Chapter 8
1073 Words
"You should eat."
Xyra didn't turn. She sat on the stone ledge of her chambers, staring at the night sky beyond the towering spires of Vyrmora.
The city pulsed with life beneath her. Golden firelight flickered from hundreds of windows, the molten rivers below casting an eerie glow against the obsidian walls. In the distance, the great dragon colossi circled the sky, their wings blotting out the stars.
Vaeren was behind her.
She could feel him.
Not just through the bond, but in the way the air shifted, in the way her skin prickled with awareness.
"I’m not hungry," she said flatly.
Vaeren didn’t respond at first. She heard the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of metal. Then—
"You haven’t eaten properly since you arrived," he said, his voice calm, measured. "Starving yourself won’t change anything."
Xyra exhaled sharply. "And what exactly do you think I’m trying to change?"
Vaeren stepped closer. "Your fate."
She let out a bitter laugh. "My fate was stolen from me. You made sure of that."
She finally turned to face him, her body tense with the effort of keeping her emotions in check.
Vaeren watched her, his golden eyes unreadable. He stood with his usual air of command—relaxed but powerful, like a predator who never worried about losing a fight.
"Eat," he said again, his voice softer this time. "You may hate me, but you are not allowed to waste away in my kingdom."
Xyra clenched her fists. "I am not yours."
Vaeren smirked. "Yet you stand in my home. You wear my mark. And no matter how much you resist, you feel it, don’t you?"
Xyra’s heart pounded. "Feel what?"
"The bond," he murmured.
She hated that he was right.
Because no matter how much she fought it, there was something there. Something ancient. Something powerful. It wasn’t love—it wasn’t even desire. But it was something.
And it terrified her.
She turned back to the window, gripping the cold stone. "You don’t own me, Vaeren."
He chuckled, low and knowing. "Not yet."
The days blurred together.
Xyra was given everything a royal consort should have—fine clothes, exquisite meals, a chamber fit for a queen. But none of it mattered.
Because beneath the luxury, it was still a cage.
She roamed the fortress, ignoring the stares of courtiers, the whispers of servants. She was an outsider here, no matter what title they tried to place upon her.
Seraya made sure she never forgot that.
Every time they crossed paths, Seraya’s gaze was filled with nothing but disdain. Sometimes, she didn’t even speak, just looked at Xyra as if she were filth beneath her feet.
But the others? The nobles, the warriors, the high-ranking officials? They didn't even bother hiding their contempt.
"A wolf among dragons," she overheard one of them sneer one evening at court. "How quaint."
Xyra kept walking.
She wouldn’t break.
She wouldn't let them see how much their words clawed at her.
But at night, when she was alone, she pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the ache that wouldn’t leave.
She missed her father.
She missed Kaelor.
And worst of all—she missed herself.
.
.
.
The Drakenlords' Trial
A week passed before Vaeren summoned her.
The great hall of the Drakarion was carved from black stone, the ceiling stretching so high that the light from the torches barely touched it. The air was thick with the scent of fire and embers, and massive dragon statues lined the walls, their ruby eyes glinting like they were watching.
Vaeren stood at the head of the hall, draped in deep crimson, his presence commanding as always. His mother, Queen Lysara, sat beside him on a throne of molten gold.
Seraya was there too, standing just behind the queen, looking as regal as ever in flowing silks that matched her fiery hair.
Xyra’s stomach twisted, but she refused to show weakness.
"You called for me?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.
Vaeren studied her. "It is time for you to prove yourself."
A murmur spread through the room.
Xyra narrowed her eyes. "Prove myself how?"
Queen Lysara leaned forward. "The people of Draganthar will never accept a werewolf as a consort to the crown unless you earn their respect." Her voice was smooth, but there was a sharpness beneath it.
Xyra set her jaw. "And what exactly do you want me to do?"
Vaeren’s lips curled. "Survive."
The doors to the hall opened, and a group of Vyrmguard soldiers marched in.
Xyra’s breath caught.
One by one, the soldiers began to shift.
It was the first time she had seen it up close—the transformation from man to dragon.
The first soldier’s body expanded, bones stretching, flesh reshaping. Scales erupted across his skin, his fingers elongating into claws. His face twisted, his jaw expanding as horns jutted from his skull. When he opened his mouth, fire glowed deep in his throat.
Then another shifted—this one different. Wingless, but massive, built for raw power. His tail slammed against the floor, his molten-red eyes burning like coals.
The Ashenborn.
Warriors of the land, dragons bred for combat.
Xyra swallowed hard, keeping her stance firm as more soldiers followed—each one transforming, each one displaying their rank, their power.
And yet, Vaeren did not shift. He stood there, watching her, unreadable.
She had never seen a Drakenlord in their true form before.
And something told her that when she finally did, it would be something she would never forget.
Her heart pounded as the last soldier finished his shift.
Vaeren stepped forward, his golden eyes gleaming.
"Your trial begins at dawn."
That night, Xyra stood at her window again, staring out at the city.
She should have been afraid. She should have been angry. But all she felt was exhaustion. The bond burned in her veins, but she refused to acknowledge it.
Her wolf paced inside her, restless, watching. She wasn’t one of them. She never would be. But if they wanted her to fight?
Then she would. Not for them.
Not for Vaeren.
But for herself.
For the girl she used to be.
For the future she had yet to claim.
As the first light of dawn touched the horizon, Xyra took a deep breath.
Tomorrow, she would enter the trial.
And one way or another, she would not leave it the same.
- Writer
