Aurelius spoke a command in a language I did not recognize, and the dragon unfurled its expansive wings.
A powerful lurch sent us upward as the dragon beat its massive wings, the air crashing around us in rhythmic thunder. The initial moments were jarring. The sheer force pressed me into the saddle and stole the breath from my lungs.
Don’t scream. Don’t pass out. Don’t fall off the dragon.
Simple rules. Survive.
Rexius was airborne as well. His dragon still looked annoyed, and frightening. Very frightening.
We climbed higher, and I caught a final glimpse of the forest where they had found me. I watched it shrink until it disappeared from view.
It felt less like flying and more like surfing the sky. I sensed every shift in momentum as the dragon dipped to gain speed, cut through clouds, or glided along thermal currents. The sensation was dizzying, a roller coaster rush of force and weightlessness, though some of the dizziness might have been from the blood loss.
The wind howled past my ears, tearing at my thin gown and creating a rushing roar that drowned out everything else. The sharp change in air pressure made my ears pop as we climbed higher. I had always hated that about airplanes. In general, I avoided heights. And yet, here I was, hundreds of feet in the air, soaring through the sky.
I gathered the courage to look down and saw our shadows gliding across the treetops far below. A rush of adrenaline, fear, and wonder crashed over me all at once. Even on the brink of death, I had never felt so alive. I had no idea what would kill me first, the wound on my thigh, riding a dragon, or whatever awaited me in Embris. The terror of plummeting to my death was matched by the majesty of seeing theworld from such a celestial height, the horizon stretching endlessly in every direction. If power like this existed here, I hoped it would never fall into the wrong hands. The thought tightened my stomach into a knot.
Dark shapes rose on the horizon. Mountains—no, volcanoes. Some glowed with slow streams of lava, others smoked quietly, and a few lay dormant. The largest of them, violently alive, was clearly our destination. We began our descent toward an enormous black castle carved directly into the volcano’s side. The Lord of Flame, I remembered Aurelius mentioning. Of course he would live on a volcano.
The castle was a wound in the earth, not something built upon it. Carved from the side of a living volcano, it radiated raw, elemental power. Its jagged spires and angular ramparts were not stone blocks, but the solidified obsidian heart of the mountain itself, shaped and sharpened by forces far beyond human hands. Magic, I decided. Given everything I had seen so far, it had to be magic.
The stone surface, rough and unforgiving in places, gleamed with the sinister polish of volcanic glass. The sky above was perpetually bruised with smoke and ash. Against a crimson tinged horizon, the black castle rose as a silhouette of impossible architecture, a void carved into the sky.
We landed on a wide gravel plateau cut into the volcano’s edge near the main gates. It was a circular runway of sorts, built for dragons rather than airplanes. With help, I dismounted and found myself once again in the arms of the Dragon Master. At
Aurelius’s command, the beasts took flight and vanished into the smoke-filled sky.
Boots echoed against polished basalt floors, each footstep swallowed by the vastness of the hall. Outside, I could still hear the distant roars of dragons and the thunder of their wings overhead.
Shadows clung to the corners like watchful spirits, and amber torches lined the walls, their flames flickering over carvings and tapestries depicting battles against terrifying, winged, bat-like creatures. The interior reminded me of a dark, modern cathedral—a church built not for prayer, but for the worship of fire itself.
Then something caught my attention.
At the far end of the obsidian chamber, centered beneath a shaft of pale moonlight from a high skylight, stood a statue of white marble. It was likely the only object in the entire castle untouched by darkness. I felt myself drawn toward it, the same way I had been pulled toward the lake.
It was a dragon, but unlike the ones I had just seen. Its form was smooth and graceful rather than jagged. Its wings arched outward in a protective curve, claws poised, head lifted in regal defiance. A dagger set with sapphires was clutched in its talons. Its eyes, carved from stone and inlaid with sapphires, seemed to follow my movements, watching me as closely as I watched it.
But the true spectacle lay within the main hall. A massive fissure split the fortress from top to bottom, and through this chasm poured a brilliant cascade of molten lava. It snaked down a series of chiseled channels and spilled into the hall, moving with the mesmerizing, hypnotic grace of a primal force. It was a river of fire flowing through the very heart of the castle, its brilliant light casting shifting shadows across the polished obsidian walls. The air thrummed with a low, continuous rumble, like the heartbeat of a sleeping giant whose fiery blood coursed through sculpted veins of stone.
The throne was forged from blackened steel and volcanic glass, its surface veined with glowing magma that pulsed like blood. Its back arched high, shaped like a pair of dragon wings caught mid-unfurl, each edge etched with ember-bright runes that flickered and shifted as if alive. Flames curled lazily from the armrests, never consuming, but always burning—an eternal reminder of the power it represented. It
was clear that for those who lived here, fire was not merely a tool but a religion, where life and destruction existed in terrifying harmony. I made a mental note to avoid whoever occupied that throne at all costs.
CHAPTER 5
Gleeda
DELILAH
Rexius led the way, with Aurelius and me close behind. Their pace was hurried and purposeful. He turned a corner and carried me down another narrow hallway until we reached a set of round wooden double doors. Rexius gave two courteous knocks before barging in.
Aurelius gently laid me on a frameless bed. In the corner of the room, kneeling on a single pew, was an older woman with pointed ears. She had long white hair, glowing amber eyes, and skin carved with deep lines that spoke of ancient knowledge.
She appeared to be praying to a small figurine on a nearby shelf. It was a miniature version of the great marble statue I had just seen. I recognized the graceful, feminine curve of its wings.
Everything in the room felt old and medieval yet touched by something modern. I supposed there was no need for technology when magic could meet every need.
The healer rose and moved toward us. She flowed like wind through leaves, her robes trailing behind her. Her amber eyes were both kind and unreadable as she studied me.
