelves, labeled in a delicate, slanted hand. The desk carved with careful, flowing lines stood near the window, and atop it was a small bundle of journals.
Arranged with care and resting on the very top a single letter.
Tied with a faded blue ribbon.
Imogen stepped into the room slowly, her boots soft against the stone. Her breath caught as her fingers grazed the surface of the desk. She reached for the letter, hands shaking as she untied the ribbon.
She unfolded the page.
Darius stayed by the door, watching in silence until he noticed the handwriting and how the journals had been arranged.
His brow furrowed. “She knew you’d come,” he murmured.
Imogen looked up. “What?”
He took a slow step inside, scanning the room, the layout, and the intentionality.
“This wasn’t left behind in grief,” he said. “She prepared this. She expected you to come back one day.”
Imogen stared down at the letter, heart pounding.
And then she read.
My darling Imogen,
If you're holding this, it means the world has turned again.
It means my daughter has found her way home.
Stolen novel; please report.
I want to start by saying… I'm sorry.
Sorry I wasn’t there to teach you. To guide you. To see the incredible young woman I knew you’d become.
When the war began and I knew they were coming for the Dragon Singers, I had a choice. I could keep you with me and risk you dying in my arms… or I could place you in the care of someone I trusted, someone outside the bloodlines, hidden in the folds of the world.
I chose the latter.
I chose life for you. Even if it meant losing you from mine.
And I’ve lived with the weight of that choice every day since.
I wasn’t strong enough to survive your father’s death. Not after watching him die, not after sending you away. Something in me broke that day, and I couldn’t put it back together.
But even in my lowest moments… I believed in you.
I left these notes for you books, spells, and observations because I knew you would return to the world when it needed you most. You are the last Dragon Singer. Our songs once kept the balance between the dragons and the land. But when we were hunted, the harmony shattered. Magic began to die not all at once, but slowly. Quietly. A world without Singers is a world without rhythm.
But you, my love… you are the breath between the silence.
Whatever you choose, I will be proud of you. You do not owe the world your power. But if you decide to rise, know this your voice can heal more than just sigils and spells. It can bring us back.
You don’t have to be perfect.
You just have to be you.
Always watching,
Always loving,
Your mother,
Lady Cordelia
Imogen stood frozen for a moment.
Then she pressed the letter to her chest, breath catching in her throat, eyes closed tight as the silence around her deepened into something sacred.
Darius stepped closer, quiet.
“She knew,” he said softly. “She believed.”
Imogen looked back at the journals, the neat piles of scrolls, the carefully preserved legacy left behind.
“I’m going to finish what she started,” she whispered. “I’m going to understand what it means to be a Dragon Singer.”
She turned, fire beginning to flicker behind the gold of her eyes.
“I’m going to make a better world. For Axel. For Malachite. For all of us.”
The world kept spinning. Armies moved. Tensions rose.
But in the quiet sanctuary of the east tower, Imogen studied.
Day and night, candlelight flickering around her, the fortress outside buzzing with strategy and war she read.
Her mother’s journals weren’t just notes. They were confessions, blueprints, maps to power long forgotten.
Some pages were clinical diagrams of sigil drift, energy lock patterns, pressure points for aura alignment.
Others were deeply personal.
“If your magic is too loud, it’s because you’re not listening. Dragon Song is not shouted, it’s felt.”
Imogen scribbled notes on scrap parchment, pinning them to the stone walls around her.
Common signs of magic buildup:
- ringing in ears
- fevered skin
- vertigo
- sudden emotional projection (see: tantrum that cracked the floor)
She practiced breath techniques. Vocal grounding. Rhythm pulses drawn from the natural cadence of her heartbeat.
“A Dragon Singer’s aura is both shield and blade. Learn when to soften. Learn when to cut.”
She learned about aura songs:
- Soothe: a steady lullaby that quieted pain and panic in wounded minds.
- Strike: a sharp burst, like thunder through steel used to disable without blood.
- Anchor: the rarest, used to steady unstable dragon kin on the verge of aura collapse.
Some days were glorious, her voice catching a thread of energy and weaving it into light.
Other days… she collapsed, exhausted and furious, magic slipping through her fingers like water.
And at the heart of it all, a chapter titled simply: The Bonds That Burn
Her mother’s words here were softer. Hesitant.
“I never felt the bond with your father until weeks after we met. And when I did, it terrified me. Dragon mate bonds are not always instant. Especially now, with magic fractured and fading. Sometimes one soul is louder. Sometimes the other must listen harder. But when it clicks… it sings.”
Imogen read that passage over and over.
She thought of Axel. Of Malachite. Of how love didn’t always roar sometimes, it waited in silence.
And still… she kept going.
Sleeves rolled, ink smudged on her cheeks, her voice hoarse from chanting long into the night.
She wasn’t a girl chasing fate anymore. She was a Dragon Singer taking hold of her destiny.