Chapter 4 Glyphs & Gravity

Callum POV

Nothing about this made any damn sense.

I’d been trained my entire life to recognize patterns, structures, and rules. Magic was order. Even chaos followed laws if you dug deep enough. The Temple taught us that. Lived by it. Built everything around it. And yet here I was, riding out of Sunreach behind a wagon full of forbidden texts, dragon lies, and one infuriating woman with emerald hair who made my magic misbehave just by breathing.

I rubbed a hand over my face and exhaled slowly. Get it together. Eryndra rode ahead of me, her posture relaxed but alert, like someone who’d learned to look calm while staying ready. Her braid brushed the small of her back with each movement of the horse, dark green catching the light. I told myself I was staring because I was assessing threats.

That was a lie.

“So,” I said finally, because silence was making my thoughts louder. “We should probably establish some basic information sharing if we’re going to survive this.”

She glanced back at me. “You’re very formal for someone who just broke half his vows.”

“I didn’t break them,” I muttered. “I… suspended them.”

She snorted. “Sure.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m Callum. Callum Vireth. Mage. Nineteen.”

“I know your first name,” she said. “You made sure of that.”

“My parents are dead,” I added, the words tumbling out faster than I meant them to. “Both Temple-affiliated. Died when I was twelve. Illness. I’ve studied at the Temple my whole life. I was assigned to Sunreach two weeks ago.”

She slowed her horse slightly so we rode side by side. “You wanted to talk to me.”

It wasn’t a question.

I stiffened. “What?”

“You kept hovering,” she said mildly. “At the Temple. You always looked like you were about to say something and then… didn’t.”

Heat crept up my neck. “You were always busy.”

Her cheeks flushed faintly. “That’s not an answer.”

I scowled. “Fine. Yes. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Because your presence disrupts my spell matrices. Because my glyphs bend when you walk past. Because I feel like I’m standing too close to a ley line every time you look at me.

Instead, I said, “You’re… interesting.”

She raised a brow. “That’s mage code for annoying.”

“Distracting,” I corrected.

She smiled, just a little, and it did something unpleasant to my chest.

“Your turn,” I said quickly. “Tell me about you.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Eryndra Sonbrae. Nineteen. Healer’s daughter. Trained quietly in things the Temple didn’t think I needed.”

“Like fighting,” I said.

“Yes.”

I nodded. That tracked. “Your father?”

Her expression shifted, softer, and sadder. “Gone since I was ten. Trader. Supposedly lost at sea.”

Supposedly.

“And your mother trained you herself,” I said. “In secret.”

“She didn’t trust the Temple,” Eryndra said quietly. “Not with everything.”

Smart woman. “What about magic?” I asked. “Do you use it?”

She shook her head. “Not like you do. I can feel things. Places. Sometimes people.”

My fingers tingled. “That’s… not normal,” I said slowly.

“I get that a lot.”

We rode on, and the Siren Sea glinted beside us, as the waves rolled in lazy rhythms. I should have been cataloging supplies, mapping routes, and planning contingencies. Instead, I was hyperaware of how close her knee was to mine. Stop it.

“So,” I said, forcing my mind back into something resembling professionalism. “The trunk. The magic on it was… pre-Temple. Pre-structural.”

She glanced at me. “That means something to you.”

“It means everything,” I said. “We’re taught that all magic has been accounted for. Documented. Codified. That there’s nothing left to discover.”

I scoffed. “That trunk laughed at that idea. It basically made everything they said a lie.”

Her lips twitched. “Good.”

Something twisted in my gut. I liked that answer far more than I should. We stopped again as the horses slowed, the path flattening out ahead. I dismounted and adjusted a strap that had slipped loose, my hands shaking slightly. This pull was getting worse. It wasn’t lust. Not exactly. It was… gravity. Like standing too close to something massive and pretending it wasn’t affecting you. I straightened and found her watching me.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothing,” she said. “You’re just… twitchy.”

“I am not twitchy.”

“You are.”

I scowled. “You’re distracting.”

She folded her arms. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Her eyes darkened slightly. “You agreed to boundaries.”

I froze. “I know,” I said sharply. “I haven’t crossed them.”

“No,” she agreed. “But you’re thinking about it.”

Heat flooded my face. “That’s not fair.”

She shrugged. “You’re not subtle.”

I turned away, and clenched my jaw tight. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to come.”

“And yet,” she said softly, “you’re still here.”

I hated that she was right. We rode on in tense silence for a while after that. The sun dipped lower. The road curved. My irritation simmered, tangled with something else I didn’t have a name for. I didn’t like feeling off-balance. I liked it even less when she was the cause. Eventually, I spoke again, my voice clipped. “We need a plan.”

She smiled faintly. “We’ll make one.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“You’re still coming,” she pointed out.

I sighed. “Against my better judgment.”

“Good thing you have me,” she said lightly.

I shot her a look. “You are the problem.”

She laughed, bright and genuine, and something in my chest cracked. I looked away quickly. Friends. Only friends. That was the deal. But as the road stretched ahead and the sea whispered beside us, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just stepped onto a path I wouldn’t be able to walk away from.

And the worst part?

Somewhere deep inside, I didn’t even want to.

~

Eryndra POV

Night crept in slowly, like it was testing the edges of the world before committing.

The sky deepened from gold to bruised purple, the air cooling just enough to raise goosebumps along my arms. I pulled my cloak tighter and scanned the land ahead, irritation buzzing under my skin for reasons I refused to examine too closely. Friends only. Nothing intimate. That was the deal. So why did my stomach flip every time Callum rode too close? Why did I keep noticing the way his voice dropped when he spoke quietly, or how his eyes softened when he thought I wasn’t looking? I scowled and focused on the road.

“We should stop soon,” I said. “I don’t want to make camp in the dark.”

“Agreed,” Callum replied. “Unless you enjoy tripping over roots and dying embarrassingly.”

I snorted. “I would haunt you.”

“As you should.”

We crested a small rise, and that was when I saw it. A house. Small and weathered, tucked into the land like it had grown there rather than been built. Smoke curled from the chimney, warm and inviting. A barn stood off to the side, solid and well-kept. I slowed, and my heart thudded. “There.”

Callum narrowed his eyes. “We approach carefully.”

“Obviously.”

We dismounted a short distance away and led the horses the rest of the way, our footsteps quiet on the packed earth. I stepped up to the door and knocked, firm but polite. It opened almost immediately. An elderly woman stood there. She was short and round, her white hair was braided neatly down her back, and her eyes were bright and sharp as polished glass. She took one look at us and smiled like she’d been expecting company all along.

“Well hello there,” she said warmly.

“Good evening,” I said, inclining my head. “I’m sorry to bother you, but we were hoping we might sleep in your barn tonight. Just for the evening.”

She chuckled, a soft, delighted sound. “Of course! Of course. Have you youngins eaten?”

My stomach betrayed me with a growl.

“I’ve just made stew,” she continued. “Care for the horses and come on back.”

I blinked, then smiled. “Thank you. Truly.”

She waved a hand like it was nothing. “I’m happy for the company.”

We took care of the horses first, tying them securely, brushing them down, and checking hooves and water. Callum worked beside me easily, our conversation flowing without effort for the first time all day.

“See?” I snarked quietly. “Not lost or dead. Yet.”

“Don’t jinx it,” he muttered.

I grinned. Inside, the house was warm and smelled like herbs and simmering broth. The woman set bowls of stew in front of us, thick and hearty, and tore warm bread into generous pieces.

“I’m Lovie,” she said, settling into her chair. “It’s wonderful to have guests.”

She talked while we ate. Her voice was gentle and animated, telling us about her grandchildren, how they visited when they could, how the house felt too quiet most days. Callum asked questions, genuinely interested, and I found myself smiling more than I had since… well. Since before the bells. Halfway through my bowl, something tugged at me. Not a pull like before. Softer and older.

“Lovie?” I asked carefully.

She looked at me. “Yes, dear?”

“Do you… know anything about dragons?”

The room went very still, then Lovie smiled. It was soft, and wistful. “Oh, child,” she said quietly.

She rose without another word and padded down the narrow hallway, disappearing into a back bedroom. My heart began to pound, every instinct I had was suddenly screaming.

Callum glanced at me. “Eryndra…”

She returned moments later with a small wrapped package. She slid it across the table toward me. My breath caught. I didn’t touch it. “Did you… did you know my father, Lovie?”

She winked. “I’m tired, loves,” she said gently. “I think I’ll head to bed. Make yourselves comfortable in the barn.”

Before I could speak, she turned and walked back down the hall, her soft steps fading into silence. I stared at the package. Callum reached for it, his fingers careful, and opened it slowly. He whistled under his breath. Inside were fragments. Pale and iridescent. Veined with faint traces of silver and green.

“Oh holy hells,” he whispered. “These are pieces of a dragon egg.”

My chest tightened. I could feel it. The magic hummed low and deep, like a heartbeat beneath my skin. The fragments trembled, and then they lifted, snapping out of Callum’s hands and into mine. I gasped, clutching them instinctively. They were warm and alive. I stared down at them with my breath shaking, as the world tilted on its axis.

“I think,” Callum said slowly, with awe and fear tangled in his voice, “we may have just found our first answer.”

The barn was quiet in that deep, comforting way, and the lantern light cast soft shadows across the beams. The horses settled easily, snorting and shifting, all familiar sounds that grounded me, and still, the damn thought would not leave me. Sleep beside him. It was ridiculous. Inconvenient. Entirely unwanted. So of course my brain latched onto it like a starved dog with a bone.

I dragged the blankets from the wagon harder than necessary, my jaw tight, irritation simmering under my skin. The air had cooled fast, and the barn held a faint chill beneath the warmth of the animals. I laid out my bedding, smoothing it with more care than it deserved. Then I straightened and looked at Callum. He was watching me. Of course he was.

“You can, uh,” I said stiffly, waving a hand. “Make your bed by mine. If you want.”

His brow lifted slowly.

“As friends,” I added quickly. “For warmth.”

I immediately hated myself. He smirked, slow and maddening. “Warmth, huh?”

I glared. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You made it weird.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

I huffed and turned away, yanking my cloak tighter as I dropped onto my blankets. “Sleep or don’t. I don’t care.” That was a lie. He took his time setting up beside me, his movements unhurried.

When he finally lay down...