Elara's POV
The wagon hits another rock and I slam against the wooden side.
"Sorry," one of the guards mumbles. He doesn't look at me.
None of them look at me.
We've been traveling for five days and not one of the six Council guards has met my eyes. They give me food. They let me sleep in the wagon. They answer my questions with one-word responses. But they won't look at me.
Like I'm already dead.
The thought makes my chest tight. I push it away and focus on the landscape instead.
Everything is dying out here.
On day one, we passed through farmland—green fields and happy villages. Day two brought forests with singing birds. Day three, the trees got shorter and the grass turned brown. Day four, the grass disappeared completely.
Now there's nothing.
Just black rocks that look like burned bones sticking out of red sand. The sun beats down so hard it hurts to breathe. The air tastes like ash and something else. Something that makes my skin crawl.
Death. The air tastes like death.
"How much longer?" I ask the guard sitting across from me.
He's young, maybe twenty, with kind eyes that won't look at mine.
"Few more hours," he says to his boots.
"And then we reach the research site?"
His jaw tightens. "Yeah. The research site."
The way he says it makes my stomach twist.
"What kind of research am I doing, exactly?" I've asked this question a dozen times. No one's given me a real answer.
The young guard opens his mouth. Another guard—older, with a scar across his cheek—cuts him off.
"You'll find out when we arrive." Scarface's voice is hard. "Stop asking questions."
The young guard looks relieved. And guilty. So, so guilty.
I wrap my arms around myself even though it's burning hot. Something is very wrong here. I've known it since the messenger said "Scorched Wastes." But I was starving and desperate and I got in the wagon anyway.
Stupid. I'm so stupid.
"There," Scarface says suddenly, pointing ahead. "The Dragonspire."
I look up and my heart stops.
A tower stabs into the sky like a giant black knife. It's taller than anything I've ever seen—taller than the Cathedral, taller than the Council building, taller than possible. Made of black stone that seems to drink the sunlight instead of reflecting it.
And it's wrong. Everything about it is wrong.
Just looking at it makes my magic flicker weakly in my chest. Makes my head hurt. Makes every instinct I have scream RUN.
"What is that?" I whisper.
"Your research site," Scarface says flatly.
The wagon stops at the tower's base. Up close, it's even worse. The black stone is covered in symbols—runes that hurt to look at. The air around it feels thick and heavy, like trying to breathe underwater.
The guards jump down. The young one offers me his hand, still not meeting my eyes.
"Come on," he says softly. "Let's get this over with."
Get what over with?
My legs shake as I climb down. The red sand crunches under my feet. The tower looms above me, so tall I have to crane my neck back to see the top. There is no top. It just disappears into the sky.
"Where's the research equipment?" I ask. My voice sounds too loud in the dead silence. "Where's the camp? Where are the other researchers?"
No one answers.
Scarface nods to two other guards. They move toward me.
"Wait—" I back up. "What are you doing?"
They grab my arms. I try to pull away but I'm still weak from two weeks of starvation. They drag me toward the tower.
"No! Stop! Let me go!"
They slam me against the black stone. It's cold. How is it cold when everything else is burning hot?
The young guard pulls out chains from a bag. Heavy iron chains covered in the same runes as the tower.
"Please," I beg, fighting uselessly. "Please don't do this. I don't understand. What did I do wrong?"
"You didn't do anything wrong," the young guard whispers. He's crying. Actually crying as he locks the first shackle around my wrist. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Then don't do this!" I scream. "If you're sorry, STOP!"
But he doesn't stop. None of them stop.
They chain both my wrists above my head. Chain my ankles. The metal bites into my skin. The runes glow faintly when they touch me, making my weak magic sputter and die.
"What is this?" I'm sobbing now, terrified. "What's happening? Please, somebody tell me what's happening!"
Scarface finally looks at me. His face is hard but his eyes are sad.
"The Dragonspire requires periodic offerings to maintain the seal," he says like he's reciting from a book. "You've been chosen to serve the realm."
Offerings.
OFFERINGS.
"You mean sacrifices," I whisper. "You're sacrificing me."
He doesn't deny it.
"Why me?" My voice breaks. "Why ME?"
The guards turn to leave. They're just going to leave me here. Leave me chained to this horrible tower to die.
"Wait!" I scream. "WAIT! You can't just leave me here! I'll die! Is that what you want? You want me to die?"
The young guard stops. Turns back. His face is wet with tears.
"Your sister suggested you," he says quietly.
The words hit me harder than any chain.
"What?"
"Celestine Morwen. She told the Council you'd be perfect for this. Said..." He swallows hard. "Said you'd finally be useful."
My sister. My own sister sent me here to die.
The young guard looks like he wants to say more. But Scarface grabs his arm and drags him away. Within minutes, the wagon is gone. The guards are gone.
I'm alone.
Chained to a tower in the middle of a dead wasteland with no food, no water, no hope.
I scream until my throat bleeds. I pull at the chains until my wrists bleed. Nothing works. The metal doesn't budge. The runes glow brighter every time I struggle, drinking my pathetic magic like a starving animal.
Hours pass. The sun moves across the sky. My skin burns. My lips crack. My throat feels like sandpaper.
I'm going to die here.
Celestine wins. She gets Maven, she gets the family, she gets everything, and I get to die chained to a tower like garbage.
The sun starts to set, painting the red sand orange and gold. It would be beautiful if I wasn't dying.
That's when I feel it.
A pulse.
Deep in the tower. Like a heartbeat. Like something huge and ancient just woke up.
The chains start to glow brighter. Not just the runes—the entire chain burns silver-white. The light spreads to my wrists where the metal touches my skin.
And my magic—my weak, pathetic, useless magic—suddenly EXPLODES.
Silver fire erupts from my hands. Real fire. Not the tiny flicker I've spent my whole life failing to create. REAL FIRE that makes the chains scream.
The tower cracks. A sound like thunder splits the air.
Something is moving inside. Something massive. Something that's been asleep for a very, very long time.
A voice fills my head—deep and ancient and absolutely furious:
"WHO DARES WAKE ME?"
The black stone shatters. The chains shatter. I fall to my knees, gasping, as silver fire consumes my entire body without burning me.
And from the heart of the broken tower, something emerges.
Wings that block out the dying sun.
Scales like obsidian and starlight.
Eyes that burn like molten gold.
A dragon.
The LAST dragon.
And he's looking right at me.