The air outside the pit was thick, humming like the residual heartbeat of a world that had just been split open. My lungs drew in heat and ash, my brand pulsing faintly against my ankle like a caged beast now awake. Damon's hand was firm over mine, grounding me, yet even his presence couldn't mute the tremor racing through my veins. The First Dragon's memory had imprinted itself deep—its awakening left a scar on the air itself, and I could still feel the echoes crawling along my nerves.
We moved silently through the hallways of Valemont Estate, the moonlight cutting silver lines across marble floors. Every shadow seemed alive, folding over itself, whispering promises and threats alike. The Hollow Order's footsteps could be anywhere—or nowhere—but the instinctual tension in the air told me we were not yet free. My silvered glyphs shimmered faintly, reacting to every brush of wind, every scent of smoke and blood.
Damon's eyes, storm-gray and molten under the moonlight, never left me. Every step I took, he mirrored, ever-watchful, the weight of my newly awakened power pressing on him like a storm he had no hope of controlling. Alpha instincts warred with something deeper, more personal. Protective urges clashed with desire, and I felt it, a pull stronger than instinct, a tether of something unspoken between us.
"Dahlia," he said finally, his voice rough and low, carrying the storm inside him. "You're changing… too fast. I can feel it in every bone of me, and I can't…" He swallowed, and I saw him struggle against the need to say more. "I can't protect you if you keep shifting like this."
I reached up, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the heat of his heart beneath fur and muscle. "Then don't," I whispered. "Walk with me. I don't need your protection—I need you by my side. That's enough." My silvered eyes caught his, and for a moment, I thought I saw the weight of centuries in his gaze—the burden of Alpha, the fire of his pack, and the storm of his emotions.
We stepped into the forest beyond Valemont, trees burning faintly under a magical flare that seemed to pulse with my own heartbeat. The ground smoldered where the First Dragon's energy had leaked, the air carrying a faint metallic tang. Shadows twisted between the trunks, unnatural and deliberate, hinting at the scouts of the Hollow Order, moving silently, watching. My powers reacted instinctively—glyphs along my arms flared, glowing faintly silver as if warning me, alerting me, demanding I be ready.
"Dahlia," Damon murmured, brushing a finger against my wrist, "they're here." His growl was low, warning, but steady. "Scouts. Small numbers, but cunning. They'll try to flank us."
I closed my eyes, breathing through the pulse of power in my veins. The brand, the silvered marks, even the residual fire in my blood—the First Dragon's memory—was guiding me. I could feel the flow of energy in the forest, the push and pull of every living thing around us, even those who wished us harm. My hand rose instinctively, palm out, glyphs flaring bright. A shockwave of energy rippled through the clearing, bending light, shaking leaves, and forcing the hidden scouts to reveal themselves. Damon moved like lightning, fangs bared, teeth scraping the air, and in a blur of obsidian fur and silver claws, they fell, their spells interrupted, their bodies scattered like broken shadows.
I took a deep breath, feeling the thrill of power and the ache of exhaustion threading through me. My heart was hammering, yet every beat felt like a drum of purpose. And then I sensed it—a flare, faint at first, then stronger, pulling me forward. A warmth like molten gold glowed faintly through the trees, an invitation and a warning.
"Dahlia," Damon said, sensing my hesitation. "What is it?"
"I… I don't know," I admitted, fear and curiosity clashing inside me. "Something's guiding us. Something wants us to follow."
We pressed on, following the flare deeper into the forest until the trees began to thin. The air shimmered with heat and latent magic. Then the sanctuary revealed itself—hidden among cliffs and mist, a fortress of blackened stone and living fire. Dragons circled the peaks, their scales flickering between reality and illusion, eyes glinting like molten gemstones. I had never seen anything so alive, so dangerous, so utterly sacred.
Damon's hand squeezed mine, and I felt the weight of awe and fear reflected in him. "By all the gods," he muttered. "It's real. It's… alive."
We entered the sanctuary cautiously. The sound of our boots on stone echoed like drums in the cavernous halls. Shadows moved around us—larger, more deliberate this time. A figure emerged, cloaked in a flame-like aura, its presence radiating authority and silent power. His face remained hidden beneath the hood, but his presence pressed against my chest like gravity itself.
"You are the Moonblood Reborn," the figure said, voice deep, resonant, almost vibrating with the air itself. "I have waited for you."
I swallowed, every instinct screaming both reverence and fear. "I… I am Dahlia. What are you?"
"I am a Bloodbound, a guide, a keeper of fire and memory," he said, stepping forward. "And you, child, are the key. The First Dragon remembers. The world remembers. You must awaken fully, or none will survive what comes."
He lifted his hands, and suddenly, the sanctuary erupted in elemental energy. Fire roared along the walls, wind twisted through the halls, and the stone beneath our feet trembled. "Test of Fire," he intoned. "You will prove your worth, or your blood will betray you."
My pulse surged as the trial began. I lifted my hands instinctively, glyphs igniting along my skin, flowing silver against the darkness. Energy erupted from my palms, colliding with the elemental chaos around me. Concussive blasts threw me back, the air burning with both cold and flame. Damon lunged to catch me, claws barely retracting as we tumbled, and yet, even amidst the chaos, a strange calm threaded through me.
"Focus," he said, gripping my shoulders. "You can control it. Trust yourself."
I nodded, letting my blood flow with intention. The glyphs shimmered, responding to my will. Fire became fluid, shaping itself around me; wind bent to my gestures, striking at the constructs of the trial. Energy cracked, collided, and I screamed, pushing beyond fear and hesitation. I could feel every memory of Seraphina, every failure, every betrayal, threading into power now tempered by control.
Damon's hand brushed mine mid-trial, and I froze. His storm-gray eyes met mine, full of unspoken tension. In that instant, everything felt suspended—the danger, the trial, the elemental chaos. Our lips almost brushed as he muttered, "You're not alone."
A spark of warmth, a pulse of connection, surged through me, steadying my energy. The trial itself seemed to respond, yielding as I honed the elemental torrents into a single, massive strike that collided with the apex of the sanctuary's elemental storm. The energy folded, collapsed, and the chamber quieted—leaving only the hum of magic and my rapid heartbeat.
The Bloodbound mentor stepped forward, his cloak billowing like living fire. "Impressive," he said. "You have potential, but heed this: your power is not infinite. The First Dragon, the Hollow Order, and worse yet… the choices you make will bind or break the world. Remember this."
I nodded, sweat and silvered ash streaking my face. Damon's arm stayed wrapped around my waist, grounding me even as I staggered under the trial's exertion.
From the shadows, a figure emerged—slender, cloaked in deep red, eyes glinting. "I am Kael," he said. "Apprentice of the Red Dragon. You will need allies, and perhaps rivals, to survive what comes." His gaze flicked to Damon, sharp, challenging, almost playful.
Damon growled softly, tone clipped. "Rivalry begins now, apparently."
I felt a flicker of amusement despite exhaustion. Kael's presence, dangerous yet vital, promised alliances and challenges ahead.
Night fell over the sanctuary. Firelight danced across stone walls, flickering in rhythm with my pulse. I lay back on the ground, feeling the brand and glyphs settle into a steady glow. Yet sleep was impossible. Dreams waited for me, visions of the First Dragon, memories of Seraphina, and whispers of wars older than time itself.
I rolled onto my side, eyes open, feeling Damon's steady presence beside me. "We've taken the first step," I whispered. "But I can feel him. He's close… watching. Waiting."
Damon's hand found mine, firm, unyielding. "Then we prepare. Together."
And under the blanket of stars and firelight, I understood the truth: nothing would be simple. The First Dragon remembered, the Moonblood power was waking, and our path was not just survival—it was the beginning of war.
The sanctuary hummed with life and latent threat. Dragons stirred in hidden alcoves. Kael watched from the shadows, alert and calculating. And deep in my bones, I knew this was only the start.
Because the trials ahead would demand everything—fire, blood, loyalty, and love.
And nothing—or no god—would stand unchallenged.
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