Page 4 of Ash and Burn

"Seventeen new cases this week," Calix muttered, his hand automatically running through his black hair—a gesture that had become as involuntary as breathing since Ash Fever had invaded his realm. "Seventeen dragons who can't shift properly, can't regulate their internal fire, can't⁠—"

"The healers are working around the clock," Ryx interrupted, his face creased with concern as he matched Calix's aggressive pace. "Dorn's team hasn't slept properly in months. They're trying everything."

Calix's dragon stirred restlessly beneath his skin, responding to the frustration that threatened to ignite his carefully maintained control. His green eyes flashed with inner fire as he turned toward his commander. "Trying everything and accomplishing nothing. Four months, Ryx. Four months since the first case, and we're no closer to understanding this disease than we were when it started."

The memory of Kael's funeral pyre flashed through his mind—a young warrior, barely twenty-three, who'd died screaming as his fire glands burned him from the inside out. The image had carved itself into Calix's consciousness alongside every other loss he'd failed to prevent.

"There was some positive news in the meeting," Ryx offered carefully, his deep blue eyes studying Calix's profile.

"You mean Cevryn's quarantine measures?" Calix's voice carried the sharp edge of barely leashed fury. "The mandates to limit gatherings, restrict movement between districts, essentially transform Ashvorn into a prison? Those brilliant solutions that go against everything our territory stands for?"

They passed through the Commons, where evening merchants were closing their stalls and families hurried home with the quick, nervous movements of people living under siege. Children who should have been playing in the thermal pools stayed close to their parents, and the usual evening laughter that once echoed through the streets had been replaced by hushed conversations and worried glances.

"Community and unity," Calix continued, his jaw tightening as he watched an elderly dragon shifter cough into his sleeve—the sound making every nearby person freeze with terror. "That's what makes Ashvorn strong. And Cevryn wants to tear that apart in the name of containment."

Ryx was quiet for several steps, his scarred hands clasped behind his back. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I might have reached out to someone about our situation. Someone who helped me years back with... my mate issues."

Calix stopped walking so abruptly that a passing merchant nearly collided with his broad shoulders. His green eyes fixed on Ryx with laser intensity. "Gerri Wilder?"

"You know her methods⁠—"

"What can a paranormal matchmaker possibly do about an impossible medical crisis?" Calix's voice carried the exhaustion of a man who'd explored every option and watched his people die anyway. "This isn't about finding love, Ryx. This is about saving lives."

"Gerri has connections across multiple worlds. Resources we don't have access to." Ryx's tone remained steady despite the skepticism radiating from his king. "I told her if she heard of anyone who could help, to reach out to you."

Calix resumed walking, his stride eating up the distance toward Ashspire, his estate, with renewed aggression. "Well, she hasn't yet. So even the universe's most successful matchmaker is at a loss."

They continued through the Hearthring district, where the medical facilities glowed with constant activity. Healers moved between buildings with the grim efficiency of battlefield medics, their faces drawn with fatigue and growing desperation. The Academy of Flame stood mostly empty—parents too afraid to send their children for training when the cause of Ash Fever was still unknown.

The sight of it all—his territory transformed into a place of fear instead of the thriving community he'd spent fifteen years building—sent another wave of rage through Calix's system. His dragon pressed forward, demanding action, demanding he do something to fix this catastrophe that threatened everything he'd sworn to protect.

As they crested the hill leading toward Ashspire, the massive Caldran dominated the horizon like a sleeping giant. The ancient volcano's presence had defined Ashvorn for millennia, its geothermal energy powering their cities and providing the thermal currents that made dragon flight effortless. Tonight, its dark silhouette against the twin moons felt less like protection and more like a reminder of forces beyond his control.

Eleven generations of Silvanus kings had ruled from the shadow of that volcano. Eleven generations had kept Ashvorn safe, prosperous, and united. And now, on his watch, an invisible enemy was destroying everything his bloodline had built.

"I'll run the usual border patrol," Ryx said as they reached the point where their paths diverged. His face showed the strain of watching his closest friend carry the weight of an entire territory's survival. "Check in tomorrow morning?"

Calix nodded curtly, already turning toward the pyrestone gates of his estate. The mile-long walk from Ashvorn's center to Ashspire had become his daily ritual—time to think, to process, to remember why failure wasn't an option. Tonight, it had felt more like a march toward judgment.

Ashspire rose before him in elegant defiance of the chaos consuming his territory. Built from the same dark volcanic stone as the rest of Ashvorn, the estate absorbed and radiated heat in a way that made it feel alive. Even from the courtyard, he could see the Undying Flame burning steadily on the Vael Terrace—that sacred fire that had blazed without interruption for eleven generations, the symbol of everything he'd vowed to protect.

The front door's heavy lock soon yielded to his key with a solid click that echoed through the grand foyer as he opened the door and stepped inside. Marble floors stretched away into shadows, and the vaulted ceilings that had once felt majestic now seemed to emphasize how thoroughly alone he was. Fifteen years of solitude had taught him to stop noticing the emptiness, but tonight it pressed against him like a physical weight.

Sarah's betrayal had ended his last attempt at companionship—finding her in another man's arms days before he'd planned to offer his mate mark. The council had been pressuring him to find a partner ever since, citing the need for stability and succession. But Calix had learned that trusting the wrong person hurt, and trusting the right person offered no guarantees.

The Ash Fever outbreak had given him the perfect excuse to ignore their matrimonial suggestions. He didn't have time for political pairings or careful courtship rituals. He had a territory to save, and every day that passed without answers meant more funerals, more families destroyed, more evidence that he was failing at the one thing that mattered most.

Protection.

The word that had defined his entire reign, carved into his soul by losses that had taught him control was the only reliable defense against chaos.

But Ash Fever couldn't be controlled. It couldn't be anticipated or managed or contained by sheer force of will. It simply consumed, indifferent to his authority or his desperation.

Standing in his empty foyer, surrounded by the weight of eleven generations of successful leadership, Calix felt the terrible truth settling in his chest like molten stone. Sometimes being king meant watching your people die and being powerless to stop it.

The Undying Flame flickered in the distance, and for the first time in fifteen years of rule, Calix wondered if he was strong enough to keep it burning.

The marble steps of the grand staircase stretched ahead of Calix, each footfall echoing through the vaulted space of Ashspire. His hand trailed along the pyrestone banister—warm to the touch from the estate's natural heating—as exhaustion settled into his bones like lead. The weight of another failed council meeting, another day without answers, pressed against his shoulders with familiar cruelty.