The road to the river crossing was little more than a scar through the hills.
The survivors moved in silence, their shapes hunched under the pale light of a half-moon. Every so often, someone coughed, or a cart wheel creaked, but no one spoke unless necessary. The memory of fire still clung to them like smoke in their hair.
Kael walked at the rear, keeping his distance. He could feel their glances when they thought he wasn't looking — the quick flickers of fear, suspicion. Even Elara avoided his eyes now.
It was better this way.
The blacksmith, Halric, had taken point, leading them toward the dark smudge of trees that marked the next stretch of the road. Beyond that lay the river, and hopefully, safety. But Kael knew that safety was a lie.
Dragons didn't care about human maps or borders.
By the time the moon had climbed higher, the survivors were ready to rest. They camped near a cluster of rocks, the closest thing to shelter the road offered. Fires were forbidden — no one wanted to draw the wrong eyes — so they huddled under blankets in the cold.
Kael didn't join them. He slipped away under the pretense of scouting. No one stopped him.
Once he was out of sight, he crouched at the base of a gnarled oak, bow resting across his knees. The forest here was still, but not dead like the one before the attack. Insects hummed softly. A nightbird trilled in the distance.
And under it all, there was… something else.
It began as a faint itch in the back of his throat, but it spread quickly — a gnawing, twisting ache in his gut, as if something inside him was clawing for release. His fingers twitched against the bowstring.
The abyss's voice came like a cold wind through his skull.
You feel it now. Good.
Kael exhaled slowly. "It's hunger."
It is the measure of what you are becoming. The flesh you tasted was a beginning, not an end. Without more, you will weaken.
"I'm not starving."
Not yet. But you will be. And when it comes, it will not be the hunger of man. Bread will not fill it. Meat from deer or boar will taste like ash. Only the essence of the great beasts will quiet it.
Kael glanced toward the camp, where the faint shapes of the survivors huddled in the shadows. "So I'm supposed to hunt dragons every time I get hungry?"
If you wish to live. And if you wish to grow stronger.
He didn't answer.
The abyss pressed on, its tone shifting — still cold, but laced with something almost like anticipation.
You are not the first to take my bargain, Kael. But you might be the first to see it through.
Kael's brow furrowed. "What happened to the others?"
They fed too little. Or they fed too much.
A rustle in the underbrush broke the moment. Kael's head snapped toward the sound. The night was quiet again, but something about the air had changed — the way it does just before a predator strikes.
He rose slowly, nocking an arrow.
From the darkness between the trees, two glints appeared. Eyes. Low to the ground.
The creature stepped into the moonlight — a drake, no larger than a pony, its scales a mottled green-brown that blended with the forest. It moved low and sinuous, tongue flickering between sharp teeth.
Kael's pulse quickened. The hunger inside him surged, and for a moment, he swore he could smell the creature's blood, hot and metallic.
The abyss whispered, almost tenderly. Feed.
The drake darted forward, quicker than its size suggested. Kael's arrow flew, sinking into its shoulder, but the beast barely faltered. It leapt, jaws wide.
Kael sidestepped, his body moving faster than thought. His knife flashed, plunging deep into the soft spot under its jaw. The drake convulsed once, then collapsed in a twitching heap.
The hunger screamed inside him.
Kael dropped to one knee, hand gripping the drake's throat. Steam curled from the wound. The scent of its blood was intoxicating.
He didn't remember deciding to do it. One moment, he was staring at the creature. The next, his teeth were tearing into it.
The taste was electric — hot, sharp, alive. Power slid down his throat like molten metal, settling in his gut and burning outward into every limb. His claws — when had they returned? — dug into the drake's flesh, holding it still as he drank.
When he finally pulled away, his breath came in ragged gasps. The drake's body was limp, eyes dull. His hands were black to the wrist with its blood.
The ache in his gut was gone.
The abyss purred in his mind. Better. You see now. Every kill will make you more. Every feast will bind you closer to me.
Kael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, though it did little to clean the mess. "And if I keep feeding… what will I become?"
The answer came without hesitation.
Something the dragons fear.
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