I pause and see Sarak looking at me intently.I know I need to keep going, to tell this truth.
“Veyra laughed. ‘Why should we bleed for tree-rats?’ Lirael answered by cutting her own palm and letting her blood fall into the Heartforge. ‘Because together we are unstoppable. Apart, we are ash.’”
Sarak’s eyes widen. “The Blood-Oath.”
I nod. “The first. Dragon blood and elf-song forged the Emberflame—a weapon that turned the war, united us. For a thousand years, we were partners. Dragon riders bore elf mages into battle. Cities rose where none had stood—sky-bridges of living vine and stone, forges that burned with eternal flame. My people learned to shift into light-forms. Yours learned to walk the dream-ways. We wereonepeople, bound by blood and choice.”
I trace a rune on the column—two interlocked circles, flame and leaf.
“But peace breeds complacency,” I continue. “When the enemies were gone, the old grudges returned. Dragons hoarded knowledge and elves hoarded land. The Pact frayed. Then came the Betrayal of the Crimson Moon.”
Sarak’s jaw tightens. “I know this part all too well.”
“Do you knowwhyit happened?” I challenge. “The elf High Council feared dragonkind would turn the Emberflame on them. They struck first—lured the Emberfall clan to a parley under false truce, bound them with blood-chains, and drained them to fuel a spell that would sever the Pact forever. Your mother was the last to fall. She broke free long enough to burn the Council’s archive—and the spell with it. But the damage wasdone. Dragons retreated to the high peaks. Elves sealed their borders. The Emberflame was lost, and with it, ten thousand years of trust.”
I meet his gaze. “Revaster was a scribe in that archive. He survived the fire, stole the Emberflame’s echo, and twisted it into the fire stone. He didn’t just curse my village—he cursed thePact itself. Every drop of dragon blood he’s spilled, every elf life he’s taken, is revenge for a betrayal neither of us committed.”
Sarak’s hands tremble with emotion.
I cup my Daddy’s face. “I’m not asking you to forgive ten thousand years of pain. I’m asking you tochoosesomething new. With me. The curse needs a willing bond—dragon and elf, fire and song. Not duty. Not guilt. Love.”
His breath hitches. For a heartbeat he’s motionless; then his arms crush me to his chest, wings folding around us like a cocoon. I feel his heart thunder against mine.
“Little elf,” he rasps. “You see me.”
I laugh into his neck. “Good. Now help me undo a curse.”
He pulls back, eyes fierce. “Together.”
We move to the Heartforge. The crater glows faintly—residual dragon-flame, banked but alive. Sarak lays the stone halves in the center. They fit together with a soft click, crimson veins pulsing like arteries. I strip to the waist; he does the same. Runes carved into the stone light at our approach—recognition, welcome.
“Blood and song,” Sarak murmurs. “Willingly given.”
He slices his palm; I do the same. Our blood drips onto the stone—ruby and silver mingling, hissing where they touch. The runes flare. I begin the elven binding song my mother taught me, voice weaving through the air like green fire.
Sarak joins in dragonkind counterpoint, low and rumbling, the sound of mountains shifting. The forge answers—flame erupts, gold and emerald twining, licking up our joined hands without burning.
The stone screams. Cracks spiderweb; light pours out. I feel the curse tear free of my family—my sister’s laughter sudden and bright in my mind, my parents’ warmth flooding back. The stone shatters into dust, swept away on a wind that wasn’t there a moment ago.
We sag together, foreheads touching, laughing through tears.
“It’s done,” I whisper. “They’re safe.”
Sarak kisses me—soft, reverent. “Half done.”
The air turns cold. Black smoke boils from the forge, coalescing into Revaster’s towering form—beautiful, terrible, eyes like dying stars.
“Touching,” Revaster sneers. “But bloodlines are stubborn things.”
With a flick of his wrist, a vision pool blooms midair. My village—smoke rising, Revaster’s banners flying, my people on their knees. A captain raises a sword over my father’s neck.
“No,” I choke.
Revaster smiles. “They die at sunset unless you kneel, little thief. Bring me the dragon’s heart, and I spare them.”
Sarak’s roar shakes the ruins. He shifts—full dragon, massive and terrible, wings blotting the sun. I scramble onto his back as he launches skyward, the scrying pool shattering behind us.
“Hold tight,” he bellows.
