KIERYGAN'S POV
For fifteen years, I have lived in hiding. Among those branded as rogues, among the broken, forgotten by the world.
For fifteen years, I’ve buried the truth of who I am. Of what I am.
I am a Dragon. The last of my kind.
It was a night like this when my entire family was slaughtered. It was a night of celebration. My father, King Aleron, had just marked his five-hundredth year on the throne of the Dragon Kingdom.
I wasn’t there to celebrate with them. And I wasn’t there to defend them.
I was a fool.
I thought I had better things to do than sip wine and trade empty pleasantries with preening nobles. Why waste a night dancing beneath chandeliers when I could waltz above the fire?
Chase danger. Court the wild.
So my friends and I had snuck away to the mouth of Mount Kyros, a dormant volcano said to sing in the wind. I’d bragged that nothing could burn a dragon. Not lava. Not flame. That I could dance on molten rock and come away unscathed.
I was proving a point.
While we laughed like fools in the heat, Alpha King Malric Thaurak of the Werewolf Realm descended on our kingdom with steel, silver, and witchcraft.
When we returned, there was only ash. The people I’d boasted about just hours ago, said to be indestructible and immune to flame, were now nothing but bone and cinder. My kin, reduced to dust.
Whatever weapon Malric had, it was strong enough to kill dragons. Strong enough to destroy us.
With the help of those who survived Malric’s attack, I vanished to the one place no sane soul would follow: Misty Valley. A place drowned in fog, choked by ancient woods, and haunted by stories no one dares retell aloud.
It lies just beyond the borders of Val’Thirael. They say fae once ruled there, until a plague devoured them all. Now the land is cursed, tainted, and abandoned. Few dare approach, afraid the sickness still sleeps beneath the soil.
That’s why Misty Valley is perfect. No one comes looking for the dead.
But now, I’m back.
After fifteen years of waiting, of fear and fury and cold-blooded planning, I have returned to collect what is owed.
For more than a decade, I’ve heard the stories. King Malric burning realm after realm with searing fire and blinding light, his mistress Morwenna always at his side.
But rumors spoke of a witch, one even more powerful than Morwenna, living in the tower under Malric's protection. The true source of their unnatural strength.
But in recent years, he’s gone silent. The burning, the conquering, the endless cycle has stopped. Perhaps he’s grown complacent, believing no one left can challenge him.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
Tonight, they all pay: Malric, Morwenna, their cursed witch, and every soul who stood with them.
I hover above King Malric’s castle, wings stretched wide in silence.
The celebration is in full swing. Gowns glittering, laughter echoing into the cold winter night, the air thick with the scent of meat and spiced wine.
From the darkness above, I watched.
Against the moonless sky, I am invisible. My mirrored scales shimmer, blending me into the night—no, erasing me from it.
Up here, I am cloud. I am air. I am reflection.
They won’t see me coming. They won’t get the chance.
Surrounding the castle are my allies: rebels, outcasts, witches, werewolves, and vampires. Every one of them was owed blood. They were all just waiting for my signal.
And then, I breathed.
Flames erupted from my throat, falling like judgment. A river of gold and fury, it scorched the towers, devoured the feast hall, and screamed through the corridors before they could even ring the bells. Stone cracked and roared beneath the heat.
The rebellion surged behind me.
My allies, in their war-forms, slammed into the iron gates. Witches hurled fire from their palms. The scent of blood and smoke twisted through the air, mingling with the rising howls of panic. I swept across the courtyard, my breath igniting all it touched, my tail sending guards flying like broken dolls.
As I circled once more, a howl echoed from below. I dove and landed amid the wreckage, shifting into my human form as I hit the ground.
My deputy, Orryx, emerged from the haze. A werewolf who had once served Malric, but after the tyrant slaughtered his mate and son, Orryx had sworn himself entirely to me.
His gray eyes glimmered in the firelight. “They're gone,” he growled. “Malric and his b!tch fled in the chaos. Magic, most likely.”
Rage flared again, hot and sharp. “You’re telling me… not only are they still breathing, they actually got away?”
Orryx winced. “They were faster,” he admitted. “But we’ll find them. Besides… there’s still the tower.”
Right. The witch. The real reason Malric rose and held his grip on power. The one who helped slaughter my family. The witch who helped kingdoms fall.
I stormed through the rubble, Orryx close at my heels. Flames still clung to shattered walls, licking at twisted beams. My soldiers scrambled aside as I approached the tower—a tall, jagged structure of stone as black as sin.
I turned to my deputy, voice low and sharp. “Did you kill it?”
Orryx hesitated, then finally spoke. “Not yet,” he said carefully. “We… weren’t sure what to do. Thought you should do the honors.”
I scoffed. “I gave you a simple order,” I snarled. “When you see it, kill it.”
Orryx just shrugged, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “See for yourself.”
I shoved the door open and stepped into the dark. “I need a torch in here,” I barked.
In an instant, a soldier handed me a flame. I swept it across the pitch-black room, the flickering fire casting twisted shadows that danced along the walls. My boots echoed in the oppressive silence, each step swallowed by the tower’s weight.
This place didn’t feel like a witch’s lair. It felt like a prison.
My hand went for my blade, ready to cut her down. My heart steeled, my teeth clenched. “Show yourself, witch,” I growled, voice low and menacing. “Stop hiding.”
I stepped deeper into the chamber, torch swinging from side to side. Then, at last, a flicker of movement caught my eye, just beyond the torchlight, lurking in the darkest corner.
I pushed the flame into the shadow, eager to finally reveal the face of the elusive witch.
But what I found wasn't a witch.
It's a girl.
Fragile. Filthy. Thin as famine. Her skin was mottled with bruises, her limbs trembling. She curled in on herself, like something caged too long. Then her eyes, impossibly bright and disturbingly amethyst, met mine.
And they held none of the fire or malice I had expected. Only fear.
She flinched as I stepped closer. When I crouched, she raised an arm instinctively, shielding her face, as if she had done it a thousand times before. As if she already knew the pain was coming.
I had waited for this moment for years. I had imagined it in my mind a thousand times, every ounce of suffering I would inflict on Malric, his wh*re, and the witch who enabled them. There was never any doubt. No mercy, no hesitation.
But now, standing on the edge of vengeance... I hesitated. For the first time in fifteen years.
I see no witch. No monster. No nightmare made flesh.
Just a girl.
KIERYGAN'S POV
I yanked the girl’s arm away from her face, expecting resistance. There was none. Just the brittle lightness of her bones and the cold bite of metal pressed into her skin.
My gaze dropped to her wrist.
A band. A bracelet tight against her fragile wrist, forged from a mineral I had never seen before.
The metal was pitch black, but it shimmered with an eerie iridescence. Violet. Blue. Crimson. The colors shifted with every movement, like oil refracting light—only darker, deeper, almost alive in its intensity. A slow, pulsing sheen that seemed to drink the torchlight rather than reflect it.
I leaned in, frowning.
Encircling the band were small, orb-like crystals, perfectly set, as if grown from the metal itself. Each glowed faintly, their hues swirling like trapped storms: ember-red, lava-orange, and the black of scorched stone. Something about them tugged at memory—familiar, yet twisted. Like the remains of dragonfire after it’s been corrupted.
I didn't know what this thing was.
But that isn’t my concern right now.
It’s the girl crumpled before me, and the question that claws at my mind: how could this frail, trembling creature have played a part in erasing my kind from existence?
I gripped her arm, firm but careful. Any tighter, and her bones might snap like twigs. Her skin was ice-cold, but beneath it, I felt it. A pulse. A hum. Faint, but undeniable.
Magic.
Buried deep. Suppressed. But it was there.
I leaned in closer. “What are you?” I asked, my voice low, sharper than steel.
She didn’t answer.
She just trembled, barely breathing, like a leaf caught in a storm that had never passed. Her eyes stayed fixed on her knees, refusing to meet mine.
Frustration twisted in my gut. I reached for her chin, tilting her face up to me. Forcing her to look.
And then... gods.
Her eyes.
So purple they were nearly luminous, twin galaxies dusted with starlight. Beautiful. Terrible. The kind of eyes that had once looked up at the stars and belonged to something ancient.
“I asked you a question,” I said, slow and deliberate, each syllable laced with heat. “What are you? Are you a witch?”
Still, she said nothing.
She only shrank further into the stone, as if hoping the wall might open and consume her whole. Her silence wasn’t defiant, it was hollow. The silence of someone long past breaking.
Orryx stepped forward and took the torch from my hand, raising it higher to cast more light on her face. “Maybe she can’t speak, Kier,” he murmured. “Looks like she’s been in this tower too long. Maybe she never learned how, or maybe she’s forgotten.”
I rose to my full height, eyes scanning her from head to toe. Barefoot. Bruised. Wrapped in what might once have been a dress, now just strips of cloth stained with dried blood and ash. Her hair clung to her face in tangled, matted locks. She looked more like a ghost than a girl. Like something left to rot in the dark, forgotten even by her captors.
Could it be…? Could she be an unwilling participant?
The thought cut sharper than expected. Guilt, sharp and sudden, coiled in my chest.
But still, some stubborn, blood-stained part of me whispered: This could be a trick. A disguise. A spell cast to earn my pity. A snare, timed to strike when my guard drops.
“Stand,” I commanded, my voice cutting through the cold silence.
She didn’t move. She only stared at me, eyes wide, unblinking.
I narrowed my gaze and gestured sharply. “I said, stand.”
Still, no response. Was she deaf too?
With a growl of frustration, I crouched and took her arm—not harshly, but firm enough to demand action. Her skin was clammy and cold, bones sharp beneath the grime. I nudged her upward.
Slowly, shakily, she obeyed.
She pushed herself up with the help of the wall, legs trembling beneath her like a newborn fawn. Every movement looked like it cost her.
I sighed, the sound scraping my throat. “I don’t have all night,” I muttered.
Without warning, I wrapped my arm around her narrow waist and hauled her over my shoulder like a sack of grain. She weighed almost nothing, my sword had more heft. She didn’t even struggle. No screaming. No flailing. Nothing.
That stillness unnerved me more than a fight would have.
“Let’s move,” I barked, and my warriors obeyed, clearing the path ahead as we exited the cursed tower.
And then, at last, she made a sound.
A whisper, fragile as frost, yet somehow it cut straight through me. “Please... don’t take me outside.”
My steps faltered. My grip tightened reflexively around her knees. My jaw clenched.
“So she speaks,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.
I kept walking. The sooner we were out of that cursed tower, the better. But then—I felt it. A small, trembling hand clutching at my elbow.
“It will kill me,” she said, her voice raspy. Like someone who hadn’t spoken in a long time. “The air outside... it will kill me.”
The dread in her voice rooted me mid-step. It was pure, guttural fear. I glanced over my shoulder. Her eyes shimmered with panic.
I hesitated, unsure if what she was saying was true. But something told me she'd been fed that lie, probably to keep her here, to stop her from running.
I shifted her higher on my shoulder and resumed walking. She squirmed, not out of defiance, but of fear.
It lasted only a heartbeat before she went still, as if surrendering to whatever death she believed waited in the wind.
Outside, snow had begun to fall, quiet and cold against the burning ruins behind us. I set her down gently on her feet. She stumbled, knees buckling in the snow. Her hand flew to her throat.
She was holding her breath. Panic filled her face, eyes clenched shut, as though waiting for her lungs to betray her.
Then, she gasped.
The air rushed in cold, sharp, and clean.
Her mouth fell open in shock as the realization hit: she could breathe it. She's still alive.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Who told you such lies?” I asked.
She looked up at me, and once again, those purple eyes, now lit by lantern lights and the burning remains of the castle, caught me off guard.
She hesitated. “Mistress,” she whispered, as if even saying the word might get her punished.
I tossed a coat and a pair of boots in front of her. She flinched when they hit the ground with a soft thud, then just stared at them.
I clicked my tongue. “Do you want to freeze to death, girl?” I snapped. “Put them on.”
She fumbled with the coat, then the boots, lacing them with fingers that moved like she’d never done it before.
With a quiet sigh, I knelt in front of her. “You’ll trip like that,” I muttered, more to the laces than to her, as I tied them myself.
Once she was done, she straightened, tightening the coat around her and taking a few hesitant steps, as if trying to get used to the weight of the boots on her feet. Both were far too big for her.
They were all I could find for now. Still, better than the thin rags she’d been wearing, barely shielding her from the cold.
The sound of approaching footsteps made me turn. Orryx stepped out from behind me, followed by another familiar figure.
Callum.
A seasoned werewolf warrior, Callum and his family have served our kingdom since before I could wield a blade. He is loyalty made flesh, his instincts rarely wrong. But he’s half-wild at the best of times, and his mouth rarely checks in with his brain.
“That’s the witch?” Callum asked, his voice edged with disbelief.
His eyes narrowed as they landed on the scrawny girl. “Are you going to kill her?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.
I didn’t answer right away.
I could. Maybe I should. It would be justice—clean, final. The end of the one who helped burn my family, my kind, my kingdom to ashes.
But… do I really want to?
I turned to look at the girl again. She wasn’t watching us. She was scanning the world around her. Her gaze darted to the sky, the snow, the scorched ruins. Even with ash on her cheeks and fear in her bones, she looked… awestruck.
As if she were seeing the world for the first time. Even if it was a world on fire, it was still more than what she’d known inside that tower.
I turned back to Callum. “No,” I said at last, my voice like steel cooling in the snow. “I’m taking her with us. She may still prove useful.”
I glanced at Orryx. “Get my horse. I’m riding.”
Flying in dragon form would be faster. Lightning fast. But I couldn’t risk it. Not with her. The last thing I needed was to terrify the girl into silence… or worse, madness.
KIERYGAN'S POV
Orryx returned moments later, leading my horse, Blizzard, by the reins. The beast was massive. Snow-white, with a mane like silver thread. Just like the girl’s hair… if hers weren’t matted and oily from neglect.
Blizzard’s breath fogged in the frozen air as he stepped forward, hooves crunching over ash-dusted snow. The girl, still absorbed in the wonder of the world around her, didn’t notice him. Until the horse’s breath steamed against her cheek.
She turned... and found herself face to face with a creature she’d never seen before.
With a sharp shriek, she toppled onto her backside, scrambling away as if she'd just encountered a demon rather than a gelding.
Then, suddenly still, she shut her eyes while the horse lowered its head to sniff her. One hand clutched her chest, as if trying to hold her heart in place. I almost laughed.
But then, something caught my eye.
A flicker. No more than a faint shimmer of gold-white light, like lightning behind clouds, crackled across her skin. It arced up her arm, brilliant and alive, before vanishing the instant it reached the black bracelet on her wrist. The strange metal glinted, absorbing the power like a thirsty thing.
My gaze narrowed.
I would question her later about the bracelet, about who she was, about what she truly was. But not now.
Now, we had to move.
The sky was bruising toward dawn, and the longer we lingered, the more time Malric had to regroup. To run. To vanish.
“Callum,” I said, “put her on the horse.”
He nodded and stepped toward her, offering a hand. “Come on, girl. Up you go.”
But she stiffened, dragging herself backward across the snow, her eyes darting towards me as if pleading.
I exhaled. “Fine. I’ll do it,” I muttered, already reaching for her.
She flinched at my touch but didn’t resist. She was too drained. Frightened. All bones and skin and trembling uncertainty.
I lifted her into the saddle. She sat awkwardly, unsure of where to place her hands, eyes locked on the horse’s mane like she expected it to turn on her.
“You’ll live,” I said flatly, swinging up behind her.
My arms caged her in. One hand on the reins, the other steadying her at the waist. She tensed but stayed silent.
Orryx gave a signal, and he and Callum shifted into their wolf forms. Orryx's black as pitch, Callum's a gleaming gray.
The girl gasped as they padded ahead of us, and once more sparks flared along her skin. This time, the energy was sharp and angrier. Fear again. I noted it carefully. The crackle of light appears when she’s afraid.
And just like before, the bracelet drank it all down. The gold-white light crackled, climbed her arm... and vanished into the strange black band. I watched it fade, my grip tightening on the reins.
Orryx’s black wolf turned to us, golden eyes locking on mine. A silent signal to move. There were no sparks this time, but I still felt her flinch before her hand clamped around my arm.
“For someone capable of killing many,” I said, “you’re awfully jumpy.”
Her grip slackened. She turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing.
“What?” she asked, like she hadn’t heard me right.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I gave Blizzard a light nudge with my heel, and the horse began to move. The girl jolted at the sudden motion, her hand snapping back to my arm in a panic, clinging as if she might fall.
We rode in silence for hours, the sky bleeding from indigo to gold. When we reached the lake, the sun was just beginning to rise above its mirrored surface, casting ripples of light across the still water. Mist clung low over the shore, ghostly and silver.
The girl kept twisting in the saddle, her head turning left and right, taking everything in. The glinting frost on the tree branches. The way sunlight fractured on the surface of the lake like shattered glass. Even the soft crunch of hooves on the frozen earth seemed to mesmerize her.
I caught myself watching her. Part habit, part curiosity. This so-called witch, or whatever she truly was, defied every expectation. Powerless, yet volatile. Fragile, but unpredictable.
Eventually, the wonder faded, replaced by weariness. I felt it happen. The subtle shift in her posture, the soft slump of her shoulders, the way her grip loosened from my arm like sand slipping through her fingers. Her head began to loll forward, sleep overtaking curiosity.
I called for a halt. I could use a moment to rest, too.
We stopped in a small clearing near the lake’s edge, the ground firm with frost and scattered pine needles. I dismounted first, the saddle creaking beneath me. Then I reached up and lifted her down.
She didn’t resist. She only blinked slowly, dazed and quiet. She was light in my arms. Too light.
If the wind blew harder, I half-feared she’d vanish with it. Like smoke, or the last breath of a dying fire.
“Sit,” I said gruffly, nodding to a fallen log. She obeyed without a word.
I pulled a small roll of bread from my pack, along with a flask of water, and handed both to her.
She stared at them but didn’t move.
I frowned. “Why aren’t you eating?”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the bread. Quietly, almost too quietly to hear, she said, “I’m not allowed.”
That stopped me cold. Someone as starved as she was would have lunged at the bread. But instead, she flinched from it, as if it might bite her. And the way she said it, so matter-of-fact, like it was just another rule she’d memorized. It unsettled me.
Rage surged in my chest, sharp, sudden, and blinding. But not at her.
At them. Malric and Morwenna.
A dog in our kingdom would have been treated with more dignity. It disgusted me.
I didn’t speak, but the fury must have carved itself into my face, into the way I stood. Too tense, too still. Her eyes lifted warily to meet mine, and I saw it there. Worry. She thought I was angry with her.
“I... I’m sorry,” she stammered.
Then, as if to correct some invisible mistake, she tore off a piece of bread and shoved it into her mouth, chewing slowly. She savored it like it might be the last thing she ever tasted. Maybe it was the first real food she’d had in days.
Or even weeks.
I looked away, jaw clenched, swallowing the heat burning up my throat. When I finally spoke, I made my voice steady. Measured.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I muttered. “Just… eat.”
I sat on the log beside her, though I left a few spaces of air between us—enough to give her the privacy she clearly needed.
Then I saw Orryx across the clearing, waving me over with a sharp nod. I stood, glancing down at her.
“Stay here,” I said firmly. “Don’t move.”
She paused mid-chew and gave a small nod.
I strode over to Orryx, where he stood near the edge of the trees, scanning the horizon.
“We keep heading west,” he said. “But if we’re to reach Altierra before sundown, we need to move in an hour.”
“Very well,” I said with a nod. “Tell the others. Prepare the mounts.”
Altierra. My home.
While my fire reduced Malric’s kingdom to ash, another faction of my men struck Altierra that same night. Cutting down loyalists and reclaiming what was rightfully ours.
I had expected to feel triumph in that victory. But all I felt was a cold knot in my chest that refused to thaw. I didn’t know what I’d find there. But I knew it would remind me of a kingdom I once failed to defend.
Then I heard a scream. High. Sharp. And too familiar.
My head snapped toward the sound. The log where I’d left the girl was empty. The unfinished bread lay in the snow, the water spilled. Drag marks streaked the frost-covered earth.
“She was taken,” Orryx said, already moving.
We didn’t waste a second.
He bolted ahead, shifting into his wolf form mid-stride. I vaulted over the frost-lined brush and shifted in mid-air, wings exploding from my back as I launched skyward in a single beat.
The trees shrank beneath me as I climbed higher, scanning the canopy.
I spotted them right away.
A man, clearly a werewolf, was dragging her through the underbrush. She fought back. Scratching, kicking, doing everything she could, but she was far too weak.
I dove.
The force of my descent bent trees and split branches, a roaring gale tearing through the forest ahead of me. I struck the earth like a meteor, talons driving deep into the wolf’s torso. Bones crunched like dry twigs. He didn’t even have time to scream.
His body crumpled beneath me.
The girl started screaming again. But not at him. At me.
It was a raw, guttural sound that split the air. Light burst from her skin, crackling like wildfire. And then the earth began to tremble.
I swore under my breath and leapt back, slipping behind a tree, out of her line of sight. In one breath, I shifted. My bones twisting, skin reshaping, until I stood human once more.
When I stepped out, she was still on the ground, trembling violently. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her eyes wide and wild. But the moment she saw me, just me, the screaming stopped. The light faded. The trembling earth stilled.
She stared at me like she wasn’t sure I was real. Her lips parted, her voice barely audible.
“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to move. I… I didn’t… he made me.”
Her voice broke on the last words. Her gaze dropped, like even speaking that small truth might earn her punishment.
That obedience again. That fear. It had to be beaten into her over the years, shaped, twisted, until she became this. Another wave of fury surged through me, but I held it down. I didn’t respond to her apology.
I just crouched beside her, watching the tremble in her hands, the way she refused to meet my eyes. That cursed bracelet still pulsed faintly, leeching the last sparks from her skin like a parasite.
My voice came low, rough. “You’re safe now,” I said. “We’re going home.”
“Home?” she echoed. Not really a question, more like she was testing the shape of the word on her lips.
I nodded once. “Let’s go.”
KIERYGAN'S POV
The girl was asleep in my arms by the time we crossed into Altierra.
Her head rested lightly against my chest, her breath warm and steady, the faintest crease between her brows betraying the unease that never quite left her, even in her sleep. I leaned back slightly in the saddle, adjusting my posture, so her head wouldn’t slump forward. She was too fragile already. I wasn’t about to let her wake with a crick in her neck on top of everything else.
We rode like that for at least another hour. The rhythm of Orryx’s horse ahead of us, the crunch of hooves over frost-hardened ground, the hush of winter air curling through the trees.
Altierra had changed.
The land bore more scars than I remembered. Burned groves, shattered stone markers, whole patches of forest thinned by ash and neglect. But even through the ruins, there were signs of life returning. New thatch roofs on homes long abandoned. Magic-weaved lanterns floating at rest above cleared paths. Smoke curling from chimneys again.
And beyond it all, Solmere.
The capital stood like a silver jewel on the valley’s edge, cradled by mist and mountains. And there, still rising, proud and defiant, was Drakemont Castle.
My home.
The witches had done well repairing the keep overnight. Vines that once strangled the towers have been hacked away. Shattered stained-glass had been replaced. Not with the original colors, but with new panes that shimmered in unexpected hues, beautiful in their own right. Even the spires that had collapsed under Malric’s rule had been rebuilt, their stones still pale and unweathered by time.
As we passed through the gates, she stirred in my arms.
Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light of the setting sun. Slowly, her gaze swept across the unfamiliar courtyard—the wide paths, the flicker of mage-fire in the sconces, the snow-dusted gardens just beginning to bloom again from ruin. She said nothing.
“This is home,” I murmured.
Her head turned, slowly, taking it all in. The tension in her shoulders returned as her gaze caught on something in the distance—an old, narrow tower that stood slightly apart from the rest of the castle. It was one of the few structures we hadn’t restored fully yet.
Her eyes locked onto it. And though she said nothing, I could feel the thought forming in her mind.
She must be thinking she’d been taken from one prison to be thrown into another.
“No,” I said before the thought could leave her lips. “You’re not staying there.”
Her head snapped toward me, startled.
“You’re not going to be locked away,” I added, my voice softer now. “You’ll have your own room. A real one.”
Still, she didn’t answer. But her fingers curled into the fabric of my sleeve, gripping it tight—like a lifeline in unfamiliar waters.
“Follow me,” I said. “I’ll show you.”
“My room?” she echoed, the words fragile. Like she couldn’t quite believe them. Like she didn’t know what a room of her own meant.
I turned toward the entrance. “Yes,” I said. “Yours.”
She followed. Hesitant. Slow. But she followed.
The doors creaked open at our approach, and warmth spilled out to greet us. Golden light from hanging chandeliers, the faint scent of aged wood and lavender oil woven into the stone.
Then, suddenly, people flooded the hall. They were all cheering, celebrating our victory.
I glanced back at the girl still lingering at the threshold. She looked lost. Overwhelmed. Like she wished she could disappear.
Before I could react, a pair of arms wrapped around me. I pulled back slightly to look, though I already knew who it was. Mirael.
She was radiant in a red, glittering gown that clung to every curve. “We made it,” she murmured, then pressed a kiss to my lips. "We're finally home."
Her gaze drifted over my shoulder. The change in her expression was instant. “And what, exactly, have you brought with you?”
I shrugged and slipped out of her embrace. “I took her from the tower.”
Mirael gasped, disbelief etched across her face. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the girl who had her head down, fingers twitching, eyes fixed on the floor.
“That…” she paused, deliberately, raising a freshly painted nail to point, “is the witch?”
“I know,” I said, flat. “I couldn’t believe it either.”
I turned to the crowd, offered a brief speech, then reached for the girl’s hand before her shaky knees could give out.
I was already guiding her toward the grand staircase when Mirael’s voice rang out behind me. “Where are you taking her?” she demanded.
I glanced over my shoulder but didn’t fully turn. “Her chambers,” I said, my voice clipped.
Eyes followed us, whispers trailing behind. I didn’t care. Let them look. I wanted them to see the weapon I held.
We turned down the west wing on the third floor. It’s mine alone. No one enters without my leave. Farthest from the great hall. Quiet. Defensible.
I stopped before the room directly opposite mine.
This is where the girl will stay. Close to me. Easier to watch her. The fact that Malric sent a werewolf to retrieve her means she’s more valuable than she looks.
And I intend to find out why.
I opened the door to her room. She froze.
The room was spacious, but not ostentatious. Soft stone walls met dark wood beams, warmed by the amber glow of hanging lanterns. Heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows that overlooked the snowy gardens below. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering orange light against the high ceiling.
The bed stood at the center of the room. It was large and sturdy, draped in deep blue linen. It offered a quiet, unassuming kind of comfort.
Bookshelves lined one wall, only half-filled, waiting to be claimed. A small table with two chairs rested beside the window. A wardrobe stood slightly ajar, revealing neatly folded clothes with soft fabrics, simple cuts, nothing extravagant. There was a bathroom tucked behind a carved door. Everything she would need. Nothing she would fear.
She stepped in slowly, cautiously, like one wrong move might make it all vanish. She didn’t touch anything. She just looked at the fire, the bed, the shelves. Then back to me, confusion shadowing her face.
Like she didn’t believe this was for her.
I cleared my throat. “It’s not much. But if you need anything else, books, warmer clothes, anything... just ask. I’m right across the hall.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands, which were still smeared with soot and blood. Slowly, she tucked them behind her back, ashamed.
Silence stretched between us. Then I asked what I should have asked much earlier.
“I never got your name,” I said.
She blinked, like the question didn’t make sense. “My what?”
I softened my voice. “Your name,” I repeated. “What is your name?”
“I... I don’t know,” she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to quell the rising frustration. "What do you mean, you don’t know?" I asked, my disbelief sharpening the words. "What do they call you?"
She met my gaze, her eyes unsure, hesitant. “Girl,” she said meekly, her voice a whisper that felt like a confession. "They call me 'Girl.'"
I felt a tight knot in my chest. “That is not a name,” I said, my voice rising, the anger bubbling over.
I cursed Malric and Morwenna again, inwardly. The vile cruelty of it. Their inability to even grant her the dignity of a name.
I must have spoken more sharply than I intended, because her body flinched, and her arms instinctively wrapped around herself. An instinctive, defensive gesture, as if bracing for a whip's lash.
I exhaled a long, slow breath, forcing my anger back down. "Alright," I said, my tone softer now but still firm. "I will give you a name. Later."
Of all the tasks waiting for me, naming the girl shouldn’t have mattered. I could’ve given her the first name that came to mind. But after all this time, after everything, it felt like it should be something fitting. Something beautiful. Something she might actually like.
So… later it is.
I summoned two of the castle maids, Emma and Grace. I asked them to help the girl bathe and change into fresh clothes. They curtsied, eyes bright with curiosity but kind, and readily agreed.
I gave the girl one last glance before stepping out. “When you’re ready, come down to dinner,” I said. “Emma and Grace will show you the way.”
She nodded, though her eyes lingered on me like she wasn’t ready to be left alone.
I turned to go, but then her voice stopped me.
“Do you… have a name?”
I looked back.
“Kierygan,” I said quietly. “Kierygan Drakemont.”
GIRL'S POV
Kierygan. That’s his name.
I don’t know who he is or what he intends for me. I don’t know if he’s a savior or just another captor. But at least I know what to call him. I know his name.
I know he’s a dragon. That he breathes fire. That he’s the reason Mistress and Master’s castle burned, the reason they fled.
I didn’t see it happen. My prison had no windows, but I felt the tremors. I heard the screams. I listened.
I always listened. Even when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. Even when they assumed I was too dumb to understand.
Maybe that’s how I survived. By listening. By learning. Quietly.
In that dark tower, the greatest lesson I learned was this: kindness always has a price. The mistress made sure of it. Smiles meant tests. Softness meant traps.
Before I was allowed food or water, I had to bleed for it. I had to scream in pain or cry in fear.
At first, I always gave in. Hunger makes you desperate.
But I listened. I learned. And when I understood what they were using my light for, and what it did to others, I stopped giving.
I had to stop feeling. No pain. No fear. No matter the hunger. No matter the sting of the whip, the slap, the fists.
So when Kierygan gives me food and tells me I can eat, without demanding I scream or sob, I can’t help but wonder what he wants instead. I waited for the catch. Because there’s always a catch.
He hasn’t hurt me. Not yet. And somehow, that makes it worse.
In the tower, I always knew when pain was coming. The door would open. The mistress or the master would appear.
It was predictable. Expected.
But here, in this place, anyone could become the new mistress. The new master. And that makes it all the more terrifying.
So far, the closest thing to pain I’ve felt since Kierygan took me was Grace and Emma’s merciless scrubbing to rid my skin of grime, and the relentless tug of a comb through my tangled hair. I heard their groans, their muttered curses under their breath.
All I could do was bite my lip and whisper, “Sorry.”
Again. And again.
Grace momentarily stopped, one hand on her hip. “What are you apologizing for?” she asked, then resumed combing through my hair. “You don’t have to say sorry every five seconds.”
I blinked at her. It was almost the same thing Kierygan told me earlier. That I didn’t have to apologize. But then… what do they want?
Emma watched me through the mirror like I was something strange. Well… I am strange.
Still tugging at my hair, she sighed. “I can’t believe you’ve never left that tower until today. How does it feel seeing the world for the first time?”
I was caught off guard by their interest in me, not my light. “I... was glad,” I said at last, “but a little scared.”
That last part was a lie. Because I wasn’t a little scared. I was terrified.
Grace had stepped away for a moment, but when she returned, she was holding a dress.
“That’s enough, Emma,” she said. “The king must be waiting.”
Emma sighed. “This is the best we could do with your hair,” she murmured, sounding defeated. “We’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe trim the ends.”
Grace handed me the dress and told me to put it on.
It was nothing like the one she made me throw away. My old rags had matched the color of the filthy tower floor—dull, gray, forgotten.
But this... this had color. Soft fabric I didn’t know the name of. It felt nice. Strange. But nice.
Grace turned me toward her, giving me a slow once-over. “Who knew there was a pretty face hidden beneath all that dirt and ash?”
I blinked, unsure how to respond. Was that… a compliment? I couldn’t tell. Compliments weren’t something I’d learned to recognize—let alone trust.
Whenever Mistress gave me one, pain always followed.
Grace and Emma led me through the hall, their steps steady, mine hesitant. When we reached the dining chamber and I saw the others seated at the long table, I nearly turned back. I opened my mouth to ask if I could return to the room, but the words caught in my throat.
There were too many people. I didn’t know how to count, but it felt like a lot.
I recognized Kierygan instantly. He sat at the head of the table. On one side were the two men who had turned into beasts during the journey. On his other side, seated close beside him, was the beautiful woman from earlier, the one in the red gown with the sharp, watchful eyes. She reminded me of the Mistress. Not in appearance, but in something colder… something hidden beneath her smile.
Emma cleared her throat. “Apologies,” she said to the table. “She’s late. We had to repeat the bath. And don’t get me started on the hair.”
A few chuckles scattered through the room.
Then all eyes turned to me. I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I could shrink smaller, disappear onto the floor.
The man who had turned into a black wolf let out a low whistle. I thought his name was Orryx. “Is that the same girl?” he said, squinting. “Didn’t recognize her.”
Kierygan didn’t say a word. He just looked at me from my head to my boots. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased, angry, or… something else entirely. His jaw ticked. His gaze was unreadable, heavy in a way that made me want to look away.
Then he turned to the woman beside him. “Mirael. Move.”
Her brows pulled together in a frown. “Why?”
Kierygan’s hand tightened around his spoon. “The girl sits there.”
Mirael looked like she might protest, but something in Kierygan’s expression shifted. It was cold, sharp, and dangerous. Without another word, she stood and slid into the next chair, casting me a quick, wary glance.
“Sit,” Kierygan said, motioning to the chair Mirael had just abandoned.
I obeyed without hesitation and lowered myself into the seat, waiting for whatever came next.
The table was filled with food, warm, rich smells I didn’t have names for. But none of it tempted me. Not with every gaze pressing down on me, like I was something strange, something other.
Then Kierygan spoke again, and his voice made me flinch. “What are you waiting for? Eat.”
I blinked at him, then glanced around the table. Some looked curious. Others were amused. A few shook their heads like I was ridiculous.
In my prison, I couldn’t just reach for food. Even if Mistress placed it in front of me. It was usually a trick. I could always tell by the way she smiled, or how her eyes shifted.
But here, with these strangers around me, I couldn’t tell. I wanted to. I needed to.
What happens if I touch the food? What happens if I don’t?
Slowly, I lifted my gaze to Kierygan—and almost fainted when I met his sharp stare. “Is this… is this a test?” I asked, my voice shaking, already bracing myself for the blow… for daring to speak.
Kierygan let out a sharp breath, the sound more angered than annoyed. “For stars’ sake,” he muttered under his breath, shoving his chair back slightly.
He reached forward, scooped a portion of food onto my plate, and set it down in front of me. “Eat,” he said again, more firmly this time.
I picked up the fork with trembling fingers, but just stared at it. I knew what it was called. But I’d never held one. Never been taught how.
Kierygan’s eyes narrowed as I fumbled, his expression darkening. I panicked and tried harder, clumsily stabbing at the food, my hand shaking.
He exhaled again, frustrated now, and snatched the fork from my grip. Without a word, he scooped up a small bite and brought it to my mouth.
I froze.
“Eat,” he said one last time.
I opened my mouth, and he placed the bite inside. I chewed slowly, my face burning. Not from the food, but from the eyes still watching me.
“It’s like tending to a baby,” Mirael said with a laugh that cut through the air. “How precious.”
My hands twitched in my lap.
“Shut up,” Kierygan said flatly, without even looking at her.
Silence fell over the table again.
He fed me a few more bites, and though they were small, my stomach tightened uncomfortably. I wasn’t used to this much food. Not all at once. Not ever.
I hesitated, unsure if I was allowed to speak. But Kierygan glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “If you want to say something,” he said, “just spill it.”
I looked down at the plate, then back up at him. “I… I can’t take any more down,” I whispered.
He leaned back slightly, fork still in hand, and nodded. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I hesitated, casting a quick glance again at Kierygan. “May I… go back to my room now?”
He gave a short nod. “You may.”
Relief loosened something in my chest. I rose from my seat. But before I could take a step, a hand caught my wrist.
Mirael.
She held my arm, her nails like polished claws against my skin, her eyes fixed on the strange metal band around my wrist.
“What’s this?” she asked. “That bracelet, it’s glowing.”
I tried to pull away, voice shaking. “You can’t touch it.”
Mirael raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Rude. I only wanted a closer look.”
She didn’t let go. Her fingers moved to the edge of the band, trying to shift it.
“No, don’t!” I cried, yanking harder.
But it was too late. Pain exploded.
The bracelet flared with a blinding light, and I screamed as the surge hit me. A thousand bolts of lightning ripping through my veins. My knees buckled. The world twisted.
And then, I was falling.
I didn't even feel the ground because darkness caught me first.
GIRL'S POV
I am drowning.
The water was everywhere. Cold, endless, and heavy. It filled my nose, my mouth, my ears. I kicked. I clawed. I reached for the surface. I couldn’t see. My limbs felt sluggish, like the water was made of ink and sorrow. I didn't know how to swim. I never learned.
I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Not a sound. Just bubbles and silence.
Then I heard a voice.
Faint. Distant. Familiar.
I’d heard it before, I was sure of it. I couldn’t place it, couldn’t shape the memory into words, but something deep inside me clung to the sound. Like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to the world above the water.
It wasn’t the master’s voice. No, this voice felt… safe.
My eyes snapped open. The water was gone. So was the darkness.
Just a bed now, soft as clouds beneath me, thick blankets cocooning my limbs. I was still drowning, but in warmth and comfort this time.
My breath caught as I looked up and met a pair of eyes staring back at me. Blue as the open sky, watching with quiet intensity.
“You were dreaming,” Kierygan murmured, his broad silhouette casting a shadow over me.
I sat up abruptly, breath catching in my throat. I didn’t remember walking back to my room, only the jolt that felt like it fried my brain. Then, nothing.
But as I sifted through the fog, pieces came back to me.
Mirael.
She hadn’t just touched the bracelet, she yanked it. Tugged so hard it triggered it.
Mistress had designed it that way. If I ever tried to remove or destroy it, it would strike back. A violent pulse meant to drop me instantly.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
I slowly lifted my eyes to his, searching, waiting for the glint of cruelty, the dangerous smirk Master always wore.
But there was none.
No malice. No warmth either. Just a calm, unreadable stare.
His eyes dropped slowly to the bracelet on my right wrist. Instinct kicked in. I pulled my arm behind me, tucking it out of sight, and dropped my gaze to my knees as heat crept up my cheeks.
“No one’s going to try to take it from you again,” Kierygan said, his voice low but steady. “We just want to look. That’s all.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The words tangled in my chest, too knotted to free. I turned my face away instead, and that’s when I realized we weren’t alone.
A man stood near the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back. His skin was pale, almost silvery, smooth like polished stone. His eyes held the color of a setting sun, while his hair, short and curled at the ends, glowed like the first light of dawn.
My eyes flicked between the two men, noting their stark differences. The stranger’s golden hair caught the light. So unlike Kierygan’s, dark as midnight. His smile came easily, his features soft and open. Kierygan, by contrast, always wore a hard expression, his face rarely anything but a frown.
“This is Evander,” Kierygan said. “He’s a scholar and my strategist.”
I blinked at him. I didn’t know what either of those words meant. All I understood was that the pale man’s name was Evander.
He gave a small wave, his smile easy. “Those are just fancy titles,” he said, as if he’d noticed my confusion. “All it means is that I study things. Try to make sense of the world.”
I nodded slowly, quietly filing the word scholar away in my mind. A new one to learn.
Kierygan inched closer. “He wants to help,” he said, his voice low. “To figure out what your bracelet really is… what it’s doing to you.”
Evander offered a small bow. “Only if you’re willing, of course,” he said, his voice smooth like melted candlewax.
I still had my doubts, but there was something about Evander’s gentle smile and soft expression that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could trust him. Slowly, I brought my right arm out from behind me and lifted it in front of me.
Evander extended his hands, and after a hesitant pause, I placed mine in his.
The moment our skin touched, I flinched.
He chuckled, not unkindly. “I know,” he said. “Cold, isn’t it?”
I nodded, though part of me wanted to ask why his touch was so cold. With Kierygan, it made sense. He was a dragon, fire lived beneath his skin. But I kept the question to myself.
Evander nodded toward the bracelet. “May I touch it?”
I gave another small nod. “Just… don’t yank it or try to move it,” I warned. “It fights back.”
He gave me a smile that, strangely, eased some of the tightness in my chest. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know what it does. I was at the dinner table last night.”
Very carefully, Evander ran a single finger along the metal, barely grazing the surface before pausing over one of the embedded stones.
“Interesting,” he murmured, then turned to Kierygan. “Take a closer look, Kier.”
Kierygan stepped in, his hand resting on my elbow as he leaned forward. His touch radiated warmth, a striking contrast to Evander’s cold fingers.
“I haven’t seen this mineral before,” Evander said, eyes narrowed in thought. “But the stones... these are Pyraethyst.”
Kierygan’s brow furrowed. “Pyraethyst?” he echoed. “They’re only found here. In Altierra.”
Both of them fell silent. I couldn’t tell what they were thinking, only that the stones had caught their attention. And the fact that they were native to this land seemed to matter.
A sudden flicker of boldness rose in me. “You can have it,” I said quietly.
Kierygan’s head snapped toward me, his frown returning. “What?”
Carefully, I twisted one of the embedded gems until it came loose. It rested in my palm for a moment before I held it out to Kierygan.
“Here,” I said softly. “Take it. I don’t want it. You can have them all.”
Instead of taking it, Kierygan gently held my wrist. “What does it do?”
My fingers curled into a fist as the memory surged back, sharp and unwelcome. “Bad things… I think,” I whispered. “Mistress always comes for them… when it’s time to harvest.”
“Harvest?” Evander echoed, brows knitting.
I nodded. “That’s what she called it,” I said. “When she’s taken enough light… she harvests them.”
“What exactly does she do to harvest them?” he asked.
A lump rose in my throat, but I forced it down. “She and the Master… they hurt me,” I said, shame curling cold in my chest. “Usually by breaking my bones… healing them… and doing it again. Until I light up.”
Kierygan didn’t speak at first. His grip on my wrist tightened. Not painfully, but firmly. His jaw tensed, and though his eyes never left mine, something had changed in them. A fire now burned there, low and simmering.
Evander, on the other hand, swore under his breath and stood. He began pacing, running a hand through his golden hair. “By the stars,” he muttered. “I’m sorry you had to endure that.”
Sorry. The word felt strange, alien, coming from someone else. Especially when it was spoken to me.
Kierygan’s voice was quiet when it finally broke the silence. “How long were you in that tower?”
I blinked, searching the edges of my memory. “I… I don’t know,” I said slowly, the admission sinking like a stone in my chest. I tried to remember anything that came before. But there was nothing.
“It’s all I’ve ever known,” I whispered.
Evander, thoughtful now, crouched beside me. “Did you ever try counting the moons? Just to keep track of time?”
“My tower didn’t have a window,” I murmured. “And... and I don’t know how to count.”
I looked down, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve as shame crept in again, tightening my chest. My ignorance always seemed to bloom in moments like this.
Silence settled, heavy and uncertain. Then Evander let out a soft sigh and stood.
“No more questions today,” he said, clapping his hands once. “I think you’ve earned a reward for being so helpful.”
Reward.
The word landed wrong. I stiffened, breath catching. Reward had never meant something good before.
Evander must have noticed, because in the next moment, he flicked his fingers in front of my face with exaggerated flair, revealing both hands empty.
Then, grinning, he reached forward and plucked something from my hair.
I flinched, instinctively pulling back. But when I opened my eyes again, he was holding a small, shiny-wrapped object between his fingers.
“Magic,” he declared with a wink.
I frowned slightly. That’s not magic, I wanted to say. I would’ve felt it.
Still, he held it out like a treasure. “It’s called chocolate.”
“Chocolate?” I echoed softly, tasting the unfamiliar word on my tongue, then quietly tucked it away with the others I was learning.
“Yes,” Evander said, eyes gleaming. “Only the most important discovery of the last few centuries. Go on, open it. Taste it.”
I hesitated, then glanced at Kierygan. He gave a single, subtle nod.
So, I reached out.
Carefully, I peeled the wrapping. Inside was a small, dark square that smelled sweet and strange. I placed it in my mouth.
And then… everything stopped. The bitterness and sweetness melted on my tongue like magic. I had never tasted anything like it. Warmth bloomed in my chest, strange and sudden, and I had to blink hard to keep the tears from falling.
Evander grinned. “Told you. Magic.”
It did taste like magic. Sweet, rich, and strange in the most wonderful way. I couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto my face.
Evander’s eyes brightened. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, teasing gently. “You do know how to smile. I was starting to think they never taught you that in your tower.”
They didn’t, I wanted to say.
I think… I just learned it now.
KIERYGAN'S POV
This was the first Small Council meeting held in the castle since we reclaimed Altierra. And I demanded full attendance.
Everyone had taken their place at the long council table, except one. Ashteryn. My reclusive smith. Master of the forge. An expert in weapons, both mortal and arcane. He seldom appeared at these meetings, favoring the solitude of his workshop over the clamor of politics.
But today, his presence was necessary.
Normally, I don't wait for anyone. My time is not something I give freely. But this once, we waited. His expertise outweighed my impatience.
Ashteryn finally arrived, half an hour late.
The doors creaked open, and in he strode, soot still smudging his sleeves, the scent of forge-fire clinging to him like a second skin. His silver-streaked hair was pulled back messily, and his sharp eyes scanned the room with thinly veiled irritation.
"Well, well... Look who finally crawled out of his cave," Callum called, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.
Ashteryn didn’t so much as glance at Callum. Brooding as ever. The half-human, half-orc clearly had better things to do than waste breath on the commander’s usual jabs.
He walked to the far end of the table and dropped into the empty seat beside Orryx, his movements stiff, like each one cost him something. With a sigh that sounded more like a growl, he muttered, “This better be worth dragging me out of my forge.”
I said nothing. Words rarely worked better than actions with Ashteryn.
Instead, I reached into my coat and retrieved the small gem the girl had given me. I set it on the table and nudged it forward. It slid across the polished wood and stopped in front of him with a faint, crystalline click.
Ashteryn stared at it for a heartbeat. Then his entire bearing changed.
The scowl relaxed. His shoulders, perpetually hunched with tension, rose slightly. Even his eyes, usually dull with disinterest or half-closed from sleepless nights, sharpened with sudden clarity.
He picked up the gem delicately, turning it between calloused fingers. Studying. Measuring.
“Where did you get this?” he asked at last, his voice low, but edged with rare, razor-sharp curiosity.
I leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. “I’m glad to finally have your attention,” I said. “The girl gave it to me.”
Ashteryn arched a brow. "The witch from the tower gave this to you?"
I just nodded. I wasn’t interested in offering more details than necessary. "I want to know how Malric turned that gem into a weapon."
Ashteryn took the gem without a word, lifting it to the light. He rotated it slowly between his thick, soot-stained fingers, the violet core catching the glow and pulsing faintly. Like a heartbeat sealed in crystal.
He gave it a small shake, listening intently, then brought it close to his face.
“Pyraethyst,” he muttered. “Stable under extreme heat. They probably used it in explosives. This kind doesn’t melt—not even under dragon fire.”
I crossed my arms. “Apparently, it can hold something even hotter,” I said flatly. “Hot enough to burn dragons.”
His eyes flicked to me, brief, calculating, then back to the gem. “Malric must’ve primed it with something volatile. It’s dormant now, but still dangerous.” He turned the crystal again in his fingers. “I’ll need time, but I can isolate the catalyst. Figure out what sets it off.”
Before I could respond, Mirael leaned forward, her interest sharpening her features like a blade. Her lips curled with amusement as she tapped one black-painted nail against the table. “If we’ve reclaimed the mine,” she purred, “why not make more?”
Evander turned his head sharply toward her. “Do you even hear yourself?”
She blinked at him, all innocence and indifference.
He rose slightly, his voice sharpening. “Do you know what triggers that crackling light?” he snarled. “Pain. Fear. They broke her bones. Again and again. And that strange thing feeds on it.
Mirael scoffed. “You speak as if you’ve never slaughtered an entire village before,” she drawled, one brow arching as she looked at Evander. “And now you can’t stand the sound of a girl crying?”
Evander slammed his fist against the table, the sound cracking through the room. He pointed at Mirael, eyes flaring. “And you speak as if your kind didn’t help create monsters like me.”
"Enough," I snapped. "If I wanted to hear children bicker, I’d visit a nursery."
Mirael shrugged, reclining with casual grace. “I’m just saying, if it protects the realm and obliterates our enemies, it’s worth considering.”
A few murmurs of assent rippled around the table. Most gave slow, thoughtful nods—quietly agreeing with Mirael’s suggestion. I turned to my second-in-command.
Orryx shifted uneasily. “I agree, we need to create the weapon to defend our kingdom,” he said. “But harming the girl just to forge it doesn’t sit right with me. If there’s another way to draw on her power, we should find it.”
But Evander wasn't satisfied. “What we should do is destroy that dangerous bracelet,” he snapped, his usual warmth gone. “If it weren’t for that cursed thing, Malric wouldn’t have had anything to turn her into a weapon in the first place.”
“Bracelet?” Ashteryn’s head tilted slightly, the edge in Evander’s voice catching his attention. His curiosity flared again, eyes narrowing. “What bracelet?”
I exhaled slowly. “It’s made of some dark mineral,” I said. “A metal. If it even is metal, we don’t recognize it. It’s not from this realm.”
Ashteryn straightened slightly, his brooding scowl giving way to sharp interest. “Unknown metal?” he echoed. “I know every alloy that walks, breathes, or burns. Can I see it?”
“You’ll have to see the girl,” I said. “It’s fused to her wrist. Can’t be removed. At least, not without harm. Mirael touched it once. The thing pulsed and knocked the girl out cold.”
Ashteryn frowned, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the gem, considering. "So, it's reactive. I want to see it.”
Callum let out a loud laugh from the far end of the table, shaking his head. “Good luck with that. The girl scares easily. I sneezed near her once, and I swear she nearly passed out. And that was with my dashing good looks,” he added, gesturing to himself with a grin. “Imagine what’ll happen when she gets a look at you.”
A few bursts of laughter echoed around the table, though Ashteryn remained unmoved. If anything, he looked more intrigued. Or perhaps irritated.
"I'll need to examine it. Closely," Ashteryn muttered. "If we’re to understand exactly what we’re dealing with."
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I watched Ashteryn for a moment, gauging how serious he was.
“Fine,” I said at last. “But I need to warn you, the girl hasn’t seen much of the world outside h...
www.argbook.com
