The black flame on the horizon finally faded, but its echo stayed lodged in my bones like a buried fang.
Even long after night settled over the sanctuary and the dragons withdrew into the deeper caverns, sleep wouldn't come. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that chamber beneath Valemont—smoke coiling around my ankle, the First Dragon whispering my forgotten name like a promise and a curse.
So I rose.
The great molten hall at the heart of the sanctuary shimmered like the inside of a living furnace. Veins of fire coursed beneath translucent stone, lighting massive runes carved centuries ago by dragon claws and Moonblood hands. I stepped into the center and sank to my knees.
The air welcomed me like an old friend.
Silver sparks lifted off my skin with every breath, drifting up toward the ceiling like fireflies made of starlight. They touched the runes and the old symbols flared—slow, reverent, as if recognizing one of their own.
I closed my eyes and let the fire move through me.
And it came: the vision.
Moonbloods clad in armor of silver ash, chanting in a dead tongue. Their eyes were glassy. Their hands trembled as they brought chains made of living flame around a massive, thrashing form—the First Dragon, roaring against its binders, wings tearing holes through reality. One Moonblood stood at the head of them all. She looked like me. She was me.
A crown of bone. Blood dripping from her hands. And when the Dragon finally bowed… she turned her back on him.
The guilt hit me so hard I gasped and clutched the molten floor.
"You remember more than most."
The voice came from behind—calm, deep, edged with flame. The Bloodbound mentor stepped into the light, his ember-cloak flickering in rhythm with the molten veins.
I tried to steady my breathing. "It wasn't just sacrifice. It was betrayal."
"Both," he agreed. "Your bloodline bound him to save the realm. But once bound, they feared him—and used him."
The truth hurt more than the memory.
I pressed my palm to the glowing stone and willed the fire back into stillness. "What if I repeat it? What if every step I take just pushes us closer to the same ruin?"
A shadow moved at the edge of my sight. Damon stood near one of the pillars, silent. His eyes weren't storm-gray now—they were silvered with worry he couldn't put into words. He didn't interrupt, but the weight of his presence wrapped around me like armor.
"You won't," he said quietly. "Because you're not that version of yourself anymore."
The Bloodbound inclined his head, as though acknowledging a truth even he could not refute.
"Still," he said, "you must awaken the dormant flame within your blood completely. Only then will you be able to stand against what stirs beneath the First Dragon." He raised his hand and fire coiled from his palm like a serpent. "Do you consent to the second awakening?"
For a heartbeat I hesitated. Then I nodded.
Flame surged.
It wasn't pain, not exactly. It was memory. A thousand lifetimes of power roaring through my veins at once. I saw the first Moonbloods forging pacts in dragonblood. I saw the Hollow Order twisting those pacts into cages. I saw one Moonblood choose power over loyalty and ignite everything that followed.
"Enough—" Damon's voice, sharp, raw, from somewhere very close.
"No," I gasped, pushing against the torrent. "Let it finish."
The fire whirled into a spiral around me, bleeding silver and red, fusing at my spine. I could feel the dormant essence beneath my ribs burst into life, flooding every vein with searing energy. Stars burst behind my eyes—and then everything went still.
I collapsed forward, breathing like I'd run a thousand miles.
Damon caught me before I hit the floor.
He didn't speak—but his arm around my waist, the tightness of his grip, told me everything.
The Bloodbound spoke again, softer now. "It's done. The second phase has awakened. But know this—each time you draw from it, you draw him closer. The First Dragon remembers his bride. And soon… he may try to claim her."
Cold slid beneath my skin despite the heat of the hall.
Before I could answer, boots slammed against stone. Kael.
"Moonblood." He said the word like a challenge. "You're drawing too deeply from the dragon flame. If you burn out now, you doom all of us before the war even begins."
I pushed away from Damon and rose slowly. "You think I don't know what's at stake?"
Kael's gaze sharpened, flickering between me and Damon. "I think power makes people arrogant. Even gods can bleed when they're blind."
Damon stepped forward, fangs just visible at the corner of his mouth. "Say that again."
Kael didn't back down. "She might be our hope—but she's also the easiest path to destruction. Red Dragons don't follow blindly."
The heat between them was thick enough to taste. Something primal flared in Damon's eyes—the wolf answering a challenge. And something just as primal rose in me in response.
"Enough." My voice cut through the tension like blade hitting stone. "You want to test me again? Fine. Test me. But don't mistake caution for weakness… or devotion for blindness."
Kael's lips curled—half-smirk, half-respect—and he stepped back with a shallow nod. "Then prove it."
The molten runes at our feet flared into a circle.
I didn't hesitate.
Silver flames rushed up my arms as I drew the Moonblood fire through my center and channeled it outward. It burned like ice and memory, bending the molten sigils into new shapes—ones even the Bloodbound watched with wary interest. For a heartbeat the power overwhelmed me; stars burst behind my eyelids—and then everything snapped into perfect focus.
I shaped the flame into a single, controlled spiral.
The hall went still.
Even Kael looked shaken.
The Bloodbound exhaled, voice low. "Well done." Then, softer—"But be warned. The stirrings you feel aren't only his." He lifted a hand toward the far cavern. "Old things wake when the First Flame rises. Things that do not answer to dragons… or to you."
The words hadn't even faded when a distant roar echoed through the sanctuary, deep and unfamiliar.
Not a dragon. Something else.
I turned—and saw it through the cavern mouth.
Far beyond the cliffs, beneath the moon's fractured light, a ring of ancient sigils burned into the sky. Crimson. Twisting. Moving inward… like a noose tightening.
The Hollow Order.
They had found us.
And behind those sigils—I felt it again.
That ancient, patient presence.
The First Dragon… waiting.
---
"Should I give Damon a jealousy arc… or let him stay stoic Alpha? 👀"