Chapter 1

Aggranox 

The stink of charred bone clings to the walls like a lover that won't let go. I lie coiled atop my hoard of black stone and half-melted treasures, heat simmering through the ridges of my underbelly. Lava pulses under the floor like a second heartbeat, warming the cavern in slow, rhythmic waves. It’s comforting. Familiar. Eternal.

Until he arrives.

The human reeks before I see him. Sweat-slicked leather. Ash. Something moldy, sour, like a cellar that’s never been opened. My eyes remain closed. I can hear every careful step he takes, like a mouse trying not to wake the sleeping god. Fool.

“You’ve come far for a death wish,” I rumble, the sound rolling like thunder through the stone. “Most mortals don’t get past the smell.”

He stops walking. Good. That means he has sense.

“I heard you were picky,” he says. His voice is dry, stretched thin like old paper. “That you don’t eat anyone who just walks in.”

I open one eye. He’s gaunt. Wiry. Sharp at the edges. The kind of man who hasn’t eaten properly in weeks, but who still looks dangerous. Eyes like broken glass and twice as cutting.

“You’ve heard correctly.” My tongue slides across the roof of my mouth. “So why are you still breathing?”

He doesn't bow. Doesn’t grovel. Doesn’t even flinch. He’s too clever for that.

“Because I’m not here to die,” he says. “I’m here to make a deal.”

Deals. Gods, humans love those. They think they’re clever, offering scraps for power they barely understand.

“Speak,” I growl, unfurling just enough of my coil to stretch one clawed forelimb across the floor. The obsidian beneath sizzles. “But make it worth the breath you waste.”

He steps forward, though sweat’s already pooling at his temples. “There's a fortress,” he says. “High in the Aemlin Range. Heavily guarded. Dark elf territory. Their magic’s old, and strong. I need it gone.”

I arch a brow ridge. “You expect me to break elven wards for you?”

“I expect you to enjoy it.”

That gets a low chuckle from deep in my throat. “Go on.”

He pulls a scroll from inside his jacket, lets it fall open on the stone like he’s unveiling a meal. It’s hand-drawn. Smudged. Practical. He points to the layout. “There. That’s the heart of it. They won’t expect an air assault. They’ve got ground magics, but nothing that'll stop you.”

“Assuming I care to involve myself in your petty turf wars,” I say, tapping the edge of the map with one curved talon. “You humans squabble over borders like dogs over bones.”

“Because they’re our bones,” he snaps.

There’s fire in him. I like that.

He breathes out, calming himself. “You won’t be doing this for free. I have something to offer.”

My tail twitches. “Ah, the price.”

He steps back, adjusts his collar like it’s a crown. “A sacrifice.”

I let the word hang in the air.

He nods slowly. “Human. Young. Spirited. Untouched.”

Now we’re talking.

I rise, a ripple of molten scales against black stone. My wings stretch, scraping the cavern roof with the hiss of flame-kissed leather. The heat pulses hotter now—reflexive. I lower my snout close to him, watching his skin blister near the cheekbones.

“Intact,” I say.

His throat bobs. “Yes.”

“Unspoiled.”

He nods again.

“She screams, I bite. She faints, I flay you instead.”

He chuckles, tight-lipped. “She won’t. She’s got teeth.”

I bare my own. “So do I.”

I circle once, casting a cloud of ash from my haunches as I stretch each claw, testing the air. Brimstone coils in my nostrils. The stone hums beneath me. Magic stirs. War calls. I haven’t had a reason to stretch these wings in decades, and already the ache of stillness begins to melt away.

A fortress. A deal. A meal.

I glance back at the little human with his shaking knees and his bold tongue. “I accept.”

He bows, sharp and fast, and doesn’t wait for permission before backing toward the exit.

I let him go.

As I turn toward the deeper fire of the cavern and shake off the dust of my centuries, I can't help but laugh. The irony burns bright—me, aiding a mortal in one of their pointless little squabbles. Kingdoms rise and fall like candle flames, and all for what? Land? Pride? Petty vengeance?

But the thought of fresh human meat makes my mouth water.

The wind howls against my wings as I rise above the crag, the updrafts licking at my belly like playful spirits. I can feel the tension in the sky, tight as a bowstring. Far below me, the griffin bucks beneath its rider—poor beast, saddled with that cursed husk of a man. Rizzo clings to it like a tick, his cloak flapping wildly, face twisted in that damnable grin of his. He’s savoring this moment like it’s a fine vintage.

He should be terrified.

I bank left, cutting through a cloud of ash that trails from my own scales. The fortress rises in the distance, perched like a bloated tick on the side of the Aemlin cliffs. Dark elven architecture—obsidian towers curved like blades, wards etched in ancient sigils that shimmer in the daylight like oil on water. But I can smell the arrogance. The rot. They've grown soft behind those enchanted walls. Complacent.

I beat my wings once, hard, and the air shudders beneath me.

The first volley of arrows comes screaming from their highest tower, trailing silver threadlight, cursed tips meant for wyverns or lesser beasts. I roll through the air with a hissed laugh, their spells sliding harmlessly along my enchanted hide. Mortals. Always thinking a sharper stick will save them.

“Rizzo!” I bellow down, voice cracking the sky. “You watching?”

The griffin veers in the air beneath me, and Rizzo cups his hands around his mouth. “With bells on, dragon!”

Then he salutes me with two fingers and a crooked smile.

I hate that I find it amusing.

No more showmanship. I snap my wings close and dive—headfirst into the chaos, a streak of flame and fury. The wards flare up just before impact, a brilliant lattice of red and violet magic meant to repel invaders. I open my maw and let out a roar soaked in centuries of hatred.

Fire answers me.

Not just heat—living flame. It bursts from my throat, consuming the barrier in one long, exultant breath. The wards crack like shattered glass, their color bleeding into the stones below. Then I’m through.

Screams rise before the smoke does.

Elves scramble like ants, armored and graceful, but slow. So damn slow. I land in the middle of their main courtyard, sending out a shockwave that craters the stone beneath my claws. My tail sweeps a formation off the edge like dust on a windowsill. Arrows hit my flanks—sharp pinpricks I barely feel. A captain charges, sword drawn, eyes lit with bravado.

I reward him with a claw through the chest.

Blood steams in the cold air. His blade clatters from his fingers and skitters across the stone, landing at the feet of another soldier who pisses himself on sight. I whip my tail and send him into the wall hard enough to paint it.

The flames come next.

I don’t just breathe them—I bask in them. I incinerate watchtowers with a lazy flick of my head. Tear through walls like parchment. The elves scream and scatter, but there’s nowhere to run. My flames are hungry. They curl through doorways, up stairwells, licking at draperies and long-buried spellbooks until the whole damn keep glows with hellfire.

Above, Rizzo circles on his griffin, eyes wide. I can see it even from here—the rush of power lighting up his narrow face. He’s watching his enemies fall by the hundreds, and he’s giddy. Like a child who got to swing the hammer instead of being hammered.

And that’s the moment I know he’s a problem.

Not yet. Not today. But soon.

Because he enjoys this too much.

He’s too calm, too clever, watching it all play out like a game he already won. But I’ve seen that look before—in warlords who thought dragons could be tools. In sorcerers who thought pacts were chains instead of invitations.

They all burned.

I tear the final tower down with my jaws, biting into stone and sigil alike. It tastes of old magic and fresher blood. The last of the elven resistance tries to hold the gate. One of them—a woman, golden-eyed and bleeding—raises her staff to the heavens and begins a chant. I lunge and silence her mid-syllable. Her scream is cut off by the snap of her spine in my jaws.

Suddenly, there's nothing.

No more arrows. No more chants. Only the hiss of molten rock and the crackling hush of smoldering timber. I look around, chest heaving, scales glowing like banked coals. Elven bodies litter the ground, half-buried in rubble or burned black beyond recognition. The air is thick with smoke and blood, the scent so rich it settles in my nostrils like wine. It’s beautiful. Grotesque. Perfect.

I stretch my wings and let out a low, throaty exhale. Satisfaction hums through me.

Rizzo lands nearby, his griffin shuddering with exhaustion. He dismounts and takes in the carnage, hands on his hips. He whistles low.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says. “You really are the storm.”

I give him a glance, unimpressed. “And you’re not half as clever as you think, human.”

He smirks. “That depends on whether or not you like your prize.”

I don’t answer.

Because the battlefield is quiet now. No more screams. Just smoke curling in lazy spirals above the blackened corpses. And beyond the fortress walls, the village stares. They watched the whole thing—their so-called protectors torn limb from limb, their towers leveled by a monster out of myth.

Not a word. Not a sound.

Just the silence of the damned, too afraid to scream.

I wonder how long that silence will last.

And how long Rizzo will stay useful once it’s broken.

I perch above it all, high on the black stone bluff that crowns the valley like a jagged tooth. Wind tears at the edges of my wings, and smoke curls in my nostrils—thicker than fog, rich with the bite of scorched meat and metal. Beneath me, the village gathers in fits and stumbles. Half of them still caked in soot, the rest too dazed to even blink. I see ash settling in their hair like snow. I see blood smeared on skirts and boots. And not a single damn one of them smiles.

No celebration. No cheers. Not even a whimper of thanks.

I narrow my eyes.

They form a loose, trembling ring in the scorched field outside the gates, where bodies still smolder in shallow piles. Their protectors—those pretty little dark elves they’d come to trust, maybe even bed—lie in blackened heaps. Good. I burned the bones of that betrayal clean. And now they just… stare.

Then he steps forward.

Rizzo.

Still dust-covered and grinning like a fox that bit through the henhouse. He lifts his hands like a stage actor waiting for applause. “You’re free,” he calls out. “We’ve liberated you.”

Nothing.

Not one clap. Not one bowed head.

I smirk. Mortals never give you the thanks you expect. Especially not when you kill the wrong people in the right way.

And then she comes through the crowd.

Hair a mess of tangled fire, boots stomping over gravel like she owns the earth itself. She’s not afraid. Not broken. Just furious. A walking thunderclap. She marches straight up to Rizzo, shoving people aside with shoulders and elbows like they’re nothing more than tall grass.

“What the hell did you do!?” she shouts.

Her voice carries like a blade through still air. It rings off the stone walls, stops the breath in every chest. Even Rizzo blinks. Just once. “We liberated you,” he repeats, slower now.

She gets in his face. Close enough I expect she can taste the soot on his tongue.

“You butchered our people,” she hisses. “The elves you killed—some of them had families here. They married into our homes. They raised children—our children—and you torched them like garbage!”

“I killed slavers,” Rizzo says, jaw tightening. “Collaborators. They would’ve sold your daughters to the nearest caravan if it meant saving their own skins.”

“They saved mine,” she snaps. “More times than you’ll ever be worth.”

The crowd stirs behind her now. Whispers, eyes widening, shoulders squaring. She’s giving them something they didn’t know they needed—a name to their grief, a place to aim their rage. Rizzo sees it too. I see the way his mouth pinches, the way his stance shifts from swagger to control.

“What’s your name?” he says.

“Aeris,” she spits. “Not that you deserve to know it.”

I lean forward, the cliff crackling beneath the shift of my weight. The wind rushes over my wings. My eyes narrow to slits.

Aeris.

That name burns.

She’s wild. Not in the way most human girls are, all drama and tremble. No—she stands like a blade that hasn’t been sheathed in years, voice sharpened by heat and hatred and loss. She doesn’t care who she’s talking to. Doesn’t flinch under threat or power. She’s defiance incarnate, teeth bared and spine iron-straight.

Rizzo’s smile dies.

“You talk too much,” he says, and before she can retort, he grabs her by the arm. Hard.

She tries to wrench free. “Get off me!”

He pulls her through the crowd with cold purpose. They part around him like reeds in a stream. No one stops him. No one dares. The crowd’s gone quiet again, just like after the fires. Silent. Helpless.

And that makes my blood boil hotter than any spell.

He drags her toward the edge of the field, muttering curses under his breath. Her fists beat at his arm, her boots skid in the ash, but he keeps walking.

And then I hear it.

He says it without flair. Just cold and low, like tossing meat into a cage.

“We’ve found our sacrifice.”

I don’t move. Don’t breathe. But my talons clench into the rock beneath me, gouging deep, smoking lines through black stone. My wings twitch.

I was promised a girl. A willing sacrifice. Meek, pretty, tender.

But that’s not what I’m looking at.

This is no ordinary human girl.