Prologue — A Forgotten Flame
"There was once a time when dragons ruled the land and the sky.
But time, like fire, devours its own."
She remembers fire.
Not warmth. Not comfort. But the kind that blinds.
That tears holes in the heavens and scorches bone from earth.
A fire that screams.
She was only a girl when the flame came.
Or so she thinks. Her memory folds in strange ways—like pages of a book long left in rain.
Some parts are blurred. Some rewritten. Some... locked.
She remembers bodies—white-scaled, black-clawed—
falling from the sky like burning stars.
She remembers running.
She remembers silence that stretched like eternity.
And then—
A voice. Not human. Not kind. But vast.
A voice that called her, not by name—but by purpose.
"Miracle."
It spoke from a throat scorched by prophecy.
From lungs filled with dying magic.
The white dragon was old—older than the wars, older than the ruins.
Its wings no longer moved, but light still burned in its eyes.
It did not ask her if she was ready.
It did not ask her if she believed.
It simply placed a warmth in her chest—
a living breath, heavy and bright—
and something heavy into her arms:
An egg.
Red. Glistening. Alive.
"Take him," it said.
"To the Void. Let balance cradle what wrath would crush."
And then the light faded.
And she was alone again.
She walked through ashes.
Across valleys of black glass and bone.
The egg pulsed like a heartbeat, like a star trapped in her arms.
She did not understand.
She did not ask.
But something old and deep told her this was her burden to carry.
At the forest's edge, beneath trees too tall for sun to pierce, she found the guardian.
The Void Dragon.
It did not roar. Did not speak.
Its eyes were dark mirrors.
Its body shimmered with night-silver, scales shifting like time itself.
It took the egg.
And then vanished beneath the roots of the world.
✦
Decades passed.
Maybe centuries. She cannot remember.
The white flame burned in her chest, but time ran differently now.
She did not age as others did.
She did not sleep as others did.
Dreams became fragments.
Memories unraveled.
She forgot the dragon's face.
She forgot the egg's warmth.
She forgot her name.
But sometimes—
sometimes she would wake in the middle of the night,
hand pressed to her heart—
And for the next eighty years till Void Dragon's death, the red egg slept beneath the forest floor. Until the Void Dragon was gone.
Its magic lingered like old perfume, barely holding the veil.
And then, on the night the Flame Star passed overhead, the egg cracked.
A boy was born.
Not screaming.
Breathing.
Burning.
He did not know her.
But in his dreams, he saw her.
He remembered wings and war.
He remembered a hand reaching for him in the dark.
And a voice:
"When all believe dragons are no more,
Then comes the last: of flame and lore.
Strength of black, the peace of white,
A crimson born of dark and light.
With wizard's hand and dragon's roar—
Death shall fall and rise once more."
Now the stars have begun to shift.
Now the red book stirs.
Now a flame once forgotten is waking.
And she does not know why her chest is burning again.
Only that something is coming.
And it remembers her name.
Chapter 1 – Ashes and Wings
There was fire—al ways fire.
White feathers drifting through a blackened sky. A glint of obsidian claws, curved and cruel. A pair of eyes, glassy and infinite, like twin voids staring through her soul.
A boy screaming. Or melting? She wasn't sure. The lines blurred. Flesh and flame, laughter and ruin.
She saw a house. Hers, once. Or so she believes. A door flung open. A child running into arms. Then the wood curled black. The walls vanished into sparks. Ash rained like snow.
A boy again—red-eyed, burning, but not screaming this time. He looked at her. He knew her.
She jolted awake. From dreams in pieces, like scattered ash carried by wind.
She sat bolt upright in bed, heart thundering in her chest like a war drum. Sweat soaked her tunic. Her breath came ragged, panicked. Tears streaked down her cheeks. But she didn't know why.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Right above the white flame sigil beneath her ribs—it was pulsing. Faintly glowing.
"Not again," she whispered. "I don't even know you. So why the hell do I keep crying?"
Her voice trembled, half a curse, half a confession.
The dreams had returned with the moon—stronger than before. She needed air.
✦
Before the sun even kissed the eastern hills, she was out. She walked the forest edge, the hem of her coat brushing dew-wet grass. The birds were still quiet. The sky still bruised with night.
She didn't know why she walked toward Skarnwood, the cursed side of the forest. Maybe it was just distance she wanted. Or silence. Or something else entirely.
Then—
THUD.
A crash, like a tree giving out. She froze. Then came the grunting. Heavy, ragged panting. Branches snapping. Footfalls—too fast. Too chaotic.
Something—or someone—was coming.
From the mist emerged a blur of crimson and gold. Wings. Tattered and bleeding. Eyes like molten sunrise, flickering unstable light.
A boy—no, a creature—no, a boy with dragon wings.
He stumbled forward, snarling under his breath. A torn cloak hung off one shoulder. His eyes darted wildly—through her, past her, then back.
And then—her chest burned.
The white flame sigil flared hot beneath her shirt, like it recognized him before her mind could catch up.
"W-WHAT THE—" she started.
"WHAT ARE YOU?!" he shouted at the same time, his voice hoarse.
They both reeled back like startled cats.
"You're glowing!"
"You have WINGS!"
"Why do YOU smell like metal and peaches?!"
"Why are your eyes on FIRE?!"
A beat of tense silence. Then:
"Wait—are you a human?" Her eyes wide. Glued to his wings
"I was about to ask you that!" He saw her sigil glow. Silver and icy, like a moonlit winter.
They stared at each other. He sniffed the air like some kind of jungle beast. She stared at his clawed feet and ragged tunic.
"Oh gods," she muttered. "You're a hybrid."
"A what-now?" He narrowed his eyes.
Then she took a step back, and her foot hit mud. Then slope. Then water.
"Oh crap—"
SPLASH!
She vanished into the pond behind her, flailing as she hit the cold surface. Her yell became bubbles.
The boy—or dragon—flinched, startled. He stared for one second too long. Then dove in after her.
Moments later—both coughing, soaked—he dragged her back to the bank.
She shivered, teeth chattering. He was dripping, scowling.
"You're lucky I knew what drowning looked like."
"You're lucky I didn't stab you."
Then—he hissed.
Blood trailed down his wing, now hanging limply at his side.
"You're hurt," she said, softer now.
"...Not a big deal," he muttered. But even his breathing sounded like smoke.
"Right. You're bleeding all over my forest. Big not-deal."
She touched her side. The white flame flickered again. Something, a voice deep inside her, whispered.
"Protect him."
Her mouth opened—to tell the voice to shut up. But she didn't.
She looked at the blood. At his barely rising chest.
"You're him…. Aren't you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Of course it's you,"
she thought. "Or maybe not…."
"Nothing. Forget I said that. Just…" Her eyes fixed on the dripping blood
"Stop dying, okay?"
"I'm… not dying!"
He immediately collapsed sideways.
"Sure. And I'm a damn butterfly."
And beneath her coat, glowing softly at the center of her chest—
bright silver-white, sharp against the cold morning air. She touched her collarbone again.
The sigil flared one last time.
"Protect him."
The voice said again.
This time, she didn't argue.