The first scream tore through the night.
Kael jolted awake as the village horns blared. He threw open his window just in time to see a monstrous shape—black-scaled, wings like tattered shadows—swoop down and snatch Old Man Garrick from the street.
"DRAGONHUNTERS!"
The word sent a primal terror through him.
Before he could react, his door slammed open. Auther stood there, half-transformed, eyes blazing.
"Where is Sylvie?"
Kael's stomach dropped.
Outside, Eldermere burned.
Sylvie staggered through the chaos, her lungs searing. Dragonhunters ripped through homes, their claws shredding stone like parchment. Villagers screamed, only to be silenced mid-breath.
A shadow loomed—a beast twice the size of the dragons, saliva dripping from its fangs.
Then—FIRE.
Auther slammed into the creature in full dragon form, his roar shaking the earth.
"RUN, SYLVIE!"
She turned—
And there was Kael, standing in the village square, surrounded.
The monsters closed in.
Five Minutes Earlier
Kael and Auther burst from their house. "Everyone, run! To the forest! Fighters—prepare for battle!" Auther bellowed. He gripped Kael's shoulder, his voice firm. "You too—get to the forest."
"No! What about Sylvie?" Kael protested.
Auther's smile was grim but reassuring. "I'll find her. Go."
Kael nodded, though his mind was already set—he would find her himself.
He sprinted toward the park, praying Sylvie had returned there. But as he skidded to a halt, his blood turned to ice.
Dragonhunters.
One crouched over the body of an elderly woman—someone who must have tried to flee. Its maw dripped crimson as it tore into flesh.
Kael froze—but only for a second. He edged backward, breath trapped in his throat. Then—
Snap.
A twig shattered under his boot.
The creatures whipped toward him, their hollow black eyes locking onto his.
"Shit."
He spun and ran, desperate to reach his father—but fate had other plans.
When he reached the town square, his heart lurched. There was Sylvie—and Auther, shielding her.
Calling out would doom them all.
Kael clenched his fists.
"Fine… Then I'll fight."
He turned, held out his dagger—and faced the horde closing in.
Back to the present
Auther's roar shook the earth as he tore through another Dragonhunter, his claws slick with black blood. But for every beast he felled, two more surged toward Sylvie. The village blacksmith's son, Joren, lay nearby - his body torn nearly in half, glassy eyes staring at the smoke-filled sky. The baker's daughter, barely twelve summers old, whimpered as she tried to crawl away from the carnage, her leg bent at an unnatural angle.
He couldn't protect them all.
Sylvie's parents—the village merchants—were hundreds of miles away, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding at home. No one was coming to save her. The scent of burning thatch mixed with the metallic tang of blood as another cottage collapsed in a shower of sparks.
"Kael! Run! NOW!" Jenny's voice cut through the chaos, raw with desperation. But she couldn't transform, not in her condition. Not without risking the unborn child. Her hands glowed faintly with healing magic as she tried to staunch the wounds of the bakers daughter, but her eyes kept darting toward her son.
Kael fought like a cornered animal, his dagger flashing. Without the power of the coming-of-age ceremony, his strength was meager—human. Yet he killed one, driving his blade through its eye socket with a scream that tore at his throat. The monster collapsed at his feet with a guttural shriek, its acidic black blood eating holes in the packed earth of the village square.
But the others didn't hesitate.
Fire seared his side, burning through his tunic and blistering skin. Claws raked his chest, leaving four parallel wounds that welled with crimson. The monsters drove him back—back toward the cliff's edge where the river roared fifty feet below. He could feel the spray on his neck, the crumbling dirt beneath his boots.
"D-Damn it—!" His voice was a whisper, swallowed by the roar of the waterfall downstream. The obsidian stone pulsed with eerie light from where it lay discarded nearby, casting jagged shadows across the monsters' faces.
One final slash—
And the ground vanished beneath him.
Time fractured.
Jenny's scream tore through the battlefield—a raw, guttural sound that seemed to rip the very air apart. Beside her, Auther stood frozen, his sword arm slack at his side, as if his muscles had forgotten their purpose. Their son—their Kael—staggered backward, a crimson arc spraying from the gash across his chest. His boots scraped against the cliff's edge then the ground vanished beneath him. For one suspended heartbeat, his eyes met theirs, wide with shock, with recognition—
Then he fell.
Jenny's knees hit the dirt, her hands clawing at the earth as if she could dig through stone to catch him. Auther's roar of anguish rolled across the battlefield, shaking the leaves from the trees, carrying all the way to the distant river where the waters swallowed Kael whole.
Sylvie collapsed beside them. The world muted, the clang of steel and the howls of the dying dissolving into a dull, underwater hum. Her vision tunneled—there was only the cliff's edge, the emptiness where Kael had been, and the slow, creeping numbness spreading through her veins like poison. Her fingers twitched, grasping at nothing.
This isn't real.
But the blood on the rocks was real. The way Jenny shook, her sobs silent now, her breath coming in jagged, useless gasps—real. The sword still lodged in Auther's grip, his knuckles white, his face a mask of something far beyond rage—real.
And Kael was gone.
Somewhere, the battle raged on. Somewhere, men still fought, still bled, still died. But here, at the cliff's edge, there was only silence.
And three broken people, staring into the abyss.
The river took him.
Kael's body struck the frigid water like a stone, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. The current seized him instantly, dragging him under, tossing him against jagged rocks that sliced through his tunic and into flesh. His vision flashed white with pain, then darkened at the edges as the water filled his mouth, his nose—
I'm going to die.
The thought was strangely calm amidst the chaos. Above him, through the churning water, he could see the distant glow of the burning village. Sylvie. Mom. Dad. Their faces flickered in his mind, and something in his chest burned hotter than the wounds scoring his body.
No.
His fingers clawed at the water, fighting toward the surface. His lungs screamed. His muscles shook. But he kicked—hard—just as the river bent sharply, throwing him toward a shallow rapid. His back scraped against stone, and then—
Air.
He gasped, choking on water and blood, his body slamming into a sandbar. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the smoke-streaked sky, trembling. Alive.
But the relief was short-lived.
A low, guttural growl rippled through the night.
Kael's head snapped toward the sound.
On the bank, barely ten paces away, a Dragonhunter crouched—its muzzle stained black with blood, its ember-like eyes locked onto him.
And it was smiling.
Meanwhile, in Eldermere
The survivors huddled in the ruins of the village square, their faces hollow with shock. Sylvie sat apart from them, her arms wrapped around her knees, her fingers still clutching the broken pieces of the dragon charm.
Jenny's voice was hoarse from screaming her son's name. Now, it was barely a whisper.
"We have to find him."
Auther's jaw tightened. He had scoured the cliff's edge, but the river was merciless. If Kael had survived the fall, the current would have taken him miles downstream by now. And with the forest crawling with Dragonhunters…
"We can't," he said finally, the words ash in his mouth. "Not yet."
Sylvie's head jerked up.
"You're just going to leave him?" Her voice cracked.
Auther's golden eyes flickered with grief—and something harder. "We protect the living first."
But as the villagers began gathering the wounded, Sylvie's gaze drifted toward the forest.
And the obsidian stone, still sitting in the forest, pulsed once—as if in answer.
Sylvie's chair clattered to the ground as she surged to her feet. "What is wrong with all of you?" Her voice tore through the smoky air like a knife, raw and trembling. The broken dragon charm bit into her palm as she clenched her fist. "Who declared him dead? Isn't he still alive until we find his body? Until we know for certain?"
The gathered survivors flinched at her outburst. Old Man Therin's bandaged arm shook as he reached for her, but she jerked away, her chest heaving. The acrid smell of burnt flesh still hung heavy over what remained of the village square.
Auther slowly raised his head, the firelight carving deep shadows into his face. When he spoke, each word fell like a stone. "He is my son." The cracks in his voice betrayed the storm beneath his calm. "My blood. Do you think for one breath that I don't want him to be alive?" His massive hands, still streaked with soot and dragonblood, trembled at his sides. "But right now, we must save those who still have a chance."
The village elders nodded solemnly, their scales dull with ash. Elder Ysara, her left horn snapped clean in half, stepped forward. "Auther speaks truth." Her voice rasped from inhaled smoke. "We must reach Laboron by dawn. The Dragon King must know what darkness has returned to our lands this night."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the survivors, but it was a hollow sound. Eyes darted to the still forms lying in neat rows near the smoldering remains of the meeting hall - thirty-five draped bodies, their scales already losing their luster in death. The youngest was barely twenty winters; little Myrin, who had just begun growing her wing-spurs.
"We won't leave them to the crows," Jessa the weaver said suddenly, her voice thick. Her mate lay among the dead, his wings shredded beyond recognition. "Not like this. Not after everything."
No one argued. That night, beneath a moon stained red by smoke, they buried their dead in the sacred grove where generations of Eldermere dragons had been laid to rest. Auther dug graves with his bare hands, his claws splitting and bleeding into the earth. Jenny sang the Passing Hymn, her voice breaking over each note, her hands cradling her stomach as if protecting the new life within from the death surrounding them.
Sylvie stood apart, watching as the last body - Old Man Garrick, who had taught Kael to fish in the river that may have claimed him - was lowered into the ground. The obsidian stone weighed heavy in her mind. As the first shovelful of earth thudded onto the wrapped bodies, she made a silent promise.
She wouldn't go to Laboron.
She would find Kael.
Even if it meant facing the Dragonhunters alone.
Back to Kael
The Dragonhunter's jagged grin never wavered.
Kael's vision swam, his body a tapestry of pain—his leg bent at a sickening angle, his chest torn open, blood seeping into the riverbank's mud. The beast loomed over him, its ember eyes drinking in his weakness.
"I'm going to die."
His voice was a whisper, but his fingers dug into the earth. If this was the end, he'd meet it with teeth bared.
The Dragonhunter lunged.
Kael barely had time to raise his arms before the monster slammed him down, its claws pinning his shoulders. Hot breath reeking of charred flesh washed over him as its maw gaped wide—
"Damn it! I won't die to the likes of you!"
With a raw scream, Kael jammed his forearm between its teeth. Bone crunched. Agony lanced up his arm, but he shoved deeper, gagging the beast. Its growls vibrated through his bones, its tongue lashing against his skin like burning leather.
Then—heat.
The Dragonhunter's throat glowed purple.
Acid.
Kael's breath hitched. "So this is it." His muscles gave out. "Guess my second life was just the gods mocking me."
He shut his eyes—
THWIP.
A shrill shriek tore through the air.
Kael's eyes flew open as the beast reeled back, an arrow buried deep in its eye socket. Black blood sprayed.
Through his fading vision, figures emerged from the trees—elves. Not the graceful beings from stories, but warriors clad in bark-like armor, their movements sharp as blades.
"Am I… hallucinating?"
The elves moved with lethal precision. Arrows peppered the Dragonhunter's hide. A woman with silver-streaked hair drove a spear into its flank. The beast howled, thrashing—
But Kael's world was dimming.
Blood loss dragged at his consciousness. His lungs burned, his ribs grating with each shallow breath. Shadows crept at the edges of his sight.
A figure knelt beside him. A hand pressed against his ruined chest.
"W…who…?"
Darkness swallowed him before he could finish.
As Keal dreamed of his past he saw all the pain and agony of losing those he loved. Flashbacks of his first squad that he was a part of in his first life during the war.
The Squad's Last Stand
Iron Squad had been deployed to hold the Vorgath Pass—a suicide mission from the start. Twelve men against an entire battalion. They'd joked about it the night before, passing around a flask of cheap whiskey.
"If we die, we die rich," William had laughed, patting the photos of his newborn daughter tucked in his breast pocket.
Now, William was bleeding out in the mud, and the flask lay shattered somewhere in the trench.
Kael fired blindly into the smoke. "Fall back to the bunker!"
But the bunker was gone. A direct hit had turned it into a crater.
One by one, Iron Squad fell.
Rook, the medic, took a sniper's bullet through the throat mid-sentence then Darius, the heavy gunner, held the line until his overheating LMG jammed—then they swarmed him. Viktor died screaming, a bayonet buried in his gut.
John grabbed Kael's shoulder, his fingers like iron. "Listen to me—you run. You survive. Tell them what happened here."
Kael shook his head. "I'm not leaving you!"
John smiled—the same damn smile he'd given Kael when he'd welcomed him to the squad. "That's an order, kid."
Then he stood, lobbed his last grenade into the advancing horde, and charged after it with his pistol raised.
Kael ran.
He didn't look back.
Back in the present
The River's Mercy
The river had taken him, but death had not.
Kael's body had been a broken thing when the elves pulled him from the water—his leg shattered, his chest flayed open, his blood painting the sandbar crimson. They had whispered over him in that strange, curling tongue, their hands glowing with an eerie light as they pressed against his wounds.
He should have died.
But he hadn't.
And now, as he lay in the soft embrace of an elven healing bed, his mind clawed its way back from the dark.
Voices.
They slithered through the haze of his consciousness, murmuring in that same unfamiliar language. His eyelids were heavy, his body numb, but he forced them open—
Light.
Blinding, at first. Then shapes. A ceiling woven from living branches. The scent of herbs and something sweet, like honeyed wine.
And her—the elf woman with golden hair, her emerald eyes watching him with something between relief and sorrow.
"Ah, you're finally awake."
Her voice was softer than he remembered. Or maybe he had only dreamed it before.
Kael's throat was raw, his tongue thick. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a rasp.
The woman pressed a cup to his lips. "Drink."
The liquid was cool, tinged with something bitter, but it soothed the fire in his throat. He swallowed, then tried again.
"How… long?"
"Three days since we found you," she said, setting the cup aside. "But your wounds…" She hesitated, her gaze flickering to his chest, where bandages hid the worst of the damage. "They were not all from the river."
Memories surged—the Dragonhunter's jagged grin, its claws pinning him down, the searing heat of its breath before—
"The archers," he croaked. "They saved me."
The woman nodded. "Our scouts. They were tracking the beast when they found you."
Kael's fingers twitched against the sheets. "Is it dead?"
A shadow passed over her face. "Yes. But not before it took two of ours with it."
Guilt twisted in his gut. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "Do not apologize for surviving."
Silence settled between them. Kael's body ached, but his mind was sharpening, the fog lifting.
"Your village," the woman said quietly. "You spoke of it when the fever was upon you."
A fist closed around his heart. "Eldermere."
"The dragonkin settlement near the Blackroot Cliffs."
His breath hitched. "You know it?"
Her expression was unreadable. "We did."
The past tense was a knife to his ribs.
"What happened?" His voice was barely a whisper.
The woman exchanged a glance with the silver-haired elf who had appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed, his mouth set in a grim line.
"Tell me," Kael demanded, his fingers curling into fists.
The male elf stepped forward. "The Dragonhunters did not stop at your village," he said, his voice like gravel. "They moved west. By the time our forces arrived, there was nothing left to save."
Kael's vision blurred. "No survivors?"
A pause. Then—
"None that we found."
The words shattered him.
Sylvie. His parents. The elders. The children.
Gone.
His chest heaved, a broken sound tearing from his throat. The woman reached for him, but he recoiled, his grief a living thing, clawing its way out.
"You're wrong," he snarled. "She wouldn't— She couldn't—"
"Kael." The woman's voice was firm now. "Listen to me. The Dragonhunters are not natural beasts. They are made. And whatever—or whoever—created them is still out there."
Kael's breath came in ragged gasps. The obsidian stone pulsed in his memory, its sickly glow seared into his mind.
"Child, breathe." The elf's voice cut through the thickening haze of panic, gentle but firm. "If you let these thoughts consume you, they will swallow you whole."
But Kael heard none of it.
The screams of that night still echoed in his skull—his mother's shattered voice, his father's roar of anguish, the terrible silence after he'd plunged into the river's embrace. His chest constricted, each gasp for air sharper than the last, as if his lungs had forgotten their purpose. Shadows crept at the edges of his vision, whispering of failure, of guilt—
SLAP.
The sting erupted across his cheek, sudden and bright. The world snapped back into focus: the rough wool of his blanket beneath his fingers, the scent of pine resin from the open window, the two elves before him—one stern, one wide-eyed.
"Elnur! Why would you—"
"It was necessary, Luna," the male elf interrupted, his voice as steady as ancient stone. "He was spiraling beyond words."
Luna's lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing. Instead, she summoned a shard of ice from her palm, its surface glistening with condensation, and pressed it gently to Kael's burning face. The cold bit into his skin, a grounding anchor. "Rest now," she murmured. "This storm in your mind... it will pass. But not today."
She turned to Elnur, her gaze firm. "Leave us. I'm sure the council awaits their esteemed leader."
Elnur exhaled through his nose but nodded. As he strode from the room, his cloak whispered against the doorframe, leaving behind only the quiet crackle of the hearth.
Alone, Kael sank deeper into the pillows. The ice melted against his skin, mingling with the traitorous wetness on his cheeks. What if I'd been faster? What if I'd seen the attack coming? The questions coiled around his ribs, relentless.
Sleep came eventually—not as a respite, but as a riptide, dragging him under into dreams of cliffs and crimson spray.
Meanwhile, beneath the bruised violet sky, the dragons cut through the night, their powerful wings carving the wind as they carried the wounded and the young.
One Day Earlier
Sylvie sprinted through the forest, the cliff's edge a blur beside her. Her lungs burned, her breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat stung her eyes—but she didn't stop. "I-I'll find you… Kael!" Her voice cracked, raw with desperation.
She didn't hesitate. With a final, reckless step, she hurled herself toward the river below—
A massive hand snatched her midair.
"NO! LET ME GO!" She thrashed against Auther's grip, her small fists pounding his chest as he hauled her back. His arms were like iron, his face half-twisted in transformation, eyes blazing.
Gently—too gently for the fury in his voice—he set her down in the village.
"Why did you stop me!?" she screamed, her whole body trembling.
Auther's expression darkened, grief and rage warring in his gaze. "Because I swore to your parents I'd keep you safe!" His voice was a thunderclap. "What were you thinking? You're just a child!"
The words struck like a slap. Sylvie bit down on her lip until copper flooded her tongue. "At least I wanted to do something!"
Then she lunged.
Her fists flew, wild and useless. Auther didn't flinch—until she ducked, grabbed a handful of dirt, and hurled it into his eyes.
She ran.
A single, precise strike to her neck sent the world spiraling into black.
Jenny was there in an instant, pressing a white rag to the shallow cut Sylvie's nail had left on Auther's cheek. "Take her," he muttered, voice hollow. He passed Sylvie's limp form into Jenny's arms, then turned away—back toward the others, back toward the fight he couldn't escape.
Back to present.
Sylvie had fought like a wild thing when Auther caught her trying to flee—her screams raw with fury, her nails drawing blood before he struck the pressure point at her neck. Now, she lay limp in Jenny's arms, her fiery curls matted with sweat and tears.
Jenny's face was ashen, her voice a shattered whisper against the rushing wind. "Auther… do you think our son survived?"
The words struck deeper than any blade. Auther's wings beat harder, as if he could outfly the grief clawing at his throat. "He's alive," he growled. "Our boy is strong."
But the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
Jenny said nothing. She only held Sylvie tighter, her silent tears falling like rain as the distant spires of Laboron—the Dragon King's city—pierced the horizon.