A primitive dwelling—nothing but a hollow in the rock wall, half-covered with woven grass and dried hide. The floor was packed dirt, scattered with bones. Smoke coiled sluggishly under the low ceiling, staining everything it touched.
Inside, a woman mounted a man. Their bodies crashed together in mindless cadence, hips driving, nails raking skin. Their faces were wild, teeth bared and eyes shut, movements violent with desperation.
Rynna watched.
The firelight flickered, and the world split again.
She screamed.
New lungs. New skin.
Blood soaked her, sticky and hot. The air stung. Voices blurred into meaningless sound.
And a tiny hand floated into view—her own—fingers grasping.
She screamed with small lungs. The ache hadn’t vanished when she shed her scales, only burrowed further within her. Another cry built within her. It chewed its way up her spine, pressing against her skull like it would crack her open.
The figures around her blurred at the edges, silent as ghosts, until one stepped close and crushed her voice beneath a calloused palm.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a foreboding wash of crimson on the distant horizon. Rynna jerked upright on the horse’s back, thighs aching from the long ride. Below, the river wound like a serpent, its surface reflecting the blood-colored light as it flowed through the valley.
“Pleasant dreams?”
Kaelric rode beside her, his frame towering in the saddle, broad shoulders wrapped in worn leather that creaked with each movement. The sun caught in his beard, painting it with copper.
“Fuck off, tiny.” Rynna didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to.
She had zero intention of sharing anything about the recurring nightmare that had plagued her for as long as she could remember.
He huffed a laugh. “Someone’s in a mood.”
At the top of the rise, she eased Empty Night to a stop.
Below them, the town spilled out over the valley. Sun-bleached stone crumbled around small clay structures, laundry lines stretching between rooftops. Everything was still and stupidly vulnerable.
An easy target.
Her four companions fell silent. Their eyes swept the landscape with practiced focus, noting the townsfolk laboring in the fields, the laughable earthen walls circling the square, and the glaring lack of guards along the perimeter. A boy chased a dog through an alley, his laughter echoing faintly up the hill. He had no idea his world was about to end.
Kaelric scoffed. “Hardly worth the time.”
This place had grown complacent. The homes were huddled too close together, livestock penned without caution. Chimneys puffed lazy plumes of smoke into the darkening sky.
“This so-called Queen doesn’t give a damn about her people.” Vorian’s voice rasped from the damaged windpipe he’d earned before his first death. Then, without warning,he struck his chest with the heel of his hand, the hilt of his broadsword thudding against bone. “A good day! None shall live by the time the sun slips behind the hills!”
Daziel and Kaelric took up the cry, striking their shoulders with clenched fists, the motion sharp with ritual fire.
She rolled her eyes.
Men. Forever announcing their wrath to the world, like battle-stallions scenting a mare in heat, desperate for recognition.
“For blood and riches!” they bellowed, as if the wind, the trees, and the very soil hadn’t heard the same chant a hundred times over.
“Let’s just get on with it.” One corner of her mouth pulled up. “I’m bored.”
Malekar spoke then. “We agreed to leave one alive.”
The reminder snapped through the gathering like a whip, and silence followed.
