Wind howled through the crags above the cavern, dragging smoke and ash across the dawn-struck mountains. Elaria stood at the entrance, bare-armed and blinking into the growing light. The world below had shifted—charred remnants of the Ember Guard lay broken and frozen among melted snowbanks. Ravens circled above, hungry for carrion.
Behind her, Kael stirred.
The dragon stretched languidly where he'd slept beside the pool of molten stone, half-shadow and gold under the flickering cave light. Even in his human form, there was something inhuman in his every movement—a coiled grace, a slow, dangerous ease.
Elaria turned. The night before still burned across her skin, a tapestry of touch and fire that pulsed beneath her ribs.
"You didn't say what happens now," she said, voice roughened by wind and sleep.
Kael rose without speaking. He approached with fluid power, stopping just before her. His eyes, deep and blazing, searched hers.
"Now, we go to the ruins."
She tilted her head. "What ruins?"
"The city beneath the ash. Where the dragons died and the fire went silent. Where your kind stole our breath."
A pulse of something strange stirred in her chest. Not fear. Not awe. Something between.
"Why there?"
Kael's expression hardened. "Because your spark is wild. Untamed. It needs memory. An anchor. The ruins will remember for you."
She nodded slowly. "And what do they remember about you?"
He didn't answer right away.
"That I was their prince," he said finally. "And their shame."
The journey to Ashra took three days.
They traveled across a scorched mountain spine where no birds sang and no rivers flowed. Kael called it the Spite Range. Elaria wondered if that name came from the land or the dragon.
On the second night, they camped near a crevice that spat low fire and smelled of sulfur.
Elaria sat by the edge of the flames, watching them shift and curl.
"Did you love them?" she asked. "Your kind?"
Kael's jaw tensed. "I loved the idea of them. Until they made me a monster."
"How?"
"They feared the humans would rise, so they broke the old vows. Took human brides. Bred magic with mortal flesh."
Her spine stiffened. "You mean they—?"
"Created hybrids. Like you."
The fire sputtered.
She stared into it, heart thudding. "I didn't know."
Kael moved closer, his heat brushing her skin. "No one does. That's why you've survived this long."
"And you? Are you one of them?"
"I am something else entirely."
He leaned in, lips brushing her temple. "But I would burn the stars to keep you breathing."
Ashra rose from the desert like a ghost—black spires jutting from dunes, half-buried towers twisted by centuries of fire and silence.
Elaria followed Kael into the heart of the ruin. Their footsteps echoed in abandoned halls lined with dragon-bone pillars. Mosaics of firebreathers adorned the ceilings—scaled gods with wings spread wide.
"This was the seat of flame," Kael said. "Until the humans poisoned it."
Elaria knelt by a cracked basin. Ash clung to the rim. Beneath the dust, the stone shimmered faintly gold.
"What is this place now?"
"A tomb."
She looked up. "Yours?"
"Ours."
He led her into a chamber where light poured from a domed roof. At its center stood a stone pyre.
"Lie down," Kael instructed.
She hesitated. "Why?"
"To remember. To awaken."
Elaria stepped onto the pyre, heart hammering. The stone was cool beneath her back.
Kael placed his hands over her chest.
Flame surged.
Visions hit her like a storm.
Dragons soaring over emerald skies. Cities burning. A woman's scream—the same pitch as hers. A child born in fire. Betrayal. Chains. A ritual beneath twin moons. A kiss made of ash.
She arched, mouth open in a silent cry.
The fire inside her screamed back.
When she woke, she was no longer herself.
Golden scales shimmered at her wrists. Her eyes glowed.
Kael crouched beside her, eyes wild with reverence and restraint.
"You've seen it."
She sat up slowly. Her body thrummed like a song.
"I'm... one of them."
Kael nodded. "And more. You're the last piece. The final flame."
Elaria rose to her feet. The air crackled around her.
"Then we fight."
Kael's smile was dark fire. "And they will burn."
That night, she lay beneath him again, atop the stone pyre where gods once bled.
His hands were fire. His mouth, molten.
They moved as one, her flame meeting his in a violent, exquisite crescendo.
His claws scraped her thighs. Her teeth bit his shoulder. Each gasp a litany. Each kiss, a vow.
When he entered her, it was not gentle. It was war. A claiming. A joining.
She cried out, not from pain but from glory.
And when they finished, the stone beneath them had cracked from the heat.
Kael's voice was hoarse. "You're mine now."
She licked the blood from his neck. "I always was."
In the morning, the ash stirred.
A tremor beneath the earth.
Kael stood sharply. "They're coming."
Elaria's flames flared. "Let them."
He watched her—hair wild, skin glowing, eyes like living fire.
"You're ready."
She smiled.
No longer prey. No longer girl.
Dragon.