Dark orange scales, eyes like molten gold—burning, too bright to look away from.
It looks beautiful,furious. Ready to strike again.
I was already heading to the dragons. Already marked to die. But lying here, with this thing breathing over me, I finally understand—I’mnotready.
It inhales.
Fuck. This is it.
THUMP.
Another impact, close, the ground shaking. I flinch, turning my head left as a second dragon lands, blue-scaled, its wings spread wide, silhouetted against the rising sun.
Someone slides down its back—effortless, fluid—and hits the ground running.
I know that stride. That posture. A hard hitch snaps through my ribs and I shuffle back harder, bound feet struggling against the dirt, trying to put space between us, but it's useless; there’s nowhere to go.
Lucien steps forward, hovering over me. His eyes flick from my face to the torn fabric, the bruises, the dirt.
Behind him the orange dragon growls again—loud, deep. Another inhale. Ready to strike.
Lucien spins. “Don’t you fucking dare touch her,Calyxar.” He orders, turning to face the dragon head-on. “Here—okay, here.Look.”
He fumbles and pulls something from his pocket—a familiar gold coin catching the light. He holds it up toward the dragon.But its eyes are still fixed on me. Narrowed. Hungry. Breath rising hot behind clenched teeth.
“Fuck, I swear this is getting harder,” Lucien mutters, shaking his head, then louder, sharper. “Come on, Goldie, Look.Here.”
Beside me, the blue dragon lets out a growl of its own—rough and warning. Calyxar’s head snaps toward the sound before finally dropping its gaze to the circular gold object in Lucien’s hand.
A beat of silence.
Then his chest rises—slow, deep—and something shifts in the air. Not wind, not sound. Just pressure, Threads.
The orange dragon's wings draw in, tight to its back. For one beat, everything around it shifts, shadows stretch, sound thins.
Magic prickles under my skin, everything in me pulls tight.
I don’t see it clearly. Can’t. The shape folds in on itself, collapsing down fast, like the space around it just gives out.
One blink and the dragon is gone. But in its place—something else stands.
I don’t move, can’t breathe. Stillness stretches, my brain won’t catch up, refuses to.
It’s not possible.
Itshouldn’tbe.
But when he lifts his head—when those eyes meet mine, dark hazel, rimmed in gold—my voice barely makes it out.
“...Talen?”
To be continued...
