Dawn never truly reached the Red Dragon sanctuary. It filtered in as a dull, bruised glow that clung to the cliffs and seeped through the cracks like dying embers. I stood at the edge of the upper terraces, fingers pressed to the cold stone, watching the sky pulse with crimson sigils that hadn't been there the night before. They moved in slow, steady spirals, tightening, each one echoing in my blood like a drum I couldn't silence. The Hollow Order wasn't searching anymore. They were hunting.
The dragons felt it too. Even from this height I could see them shifting on their perches, wings half-unfurled, claws carving slow warning grooves into the rock. Damon stood just behind me, arms crossed, shoulders coiled in that restrained, dangerous way that meant the wolf was prowling right under the surface. He hadn't slept. Every so often his gaze would drift to me, sharp, heated, aching with things he didn't say. You shouldn't be out here alone, that look said. But he didn't drag me back inside. He just stood beside me, and somehow that was enough.
I caught the first flicker in the tree line below—the soft bend of a shadow where there shouldn't be one. Then another. They moved like oil across water, blurring the edges of reality. Hollow Order scouts, cloaked in shadow-magic. A heartbeat later the first arrow hissed from the trees, streaking toward us like a whisper of death. I didn't think. I let the Moonblood blaze coil up my arms and flared a wall of silver fire. The arrow hit it and disintegrated, scattering sparks across the terrace stones.
Damon's growl rolled low in his chest. Defenses now, he snapped over the bond, and moved. His body blurred, half-shifted, claws already tearing into the stone as he leapt from the terrace and landed among the shadows like a falling star made of teeth and fury. I followed only a breath behind, silver fire spilling from my fingers as I vaulted the ledge, landing in the midst of the ambush. Cold air slammed against molten flame as the Hollow Order broke from concealment—dozens of them, armored in sigil-stitched cloaks, blades forged in nightmare. They didn't speak. They swarmed.
The first wave hit Damon. He moved like pure violence, claws carving through steel and bone, each strike precise, savage, beautiful. But there were too many. I felt the brand flare, every pulse telling me to burn. So I did—sent a spiral of Moonblood fire racing across the ground. It ripped upward in a bright silver wall, cutting five of them down before they could reach him. For a moment I let myself believe it might be enough.
It wasn't.
A second wave poured from the trees—shadow-wraiths, barely solid, blades drawn from living night. One lunged for me. I spun, fingers splayed, fire lashing out—but the wraith slipped through it, reforming behind me, blade thrust for my spine. A streak of crimson cut across my vision and Kael landed between us, twin daggers smoking with dragonfire. He met my startled look with a crooked grin and didn't bother hiding the satisfaction in his voice. You're too slow, Moonblood.
I didn't have time to snap back. More wraiths surged forward. Silver fire met crimson steel as the two of us moved in tandem—unplanned, abrupt, but effective. Damon's roar cut above the clash, feral and raw as he tore a war-priest in half. The echo of it shot adrenaline through my veins, and the wraith in front of me suddenly froze, eyes widening. My glyphs blazed. I saw the lines of its magic, the thread holding its form together—and with a twist of my fingers, I unraveled it. The wraith dissolved into ash.
Power answered me. Hungry. Exhilarating.
Somewhere behind me, I heard Damon snarl my name—the warning buried in it nearly drowned by the sound of steel. A shadow streaked from the treeline—a Hollow assassin cloaked in flickering black flame, blade aimed directly for my heart. Damon moved, faster than thought—but not fast enough. I didn't step back. I stepped into the strike, letting the blade pierce through the shell of Moonblood fire between us—and when it did, I let everything go.
Silver detonation ripped outward.
The world went white. The air cracked. The hillside erupted in a scream of fire and light that swallowed the assassin and half the clearing. When the blast died, ash drifted through the smoke-thick air like snow. Hollow Order bodies lay scattered in charred heaps. The survivors staggered back, shielding their faces from the lingering glow of my glyphs. Then—retreat. They ran. Every single one of them.
Silence followed. Harsh. Fragile.
My knees nearly buckled from the drain. Damon caught me before I hit the ground, one arm anchoring around my waist, the other bracing my shoulder as if I might vanish if he let go. His voice was raw gravel in my ear. Breathe… that's it… stay with me. His grip didn't shake—but his heartbeat did.
I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, letting the scent of smoke and cedar anchor me. I wanted to melt into him. Instead I took a shaking breath and forced out a quiet truth. I'm okay. You didn't lose me.
He didn't reply. He just pressed his lips against my temple—barely there, but enough to leave me trembling in a very different way.
The Bloodbound appeared at the edge of the clearing, ember-cloak smoldering in the dawn light. His voice carried across the scorched stone like a warning bell. They will return. And next time… they will not come alone. The First Dragon hears you, Moonblood. So does the Order.
I lifted my head from Damon's shoulder, exhausted but unbroken, silver fire flickering in my eyes.
Then let them come.
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