The air at the bottom of the spiral staircase felt like molten glass, thick with heat and charged with a pulse that echoed in my bones. Every breath I drew tasted of iron and ash, a reminder that this was no ordinary chamber. The pit at the center pulsed like a heartbeat, red smoke curling in slow spirals, as if alive. My silver-marked skin itched, the brand crawling along my collarbone, whispering through nerve endings with a language I was only beginning to understand.
Damon stayed close, his claws scraping against the obsidian floor, the scent of his wolf-form lingering, rich and metallic. I could feel his tension radiating in waves, his Alpha instincts screaming at him to protect me. But I knew—he wouldn't be able to shield me completely this time. This was mine to face.
A flicker of ember-light caught my eye, and the Bloodbound stepped from the shadows, each movement slow, deliberate, commanding. His hood glowed faintly, embers licking the edges like tiny flames suspended in the dark. "The trial begins now," he said, his voice low and resonant, vibrating in my chest. "Control the fire within, or it consumes you."
I swallowed, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. The pit seemed to respond to his words, smoke coiling higher, tendrils reaching like the fingers of a thousand hungry ghosts. My silver fire flared automatically, responding to the tension, the fear, the pull of something ancient stirring beneath my skin.
"You're strong," he continued, voice like dry wood snapping, "but strength alone will not save you. Fear, doubt, regret—they will seek to unbind you. Face them, or perish in your own fire."
I clenched my fists, glyphs glowing faintly along my arms, shimmering in response to my heartbeat. The first illusion struck before I even had time to ask a question.
The chamber changed. Shadows stretched and twisted into shapes I knew too well. Wolves on fire, screaming in silent agony, their eyes reflecting pain and betrayal. And there, standing among the flames, was a figure that resembled me—my own face, twisted, melting into the image of the Moonbloods who came before me.
My breath hitched. The air grew thick, hot, and the smell of burning fur and flesh filled my nostrils. My stomach churned, threatening to betray me, but I forced my hands forward, sending arcs of silver fire that ripped through the illusions. They shattered, but more appeared. They never ended, the smoke carrying echoes of my past—the sacrifices, the failures, the betrayals.
"Do not falter, Red Daughter," the Bloodbound's voice cut through the chaos. "Control it. Bend it to your will."
Damon's voice, a growl low and dangerous, reached me even as his claws tore through the illusionary wolves near him. "Focus, Dahlia. You can do this."
"I'm trying!" I yelled, even as my silver fire flared, arcs of energy colliding with ghostly wolves and shattered statues of fallen Moonbloods. The glyphs across my skin burned brighter, illuminating the chamber in cold, blue light. My body trembled with the effort, muscles straining, sweat slicking my hair to my forehead.
The illusions shifted again, this time showing the First Dragon in his slumbering form—vast, coiled within the pit, scales shimmering in red and gold, eyes glowing beneath closed lids. Smoke rose from his nostrils, and I felt the pull of his presence in my chest, in my bones, like a gravity I couldn't fight.
"Do you remember, Seraphina?" a voice whispered, carried through the smoke. My heart lurched. I remembered. The Moonbloods who came before me, the chains, the sacrifice. "You were always meant to bind me. And yet you faltered."
I staggered, clutching at my collarbone as the brand burned hotter. The pit's smoke coiled around me, tugging, testing, pulling at my soul. I closed my eyes, focusing on Damon, on the warmth of him near me, the strength of his presence anchoring me. My silver fire responded, arcing in tighter, controlled bursts, merging with the glyphs' glow, weaving a net of light that held the illusions at bay.
"You must confront it, Dahlia," the Bloodbound said, stepping closer, embers dancing along his hood. "The past is yours. Claim it, or it will claim you."
I took a shaky breath, feeling the pull of the First Dragon intensify. His voice no longer came through the smoke—it came from inside me, from the brand, from the very essence of the Moonblood bloodline. You are mine. You always were.
"No," I whispered, teeth gritted. "I am me. Not yours. Not theirs. I am me."
Silver fire roared from my hands, glyphs racing across my skin like living runes. The illusions screamed, the chamber shaking as each glyph connected with my will, forming a lattice of energy that pushed against the pull of the First Dragon. Damon howled beside me, claws tearing through the illusionary wolves that lunged at us, his eyes blazing.
For a moment, I thought I could feel my consciousness splitting, being pulled toward the pit, toward the First Dragon's slumbering form. But I didn't let it. I anchored myself to the present, to Damon, to the promise I had made to survive, to fight.
The Bloodbound nodded slowly, his ember-light hood dimming. "Good. You have learned to control it… for now."
I sank to my knees, chest heaving, sweat and ash covering me, body trembling with exhaustion and exhilaration. Damon knelt beside me, claws retracting as he wrapped one arm around my shoulders, keeping me upright. His other hand brushed the ash from my cheek, and I caught the fire in his storm-gray eyes, the fierce, unwavering devotion that had been my anchor.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice low, almost tender.
I nodded, though my body still ached and my brand pulsed like a drumbeat in my chest. "I… I think so. I control it… I think."
The Bloodbound stepped back, smoke trailing him like a cloak of embers. "This is only the beginning, Red Daughter. The Hollow Order is aware of your awakening. They are coming. And the First Dragon will not wait forever."
My stomach twisted at his words. I had survived the trial, controlled the fire, faced the illusions, but the threat wasn't over. It was only escalating.
"What do we do now?" Damon asked, rising fully, blood streaking his fur and skin from the earlier fight.
"We prepare," I said, trying to sound steadier than I felt. "We find the last of the Red Dragon bloodline. If the First Dragon stirs… we'll need every ally we can muster."
Damon's lips twitched into a grim smile. "Then we burn the Hollow Order and the First Dragon alike, if it comes to that."
I let a shaky laugh escape me, though it was more ash than mirth. The pit pulsed again, responding to my brand, a low hum vibrating through my bones. "It's going to be worse than anything we've faced," I said. "But… we'll face it together."
A sudden tremor ran through the chamber. One of the titan statues shifted, claws scraping against stone, eyes of flame flickering as if alive. The pit's smoke coiled tighter, forming shapes that hinted at awakening, intelligence, and malice.
"Dahlia…" Damon growled, crouching low. "We should move. Now."
I nodded, rising shakily. My skin still glowed faintly with silver fire, glyphs pulsing as if breathing in tandem with me. The chamber was no longer just a test—it was a warning. And somewhere deep, I knew the First Dragon had heard me.
As we turned toward the staircase, the Bloodbound's ember-light voice whispered once more, fading with the smoke: "Remember… control, or you will be consumed. The First Dragon remembers. And so do I."
We ascended, the pit quieting, though the heat and hum lingered, a pulse beneath the floor that promised the storm was far from over. Damon's arm remained around my shoulders, his warmth a tether to my humanity amidst the awakening power in my veins.
Outside the chamber, the Valemont estate was quiet—too quiet. Shadows stretched longer than they should have, the wind whispering like secrets waiting to betray us. I felt the pull of the Hollow Order already, their hunger for me a tangible weight.
But now, I was ready.
I didn't just carry the bloodline—I carried the fire of the Moonbloods, the power of the Last Flame, and the bond with Damon that tethered me to both survival and purpose.
We would face the storm. And this time… we would shape it.
A distant echo, faint but unmistakable, whispered through the halls: "The bride awakens. The world burns."
I gritted my teeth, feeling the brand pulse like a drumbeat of destiny. This was the beginning of the true war.
---
"❗THEORY TIME — do you think the First Dragon actually wants Dahlia to win… or is it using her?"