Then the light dies. Not dims, not flickers.Dies. Darkness drops over the stall in an instant as something massive shifts overhead.
The pulsing rhythm behind my ribs cuts out in a single brutal beat, replaced by a raw scrape of pain where my fingers grind into the cobblestones. But I don’t loosen my grip. Don’t move. Can’t. Every muscle pulled tight, even my head’s locked, like if I so much as twitch, the thing will notice. Will pounce.
Only my eyes dare shift.
Breath held, slow, controlled, terrified, I glance sideways?—
Smoke coils thick through the square, warping the light, blurring every shape. For a second, I think maybe it’s gone. Maybe it moved on…
Then—breath. Deep, hungry, hot.
Not mine.
A chill licks down my spine, magic sparks, as the air around me shifts—thinning the smoke just enough for a shard of light to skim over a blackened mosaic of interlocking plates easing out of the dark. Each piece shaped like a jagged teardrop, layered so precisely they form seamless, living armour. And between them, fleshy and twitching, lurks a single, pulsing nostril. Steam hisses out in slow, rhythmic breaths, each one warping the air around it. It'swet andhot, reeking of sulphur, ash and somethingmetallic—like blood and iron.
Pressure clamps hard around my chest—I lock my jaw, crush the scream before it breaks loose as the dragon shifts beside me, scales sliding past the warped slats of the stall, until I see it.
Dark and endless, like a void, like ink, like the space between stars.
No light. No reflection. Just a solid, terrifying black sphere.
And it’s looking straight at me.
Tension climbs my spine in a slow, biting crawl. Beneath my skin, Threads draw taut—straining like cords almost stretched to their limit, silent but vibrating, waiting for the snap.
Everything I’ve ever heard, everything they teach in the Outerlands—the paintings, the fables, the bedtime stories—all said dragons had eyes like gemstones. Bright. Alive. Powerful.
But this one’s not gold. Not jade, not sapphire or opal.
This is... empty, hollow,dead.
Sweat drips down my face, rolling into my mouth, dragging with it the taste of ash, salt and terror. I should look away, yetI can’t stop staring. Because it’s beautiful, like a nightmare you can’t look away from, one that demands to be seen.
But then it starts to narrow its gaze, a deep snarl building, teeth appear from under its wall of scales.
Shit,my heart lurches.
The dragon inhales hard. Air rips past me, whipping my red curls forward like it means to pull me in.
The heat builds. The pressure builds.
Unbearable.
No, no, no.
I have to do something. I can't just lie here and wait to burn, wait to die in the Innerlands, while I’m wearing this fuckingwhiteCitadel uniform.
Jaw tight and every muscle pulled taut in one long brace, I dig deep. Threads stir, magic listens—hot, unstable. Dulled from the duck, but they’re still there, still starving for any excuse to break loose.
There’s no way this will work, but still. I let the pressure build, chest rising, sparks flooding down my arms, fingers twitching as a flare snaps loose, raw and volatile, too wild to aim and definitely not enough but fuck it, here goes nothing.
I roll?—
A shout tears across the square. Loud, male, close. The dragon jerks toward the sound, head snapping, nostrils flaring.
I freeze, the magic inside me grinding to a shaky halt. But it doesn’t last long—quickly, it starts to claw upward, wanting to finish what it started. I press it down hard, breath tightening in my chest before it bursts out and draws the dragon’s gaze back to me.
For a second, it pauses there. Black eyes slashed sideways towards the sound, narrowed to slits, teeth still bared like it’s mid-snarl.
