Around the square, witches were frantically weaving ward circles to protect fleeing civilians. Their combined magic created a latticework of light that should have been chaotic—dozens of different bloodlines and techniques clashing—but somehow it held.
Because Serenya was there, moving through their ranks like a born warrior.
Through their mate bond, Vaelrik felt her resolve crystallize into something beautiful and terrifying. Her lumen sigils blazed along her forearms as she darted toward a collapsing section of the ward perimeter, her magic flowing outward to reinforce the failing defenses.
But it was more than that. The light she carried now—touched by his claiming of her and transformed by the half-brand burning over her heart—confused the shadow creatures. They recoiled from her presence as if she’d become something they couldn’t categorize or counter.
She raised her hand toward him, and he felt their connection snap firmly into place like a key turning in a lock. Her lumen sigils flared, creating geometric pathways of pure light and heat that guided his shadowfire with surgical precision. He angled his flame through the corridors she carved, watching his violet-edged fire seek and destroy with an accuracy that should have been impossible in this chaos.
“Move the children first!” Serenya’s voice rang out clear and commanding as she directed the evacuation. “Elders next, then anyone who can’t run!”
Vaelrik swept his wings wide, creating a barrier of bone and scale between the civilians and the aerial assault. Shadow creatures slammed into his wing membrane with impacts that would have shattered lesser dragons, but his obsidian scalesheld. More importantly, they gave Serenya the cover she needed to work below.
She was magnificent—fearless in a way that made his dragon sing with pride and possession. Her magic flowed around him like silk, anchoring his every movement, guiding his fire away from the innocent and toward the corrupt. They fought as one powerful unit, perfect synchronicity born from trust so complete it felt like breathing.
There,Kyr’s voice cut through his thoughts.Northeast corner. Something’s coordinating them.
Vaelrik’s massive head turned, and he saw him—the Shadowbinder, standing impossibly calm at the edge of the rift he’d torn in reality. His pale eyes met his across the battlefield, and the warlock’s mouth curved in what might have been approval.
This wasn’t random destruction. This was an initiation.
The rage that consumed Vaelrik was white-hot—an ancient, territorial fury that made his dragon’s instincts scream for blood. Every fiber of him demanded he abandon the chaos around him and tear the warlock apart with claws and shadowfire. The bastard had used them, turned their mate bond into a weapon for his twisted agenda.
But the collapsing balcony above a cluster of terrified civilians made the choice for him.
Vaelrik’s massive wings folded as he dove beneath the falling stone, his obsidian-scaled back catching the full weight of carved basalt and twisted iron. Pain lanced through his spine but he held—muscles straining, claws digging trenches in the square’s fractured stone—until the last civilian stumbled clear.
Around them, the battle raged with sickening intensity. Kyr and the other Obsidian dragons wheeled overhead, their red-gold dragonfire meeting shadow creatures in bursts of steam and ash. But Vaelrik could see what his second-in-commandcouldn’t yet—their elemental fire wasn’t enough. The corruption magic twisted around traditional flames like water, reforming moments after each blast.
Only his shadowfire—tainted by the same darkness that created these creatures—could truly destroy them.
Witches screamed incantations from defensive circles carved hastily into broken stone. Their combined wards flickered like dying candles against the relentless assault. Children fled in the arms of guards, their cries sharp above the thunder of wings and the wet whistle of shadow creatures moving through air.
Then Serenya slammed her palm against the ground, and everything changed.
The lumen sigil that erupted beneath her hands was unlike anything Vaelrik had ever seen—not the precise, calculated runes she’d carved before, but something wild and incandescent. White-gold fire roared upward in a perfect dome, and the shadow creatures recoiled as if they’d been slapped by divine wrath.
How is that possible?His dragon mind reeled.
Her magic had evolved since his claiming yesterday, grown stronger and more primal. She wasn’t just channeling light anymore—she was commanding it.
His.
But that possessive thought shattered when he noticed the pattern in the chaos below. The shadow creatures weren’t spreading randomly through Cinderhollow’s square—they were funneling. Moving with purpose. Driving the fleeing crowds in a specific direction.
Toward the Citadel. Toward the Council chambers where the elders went to cower behind their political shields.
This isn’t chaos. It’s domination.
The Shadowbinder didn’t want to destroy the Ashen Realms—he wanted to rule them. To tear down the Council’s power andrebuild reality with himself as puppet master, using Vaelrik’s curse and Serenya’s evolved magic as the foundation for some nightmare kingdom where the Shadow Sovereign reigned supreme.
And Serect—the fool—had no idea what he’d unleashed.
That moment of distraction cost him.
The shadow creature that slammed into his flank wasn’t like the others. It had form, mass, presence—a twisted mockery of a dragon wreathed in corruption magic that made his curse sing with dark recognition. Claws raked across his ribs, and the Gloamrot soaking its form pressed against his mind like a seductive whisper.
Let go,the Shadowbinder’s voice slithered through his thoughts, invasive as poison.Stop fighting what you are. Let the curse rule. Let your shadowfire devour everything. Join me, and together we’ll remake this realm.
