Read Chapter 21: The Dragon's Wake

The smoke from the burning village painted the dawn sky in shades of ash and amber. Elara stood at the edge of Hare's Hollow’s eastern trail, the stolen artifact heavy against her chest beneath her tunic, its cold pulse a constant reminder of what she carried. Behind her, the outcasts moved with grim efficiency—children handed bundles to elders, former riders saddled what dragons could still fly, and those who could not walk were lifted onto litters.

Sera appeared at her elbow, a roll of parchment clutched in her weathered hands. The old healer’s face was streaked with soot.

“We found it,” Sera said, voice low. “In the village archive. A ritual text older than the academy itself.”

Elara tore her gaze from the distant column of smoke rising from the buildings Voss’s riders had torched. “Tell me.”

“The summit isn’t just a place of power. It’s a forge.” Sera unrolled the parchment, revealing faded diagrams of interlocking circles and a central figure. “The old texts say the first dragons were bound to their riders through a rite performed there. If we can reach the inner chamber and perform the purification—”

“We can break Voss’s hold,” Elara finished. “On all of them.”

“Yes. But there’s a catch.” Sera’s finger traced the central figure in the diagram. “The rite requires a conductor. Someone the dragons already trust implicitly. Someone who carries their essence without force.”

Elara felt the artifact pulse against her chest, as if answering.

“It has to be me.”

Sera nodded slowly. “The bond you share with Ignis is untouched by magic or compulsion. The text calls it a ‘true song.’ But the rite will drain you—your energy, your life force. If you push too far, it could kill you.”

From behind them, Cedric’s voice cut through the morning air. “She won’t be going alone.”

He approached with Ignis limping beside him, wings folded tight against his scarred flanks. The young dragon’s breath came in labored puffs, but his amber eyes fixed on Elara with fierce devotion.

“You’re in no shape to fight,” Elara said, moving to touch Ignis’s snout. The dragon leaned into her palm, a low rumble vibrating through his chest.

“He’s not fit for battle,” Cedric agreed. “But he can fly. And I can fight.”

“You’ve done enough fighting,” Elara said, the words sharper than she intended. The memory of Cedric’s betrayal still burned—not the theft itself, but the way his arrival had delivered Voss’s forces to this village of innocent people.

Cedric’s jaw tightened. “I know you don’t trust me. I wouldn’t either. But Voss is already hunting you. She’ll expect us to scatter, to hide deeper in the wilds. She won’t expect us to go for the summit.”

“He’s right,” Sera said. “The summit is sacred ground. The old wards may still hold there. But I must warn you—Voss knows her history. If she suspects what we’re planning, she’ll guard it.”

Elara looked past them, to the eastern mountains rising against the blood-red sky. The summit was a jagged peak called Fang’s Crown, visible only from certain angles above the treeline, said to mark the spot where the last free dragons had gathered centuries ago.

“Then we move fast,” she said. “Small team. Cedric, me, Sera—she knows the rites. And Anya.”

Cedric’s brow furrowed. “Anya? She’s still loyal to Voss. She witnessed my theft. She could have already sent word.”

“She didn’t,” Elara said. “I sent her ahead to scout the foothills an hour ago. She came back with news of Voss’s patrol patterns—positions that match up with what we know, not what a trap would look like.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “She’s made her choice. Now we have to see if she’ll keep it.”

Cedric didn’t argue further.

They left at midday, when the sun was high enough to blind any watchers from the valley floor. The outcasts split into two groups—the main body heading north toward the marshlands with the wounded and children, while Elara’s small team struck east along a goat trail that wound through the foothills.

Ignis flew above them in short, gliding bursts, conserving his strength. Ashfall, Cedric’s sleek black dragon, stayed close to the ground, using his bulk to shield them from view when they crossed open ground.

Anya met them at the base of the third ridge, her dark hair bound tight against the wind. She carried a bow that had belonged to one of the village’s fallen defenders.

“You’re still alive,” she said, eyeing Cedric with an unreadable expression.

“For now,” he replied.

“Voss has riders on the summit approach,” Anya said, falling into step beside Elara. “Twenty, maybe more. They’ve set up a perimeter at the base of the climb. The main pass is blocked.”

“Is there another way in?” Elara asked.

“There’s a ledge on the eastern face,” Anya said. “It’s barely wide enough for single file. A slip would mean a drop of two hundred feet. But it leads to a cave entrance that opens into the summit’s inner chamber.”

Sera pulled the parchment from her satchel, studying the diagram with fresh eyes. “The old texts mention a second entrance—a ‘serpent’s throat.’ I thought it was a myth.”

“It’s not,” Anya said. “But it’s guarded too. By something Voss has left behind.”

They reached the eastern face as the sun began its slide toward the horizon. The climb was as treacherous as Anya had promised—loose scree, crumbling handholds, and the constant moan of wind that threatened to peel them from the rock. Elara pressed herself against the cliff face, forcing herself not to look down as she edged along the narrow shelf.

Ignis called out from above, a sharp, worried cry.

Then the scream came from below.

Elara froze, her hands scrabbling for purchase. Through the gap between her boots and the ledge, she saw Voss’s riders pouring out of the treeline below, their dragons’ wings cutting the fading light into ribbons.

“They found us!” Cedric shouted from behind her.

“Keep moving!” Elara yelled back. “Get to the cave!”

She pushed forward, driven by panic and instinct. The ledge narrowed further, crumbling under her weight. Behind her, she heard Cedric’s sword scrape free of its sheath as a rider’s dragon lunged for him.

Then the ledge gave way.

Elara fell.

She hit the rock slope below, tumbling and sliding until she crashed against an outcropping that knocked the wind from her lungs. The artifact tore free of her tunic and skittered across the stone, pulsing with sickly light.

She crawled toward it, fingers brushing its surface—

Shadows fell over her.

Voss stood at the mouth of the cave entrance, not twenty feet away. Her robes were dark as a starless night, her face pale beneath the hood. And behind her, looming from the cave’s depths, came something Elara had never seen.

A dragon—but wrong. Massive, scaled in black that drank the light, with eyes that burned like twin embers. Its wings were tattered, its spine ridged with jagged spikes, and from its throat came a sound like stones grinding together.

Voss smiled, her lips curling over teeth that seemed too sharp.

“Did you really think the summit’s secrets were meant for you?” she called, her voice carrying easily across the chasm. “The last rider of the last free dragon. A pity—you wear the title so briefly.”

Behind Elara, she heard Cedric land on the slope above, heard Ignis cry out in warning. But all she could see was the corrupted beast looming behind Voss, its ember eyes fixed on her with a hunger that had nothing to do with prey.

“You’ve brought the artifact to me,” Voss continued, opening her palm as if to summon it. “I had wondered how I’d reclaim it so easily. Thank you for running.”

The artifact shuddered. Elara’s hand closed around it, and through the cold metal she felt a pulse—not just from the object, but from the mountain itself, deep beneath her.

The summit was waking.

And it was not waking for Voss.