Pain jolted Lyra awake. She clutched her chest, where the black mark had spread like a spider's web. Her skin burned as if seared by a branding iron. She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out, and staggered to her feet. The fortress was shrouded in total darkness, yet her golden eyes could perceive every crack in the walls, every speck of dust in the air. Another "gift" from the dragon, she thought bitterly.
Vaelrath lay motionless, either asleep or feigning it, his massive form rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. Lyra studied him, torn between gratitude and hatred. She slipped outside, hoping the cold night air would clear her restless mind.
The night was frigid, the moon veiled behind thick clouds. Lyra leaned against the outer wall, closing her eyes. But peace was denied her. A familiar pressure settled in her skull, followed by fractured images that surged without warning.
She was elsewhere. The ground trembled beneath her feet, the sky bled crimson. Dragons—dozens of them—circled above a burning city. Their roars mingled with the screams of the dying. At the heart of the destruction, a black dragon with tattered wings—Vaelrath—fought against a colossal entity, a creature of stone and fire whose violet eyes burned with malevolence.
"Stop!" Vaelrath roared, his flames scorching the city walls. "You're destroying everything!"
The creature laughed, a sound that made the earth quake. "You are weak, Vaelrath. Dragons must rule, not serve these vermin."
Then, a blinding explosion of light. The vision shattered.
Lyra's eyes snapped open, her breath ragged. Sweat soaked her tunic despite the freezing air. These visions—Vaelrath's memories—were growing more vivid by the day. She now understood they were not mere nightmares but echoes of the dragon's past. Echoes that haunted her.
"You saw," Vaelrath's voice murmured in her mind. He now stood at the fortress entrance, his golden gaze fixed on her.
"Yes," she answered tersely. "Your little war. Who was that creature?"
Vaelrath rumbled, a low, menacing sound. "A mistake. An ancient dragon, consumed by the hunger for power. He started the war that nearly wiped out our kind."
"And you?" Lyra crossed her arms. "Whose side were you on?"
The dragon looked away, his claws gouging deep marks into the stone. "I tried to stop them both. I failed."
A strange empathy stirred within Lyra—one she crushed immediately. She didn't want to understand Vaelrath. She didn't want to sympathize.
"Why am I seeing this?" she demanded. "Why your memories?"
"The fusion runs deeper than I expected," he admitted. "Our minds are entwined. You will see what I have seen… and I will see what you hide."
Lyra recoiled in horror. "You've seen my memories? My—?"
"No," he lied too quickly. "Not yet. But it will happen."
A tense silence settled between them. Lyra turned toward the horizon, where the first hints of dawn tinged the sky. She wanted to run, but where could she go? The mark on her chest reminded her that she was bound to Vaelrath, no matter where she fled.
Suddenly, a distant rumbling filled the air. The ground trembled, and birds erupted from the trees in panicked flight. Vaelrath's head snapped up, his nostrils flaring.
"They are coming."
"Who?" Lyra asked, though she already knew the answer.
"The Shadows. And this time, they are not alone."
The creatures emerged from the forest like a tidal wave of darkness. Dozens of Shadows, accompanied by monstrous beasts—hounds with metal fangs, giant birds with razor-sharp feathers. At the center of the horde stood a hooded figure, taller than the rest, wielding a staff embedded with violet crystals. Lyra's stomach twisted—this figure radiated a dark power, one she recognized.
The same power as the creature from her vision.
"The Master of Shadows," Vaelrath growled. "He serves the enemy from long ago."
"What do we do?" Lyra asked, unsheathing her sword.
"We survive," the dragon answered. "Follow my lead. Do not let fear control you."
The battle erupted in chaos. Lyra plunged into the fray, her sword cleaving through flesh and metal alike. Vaelrath's memories surged within her, showing her enemy weaknesses, attacks before they came. She was faster, sharper—but each strike intensified the burning in her chest.
Vaelrath was a whirlwind of claws and fire, his wings sweeping enemies aside, his breath turning them to ash. But the Master of Shadows did not move. He merely raised his staff, and bolts of violet lightning struck Vaelrath, forcing a roar of agony from the dragon's throat.
"Lyra!" Vaelrath's voice thundered in her mind. "The staff! Destroy it!"
She sprinted forward, dodging the snapping jaws of a monstrous hound. The Master of Shadows turned to face her, and beneath the hood, Lyra saw… nothing. A void. An abyss gazing back at her.
Terror gripped her, freezing her limbs.
"Do not succumb!" Vaelrath bellowed. "It is an illusion!"
Lyra clenched her teeth and leaped, sword raised. The staff pulsed with violet energy, and an unseen force hurled her backward. She slammed into a stone wall, ribs cracking on impact. Blood trickled from her lips.
"You cannot win, little flesh," a voice whispered in her mind. "The dragon is ours. And soon… so are you."
Lyra pushed herself up, trembling. The mark on her chest now burned like molten gold. Vaelrath's power surged through her, wild and devouring. Her veins shone like liquid fire, her eyes blazing with an unnatural light.
"Stop!" Vaelrath roared, but it was too late.
Lyra raised her hand. A torrent of golden flames erupted, consuming the Master of Shadows. The staff shattered, sending shards of violet crystal flying. The creature's scream was not human—it was something far worse.
When the fire faded, only a heap of ashes remained.
The surviving Shadows fled in terror, vanishing into the forest. Silence fell, broken only by the crackling of lingering flames.
Lyra collapsed to her knees, staring at her hands. Her skin was charred, but even as she watched, it healed. Golden scales replaced burnt flesh.
She screamed—not from pain, but from despair.
Vaelrath approached, his massive body riddled with wounds. "You used too much power… The fusion has deepened."
Lyra looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. "How long before I'm not myself anymore?"
Vaelrath did not answer. He didn't need to.
The mark on her chest had tripled in size.
And in her golden eyes, no trace of green remained.