Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 222

Thornhill Academy

We Hold the Sky

Evander

17

28

We wait at a distance. Not that it matters. Distance has never meant safety from a dragon. From the ridge line, from the air above the trees, from the shadowed rise where my parents and the other dragon leaders stand with me, we can see everything. Even in the dark. Especially in the dark. Our sight cuts through smoke and shadow alike, honing in on movement, heat, and intent. Below us, the Council’s soldiers move toward the trees. They don’t creep. They stride confidently and armed. They are ready with their weapons, but they have already convinced themselves of victory. They walk like men who think the forest is empty, like nothing is going to reach out of the dark and tear them apart. I exhale slowly and watch as the hellhounds strike. The forest erupts beneath them, bodies dropping from branches and shadows in a blur of teeth and claws. Soldiers scream, formation shattering instantly as panic spreads through their ranks. I feel the shift ripple through the field, the exact moment control is lost. Then we take to the skies. From here, we can see shadows moving where they shouldn’t. Darkness thickens, bends and closes. Escape routes vanish, and soldiers slam into invisible barriers, dragged under by hands they never see. The battlefield tightens, compressing inward like a fist closing around a throat. I spread my wings further as I join my people in the sky, heat building beneath my scales and fire coiling tight in my chest. We could burn the entire clearing to ash, but we don’t. This isn’t a slaughter for us. This is the protection of our people, a necessary battle. I scan the field, separating friend from foe, mapping movement with instinct honed over years. Hellhounds move fast and low, demons slip between shadows, spellcasters cluster near the centre. Other magicals scatter throughout. With my targets identified, I dive.

The first soldier never looks up. My claws close around his armour, crushing metal and bone alike as I yank him off the ground. He screams as I carry him skyward, terror ripping from his throat as the earth drops away beneath him. I release him at the apex, but he doesn’t fall far. I incinerate him midair, flame ripping through flesh and armour in a heartbeat, leaving nothing but ash drifting back toward the forest floor. I bank hard and dive again. Below me, a group of soldiers is trying to regroup, backs pressed together, weapons raised toward the trees. No hellhounds among them. No demons nearby. None of our people. Clear. I open my jaws and unleash a controlled burst of fire. It doesn’t spread far, and it doesn’t linger. It just consumes the enemy in my path. When the flames die, there is nothing left standing. I pull up sharply, wings beating hard as I climb, heat still thrumming through my veins. Around me, dragons execute the same precision strikes-diving, lifting, burning, retreating. There’s no wasted movement and no collateral damage. This is what discipline looks like in the air. A flash of movement catches my eye near the tree line. That’s too close. I drop lower, wings folding as I descend fast. I touch down hard at the edge of the forest, shifting mid-stride, bones snapping and reforming as my feet hit the ground.

“Move,” I snap to the rebels nearby, gesturing sharply. “Clear out. Now.”

They don’t question it. They scatter immediately, dragging wounded with them, disappearing deeper into cover. I turn back toward the soldiers advancing into the space they just vacated. They see me then. A dragon shifter standing calmly in their path, fire flickering faintly beneath my skin. One of them raises his weapon, but I don’t give him time. Flame erupts from my hands, controlled and focused, engulfing the group in front of me in a wave of heat that drops them where they stand. I don’t wait to see the aftermath. I shift again and launch back into the sky. Above me, the battlefield is collapsing. Council command is gone. Spellcasters are falling. Soldiers are breaking ranks, running straight into shadows or trying desperately to flee through paths that no longer exist. I feel Allison through the bond, steady and focused, and I see Cassian anchored beside her exactly as promised. Relief settles into my chest, quiet but powerful. She’s safe.

That’s all that matters.

I circle wide, then dive again, grabbing two soldiers at once, one in each claw. They thrash uselessly, screams tearing loose as I carry them upward. I release them together and fire blooms before ash falls like snow. A horn sounds below, a retreat, belated and meaningless. There is nowhere left to go. Dragons rake the perimeter, demons seal gaps as fast as they appear, hellhounds tear through the last organised resistance. This isn’t about how much blood we can shed; it’s about how much we can save. I bank sharply as another dragon passes close, her fire narrowly missing my wing as she incinerates a cluster of fleeing soldiers. Our movements are seamless, practised, a dance learned

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