In any other circumstance, the possibility of losing something the size of a Dragon would be laughable. Not here. Also: Spike was considerate enough to create a riding space that wasn’t hard, spiky, or scaly.

Look ahead, Chosen. You might be able to see what we are following; it is a very, very fine thread.

Kaylin nodded. She did try, but she couldn’t see what Spike could see. Neither, apparently, could Terrano—but he was more annoyed at the inability. They both climbed up Spike’s back.

“Hope?”

Don’t be ridiculous, her familiar said. He glanced at Spike, shrugged, and transformed, from an almost Aerian-like being to a much more Draconic one. I am perfectly capable of following Spike’s trail without the need to encumber them.

Kaylin nodded. “Hold on tight,” she told Terrano.

Spike began to move.

28

Holding on to Spike was more work than ideal. If he’d offered to carry them, he clearly wasn’t accustomed to passengers—or to keeping them neatly on his back while he was tearing up the fog that passed for ground in the outlands. Kaylin regretted not asking for Hope’s help, because she was certain he wouldn’t let her fall.

She was distracted by a distant building—an oddly shaped blur that seemed faintly familiar. It had no tower, and what appeared to be walls or roof were uneven in composition. It was the only feature in the otherwise gray, foggy landscape, and it appeared to be Spike’s destination.

As they approached, she revised her opinion. It wasn’t a building. It was a large—a giant—word, in shape and form similar to the marks on Kaylin’s arms. Long before Spike slowed to a stop, she could see the curve of line, the placement of the dots and strokes that implied meaning. Something—besides its existence and its height—felt off about it.

She slid off Spike’s back. Terrano did the same, but he hovered above the fog that obscured the ground. Kaylin, sadly, didn’t. Beneath her feet she could feel something with the give and consistency of flesh. It didn’t collapse beneath her weight, which was all she could really ask of ground—but she wished she could walk above it the way Terrano was.

Spike raised his head. His neck, extended, was longer than Hope’s in his full Draconic form. Here, Lord Kaylin.

Kaylin nodded. She reached out to touch what she assumed was a terminating stroke; it was cold and hard beneath her palm, and it had the consistency of rough stone. “Hope, do you have any idea what the word means?”

It does not, as you suspect, have innate meaning. It is not a True Word. It is not a name.

“I’m pretty sure it’s why Azoria isn’t technically dead.”

Terrano, never one to be unnecessarily cautious—or cautious at all—approached the area beyond this long stone line, where the mass of the characteristics that defined the marks Kaylin bore were gathered. “Hey—come here. Over here.”