"Fan out! Find their positions!" Aiden yelled, drawing his dagger. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, but his voice was steady. He was the leader here. He had to be.
Nimbus stood his ground on the narrow ledge, a coiled spring of muscle and fury, his head swinging from side to side, searching for the enemy. Talia had already unslung her bow, an arrow nocked and ready, her sharp eyes scanning the shadowy crevices of the canyon walls.
But there was nothing. Only silence and the howling wind.
"It's too quiet," Seraphine murmured, her hand resting on the hilt of her own dagger. "They're toying with us."
"Rina, stay behind Nimbus," Aiden ordered, his gaze fixed on the rocks above them. Lyra moved to stand in front of Rina, her body a tense, protective shield. Eira simply closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent chant.
And then, the world fell out from under them.
With a deafening CLANG, the ledge beneath Nimbus's feet gave way. It wasn't solid rock at all, but a cleverly disguised trap door. But that wasn't the worst of it. From the canyon walls on either side, a colossal net, woven from what looked like black, magically reinforced chains, snapped shut around them.
It happened so fast. The net yanked them—Aiden, Talia, Lyra, Rina, Eira, and Seraphine—off the dragon's back. They crashed onto the rocky ledge in a tangled heap of limbs and chains. Nimbus roared in fury and thrashed against the chains, but the net was anchored deep into the mountain, and his struggles only tightened the metal links around his own legs, pinning him.
From the shadows, they emerged.
Figures detached themselves from the rock, their movements silent and predatory. They wore grotesque masks fashioned from the skulls of dragons, the hollow eye sockets seeming to stare right into their souls. Yellowed fangs framed their jaws, and they carried weapons made of bone and dark, pitted metal. They were the Heart-Eaters. They were real.
Aiden's blood ran cold. This wasn't just an ambush; it was a slaughterhouse, and they were the cattle.
But one person wasn't frozen by fear.
Lyra saw the masks—the desecrated skulls of her kin—and something inside her broke. A sound of pure, unadulterated rage ripped from her throat, a scream so full of pain and fury that it echoed through the entire canyon.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" she shrieked, thrashing against the chains with a strength that seemed impossible for her small frame. "I'LL KILL YOU ALL! YOU MONSTERS!"
The skull-faced hunters stopped, their heads tilting in unison, a gesture of unnerving, insect-like curiosity.
And then, a low, gravelly laugh echoed from above. A man dropped from a high ledge, landing in a crouch without a sound. He was massive, built like a mountain, and his body was a canvas of swirling, violent tattoos that seemed to move in the flickering light. A necklace of what looked like finger bones hung around his neck, and in his hand, he carried a heavy staff made from a dragon's femur.
This was their leader.
He looked at Lyra's furious, tear-streaked face and laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that was devoid of any humor. "Feisty one, isn't she? The little half-breed has fire." He took a step closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. "Good. The Heart likes a little spice."
Aiden struggled against his own bonds, his rage boiling over. "Let them go! Your fight is with me!"
The Hunter Chief turned his attention to Aiden, his eyes—cold and grey like river stones—assessing him. "The prince. We've been expecting you." He grinned, a terrifying sight. "A lone black dragon, flying so boldly into our home... Did you really think we wouldn't notice? Did you think we were blind? Or just stupid?"
The words hit Aiden like a physical blow. It wasn't a betrayal. It was worse. It was his own arrogance. He had been so focused on his secret mission, so proud of his "clever" escape, that he had flown directly into a spider's web, announcing his arrival with every beat of Nimbus's wings. He had been watched, tracked, and herded to this exact spot.
The failure was his. His alone.
But before he could process the crushing weight of his mistake, the Chief raised his hand. "Enough play. Take them."
From the shadows, more hunters emerged, not with swords, but with long, hollow blowguns.
Aiden saw it coming. "Look out!"
But it was too late. He felt a sharp sting on his neck. He slapped a hand to it and pulled out a small, feathered dart. A cold, liquid fire instantly began to spread through his veins. His limbs grew heavy, his vision blurred. He saw Rina slump over, her eyes rolling back. He saw Talia's defiant face slacken. The world began to tilt and fade to black.
The last thing Aiden heard before the darkness claimed him was the Hunter Chief's triumphant laughter, echoing in the canyon that had become their tomb.
He had failed. He had led them all into a trap with his own foolish pride.
Darkness was not empty. It was a forest.
Aiden was a boy again, standing in a sun-dappled wood, the air thick with the scent of moss and damp earth. Before him stood a young girl, no older than himself, with small, iridescent scales scattered across her cheeks like freckles. She was a half-dragon, though he didn't know the word for it then. She was just... the girl from his dreams.
She was always alone.
She would speak to him, but her voice was like the rustling of leaves, a sound he could feel in his soul but not understand with his ears. He would try to walk closer, but the distance between them never changed. He would see her sadness, a profound, aching loneliness that mirrored his own in the vast, empty castle.
The dream came and went as he grew. As a sulking teenager, he would see her on the edge of the woods during his rides. As a young man, she would appear in his thoughts when he felt most isolated. He found himself searching for her in the waking world, scanning crowds for a face with scales, listening for a voice that was more feeling than sound. But she was a ghost, a figment of his lonely imagination. He had eventually given up, and she had vanished from his dreams.
Until now.
She stood before him, older, as he was now, but just as alone. The forest around them was dark, the trees gnarled and menacing. She opened her mouth to speak, but this time, no sound came. Only a profound, heartbreaking silence.
And then, the rain. A single, cold drop on his cheek. Then another.
drip... drip... drip...
Aiden's eyes flew open.
The forest was gone. He was in a cell. The air was cold and damp, thick with the smell of wet stone and despair. He was lying on a thin, moldy pallet of straw. The dripping water was real, falling from a crack in the ceiling high above and landing with maddening regularity on his face.
A dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, and his mouth was filled with the bitter, herbal aftertaste of the tranquilizer. He sat up, his body aching, and quickly patted himself down. His dagger was gone. The map of the Spine Mountains was gone. His riding glove... the one he'd given to Rina... was also gone.
Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the fog in his mind. He wasn't alone when he was captured. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness. The cell was small, empty, and solid. There was no one else there.
"Rina? Talia?" he called out, his voice hoarse. "Lyra!"
Only the dripping water answered him.
Where were they? What had they done with them? Images flashed in his mind: Rina's terrified face, Talia's defiant glare, Lyra's fury, Eira's calm focus, Seraphine's predatory stillness. He had led them into this. He had failed them.
The heavy scrape of an iron lock being drawn back echoed in the corridor. The groaning of the cell door as it swung open made him flinch. Framed in the doorway was the Hunter Chief, a mountain of a man, his dragon-bone staff tapping a menacing rhythm on the stone floor.
"Sleep well, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
"Where are they?" Aiden demanded, his voice stronger than he felt.
The Chief stepped into the cell, a smirk playing on his lips. "Always so concerned with others. That's your weakness. You see them as people. We see them as... resources. Some for labor, some for... other purposes." He walked a slow circle around Aiden, his grey eyes like chips of ice. "But you, Prince, you are the key. You and your dragon."
"You won't get away with this," Aiden snarled. "My mother—"
"Will send armies, yes," the Chief finished for him. "But by the time they find this little nest in the mountains, we will be long gone. And we will be stronger." He stopped in front of Aiden, his eyes gleaming with a fanatical light. "You think we hunt for sport? For gold? Foolish boy. We hunt for the Heartstone."
Aiden stared at him. "The Heartstone? That's a myth. A fairy tale to explain why some dragons are smarter than others."
The Chief threw his head back and laughed, a booming, echoing sound that was utterly devoid of humor. "A myth! You sit in your castle, fed on silver spoons, and you call the truth a myth? The Heartstone is a conduit of pure life force. It sharpens the mind, strengthens the body, and extends one's years. With enough of them, my clan will become unstoppable. We will take the lands that were stolen from us. We will reclaim our glory."
He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of smoked meat and something metallic. "It is not a myth. It is a promise."
Aiden's mind reeled. The man was a zealot, completely beyond reason. But his fear for the others was a more pressing concern. "Where are they?" he asked again, his voice low and dangerous. "The women who were with me. What have you done with them?"
The Chief's smirk returned, a cruel, knowing twist of his lips. "Oh, they're quite safe. For now. You'll see them tomorrow."
He turned and walked towards the door, his dragon-bone staff clicking on the stone. "We have a special ceremony planned. And your little half-dragon... she has the honor of being the guest of honor."
The cell door slammed shut, the lock shooting home with a final, deafening clang.
Aiden was left alone in the dark, the Chief's words echoing in his mind. A special ceremony.Guest of honor. A cold, sickening dread coiled in his stomach. He had to get out. He had to get to them. Before it was too late.