Then, without looking back again, he urged Ghost into a brisk trot. The city receded behind him, and the mountains beckoned.
Finnian Brightmoor was no longer the frightened boy who cowered in the embers of a ruined ballroom. He was a knight blessed by Kavros’s flame, a warrior armed with the deadliest sword the realm offered. A man with nothing left to fear—except failure.
And he did not intend to fail.
Chapter Three
Cedric had always loved the thrill of flying—perhaps the only part of this cursed form he did not resent. The wind curled beneath his wings, lifting him higher.
As he banked low over the rolling treetops, the world below blurred into a vast expanse of green, the morning light setting the leaves aglow. No walls, no expectations—just open sky and the rush of crisp air in his lungs. Here, above it all, he felt almost…alive. Or, at least, more alive than he ever did with his feet on the ground.
Back when he’d prayed to Aurenis, he used to imagine the god of the sky welcoming him into the endless blue. But that was before the transformation. Before he realized how hollow his old faith felt now that his wings were real and his prayers unanswered.
These days, he sent a silent word of thanks—or maybe defiance—to Thalos, the god of change and chaos, whose dominion seemed to resonate with the unpredictability of a man who occasionally became a massive gold-scaled dragon.
He adjusted his wings, mindful of the precious cargo clutched in his foreclaw: a small basket half-filled with freshly gathered strawberries.
Hunting for game had been the plan, but the sweet scent of ripened berries had lured him. They’d always been one of his favorites. It had taken exquisite control to pluck the fruit without crushing them under his talons. Another day’s small victory, he thought wryly.
Ahead, the canopy thinned just enough to reveal a lookout tower rising from the forest. Its top poked above the tall pines, marking the old outpost that he and Gwenna called home. Morning mist still clung to the mountains beyond, like pale veils draped across the peaks.
The outpost had once been a military station, but an avalanche sealed off the valley years ago, cutting it off from supply routes. Cedric found solace in its half-wild, half-domesticated sprawl—a place where a monster like him might hide from prying eyes.
He backwinged to slow his descent, slipping through the gap in the branches. Landing jarred him, but he took pride in how deftly he managed it these days. Only a few paces away, a brown and white goat bleated in greeting. Clarence, Cedric thought with an inward sigh. Sent by Thalos to keep me humble.
It took mere heartbeats for the nimble goat to thrust its muzzle into the basket and steal a strawberry. Cedric snorted a hot breath in protest, but Clarence bounded off, berry juice staining his white muzzle in triumph. One day, that goat would push his luck too far. Cedric gave a half-hearted thought to letting the forest predators solve his Clarence problem, but of course, none dared lurk with a dragon nearby. Besides, the goat was a terror, but he and Gwenna had grown oddly fond of the beast. Despite himself, Cedric felt a faint tug of amusement.
Hobbling forward on three legs, he kept the basket clutched tight in his free claw. His heightened dragon senses prickled with each step—he could hear Gwenna’s footsteps, the gentle clucking of the hens in their coop, the rush of a nearby stream winding through thick undergrowth. When he turned the corner around the outpost’s storage shed, Gwenna was there, chestnut hair catching the morning sun.
“Strawberries again?” she teased, peering into his basket. “You said you were going hunting.”
He released a low huff and gave a roll of his golden eyes, pointedly glancing at the half-full basket. If only he could say, It’s not as easy as it sounds. But he was trapped in silence—a monstrous shape with no ability to speak, not unless he shifted back to his human form, which wasn’t possible until the sun vanished beyond the horizon.
Gwenna grinned as if she understood his unspoken complaint. “Yes, yes, I know—picking berries with talons is probably more challenging than actual hunting. I’ll stop teasing.” She gave his scaled shoulder a friendly bump of her fist.
Even after ten years, Cedric marveled at her casual closeness. She never looked afraid. She never hesitated to touch him, as if he were still her older brother in human form. Sometimes he could almost believe he was.
A sudden bleat from the bushes drew their attention. Clarence materialized for a second raid on the berries. Gwenna hissed in exasperation. “Clarence! You menace!” She rescued the basket just in time, though the goat managed to steal another berry. He trotted off, tail wagging in smug victory.
“You’re lucky we don’t roast you over a spit,” Gwenna muttered after him, only half-joking. Cedric rumbled deep in his chest, echoing the sentiment. With a wry shake of her head, Gwenna turned back to him. “How about I make some breakfast? I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”
Cedric nodded, watching as she turned with her dual burden of strawberries and eggs, striding into the area of the outpost that served as living quarters and kitchen. After all these years, he should be used to the barriers in his life, but they still stung. Ten years since he had fled the only home he’d ever known, clad in the unfamiliar scales of a dragon. Ten long years since he’d slain his own parents and lost everything in his world.
Everything except Gwenna.
He shook off the ache that threatened to sink its claws into him and ambled toward the enclosure where they tried to keep the goats corralled. Tried being the operative word. The fence had clearly been tested overnight—bent boards, gaps where curious muzzles might have pushed through.
Clarence, the head troublemaker, stood proudly on a small rock, as though daring Cedric to fix the boundary. He eyed the dragon’s approach with a haughty bleat—just loud enough to be irritating, but not quite the full-throated shriek Cedric had learned to recognize as actual warning. For all his faults, the beast had good instincts.
Cedric rumbled, lowering his head until their gazes were nearly level. He wished he could snarl an ultimatum: Steal one more thing, and it’s a spit for you. But the goat merely flicked an ear, unimpressed by the beast towering over him.
A resigned sigh of hot breath escaped Cedric’s throat. He scanned the fence, making mental notes of what needed repairing. Yes, in his human form he’d be able to patch it up—maybe with a bit more wood from that fallen oak near the eastern wall. The knowledge that he could fix it gave him a glimmer of satisfaction. He still had use, even in this cursed life.
“Being bested by goats again?” Gwenna called, hands on her hips as Cedric slunk away from goat pen.
Cedric lashed his tail once, partly in annoyance at the goat, partly in embarrassment. After a final, warning glare at the shaggy menace, he lumbered toward his sister. Gwenna laughed, clearly not impressed by his draconic scowl, either.
She jerked her thumb toward the old stables. “I’ve got breakfast ready, if you’re hungry.”
