Novels by ruthebhoaye

The suppression cuffs dug into Lira's wrists, cold and heavy, blocking the spirit-fire in her veins.Commander Vane marched three paces behind her, one hand resting on the brass pommel of his long blade. Six grey-coated Rift Trackers surrounded them, their lead-lined cloaks moving through the dark, fog-covered trunks of the southern ash-woods.In Vane's left hand, the brass compass glowed in the dim light. Its violet needle pulsed in a steady rhythm that seemed to match every beat of Lira's heart."Focus your mind, girl," Vane growled, his rough voice cutting through the rustling leaves. "If the needle flickers because you're trying to suppress the blood resonance, I'll have my men break your fingers one by one."Lira didn't look back. She kept her chin raised, her eyes cold, and her boots sinking into the wet black soil with every step.Let them hold the brass, Lira thought, her jaw tightening beneath her bruised skin. Let them follow the needle.She knew how the paired-bond compass

The Vanguard Academy was silent, save for the rhythmic metallic clicking of the projection array mounted atop the Spire of Order.Thousands of students, nobles, and junior instructors stood shoulder to shoulder across the cold marble plaza. No one spoke or cheered. A suffocating dread hung over the crowd as the massive blue spirit-lens projected the recovered memory crystal's contents onto the white stone face of the central tower.The footage was shaky but clear.It showed the narrow, fog-covered entrance to the Devil’s Trench. It captured the exact moment Lieutenant Vane’s gilded spear snapped like a dry twig. It showed Eryx, barefoot and drenched in blood, his chest covered in jagged scars, taking down twelve fully armed lieutenants with frightening efficiency.Then came the part that made even the hardened third-year instructors turn away in disgust.The lens zoomed in on Drogo. The massive shadow dragon didn't simply kill the marsh drakes. It pinned them against the granite roc

The evening wind was cold, leaving the Devil’s Trench in a deadly silence.The six upper-house recruits drinking by the campfire weren’t alone. As the yellow dusk faded into darkness, six more figures dropped from the high cedar canopy, landing in their iron stirrups. Twelve lieutenants in silver-and-crimson cloaks formed a curved wall of steel across the narrow canyon exit, blocking the only path south toward the river delta.Their mid-tier marsh drakes lined the stone ledge, their scaled wings half-spread and their nostrils releasing thin streams of orange spirit-fire into the damp air.The lead lieutenant was a tall, broad-shouldered noble named Vane. He held a gilded dragon-killer spear in his gloved hand and urged his mount three paces forward. His silver breastplate gleamed in the torchlight, free of dents, rust, or blood.“Come out into the light, stray!” Vane shouted, his voice echoing off the granite walls. “We know you’re hiding in the ditch! The Directorate put three hundre

For seven days, the routine continued without a break. Every morning, before the yellow mist cleared from the high granite walls, Eryx dragged his broadsword through the narrow, sunless ravines, searching for the oldest and most territorial beasts in the unmapped reaches of the Outer Wilds. He never let Drogo strike first. He wouldn’t let the shadow dragon spread his wings or open his jaws until the steel had done its work.Eryx launched himself from the rock ledges with frightening precision. He severed the tendon of a mountain drake, shattered the jaw plate of an iron-scaled boar, and pinned each beast to the canyon floor with his bare hands and the weight of his broadsword.Only when the creature lay gasping and helpless in the mud would Eryx step back, wiping sweat and blood from his eyes.“Feed,” Eryx rasped, his voice low and firm.Drogo stepped out of the shadows. The dragon didn’t thrash or roar. He lowered his broad snout, clamped his jaws around the beast’s chest, tore out i

The cold wind carried the metallic stench of fresh spirit-drake gore. It clung to the damp air and mingled with wet stone.Eryx didn’t lower his broadsword. The cold steel tip remained planted two inches from the center of Drogo’s broad, obsidian-scaled snout. His chest heaved with shallow gasps, every rib aching, but his dark eyes held a desperate focus that did not waver.“Look at me,” Eryx rasped, his rough voice cutting through the canyon breeze. “Look at my eyes, Drogo.”The shadow dragon didn’t move. His dark-violet pupils remained locked on Lira, who stood ten paces back against a jagged wall, her hands clenched over her empty dagger sheaths. She had little room to retreat, and she knew it.Then, slowly, Drogo shifted his massive head back toward his rider.“We set the line again,” Eryx said, his voice dropping into a deliberate growl, carrying what remained of his authority despite his drained spirit-core. “Just like in the lower pens. Right now.”He gripped Drogo’s broad snou

Eryx and Lira stood alone amid the wreckage of the Hundred Wings. The basin was covered with the remains of high-house war drakes and shattered vanguard galleys. Iron breastplates lay split across the white soil, and torn reins moved in the damp wind. The bodies were still warm, sending thin plumes of grey mist into the freezing morning air.The wind carried ash across their faces, and every gust stirred the wreckage underfoot. Lira shifted her weight carefully, wincing when the cut on her jaw pulled. Her arms felt heavy from the fight, but she kept watching Eryx. She was too tired to run, and too frightened to turn her back on him. Even the distant sounds of retreat had done little to ease the fear pressing against her ribs.Far above the cloud line, the wild, unbonded dragons that had bowed their heads turned and vanished into the mist, their wings beating in a silent, eerie rhythm.Drogo kept moving.The shadow dragon passed from one fallen war drake to the next with slow, heavy st