Chapter 2: The Dragon
875 Words
Selene POV
The witch releases my wrist suddenly. "We're here."
Here?
I look out the carriage window. Dark forest surrounds us. Thorny bushes. Twisted trees. No castle. No road. Just wilderness.
"The King is waiting," she says, her milky eyes gleaming. "Once you're on this path, there's no turning back."
Before I can respond, she throws open the door and jumps out. The carriage lurches to a violent stop.
"Wait!" I scramble after her. "You can't just—"
But she's already running. Her black cloak billows as she disappears into the thick forest.
Silence presses down on me. Then the forest comes alive—branches creaking, leaves rustling, something howling in the distance.
No turning back.
Where would I go anyway? Back to the family who sold me? Back to Werren and Saira's betrayal?
At least here, there's a chance. Maybe a slim one.
But it's more than they ever gave me.
Move.
I push forward, tearing through thorny bushes. The path is barely visible—rocks jutting out, roots waiting to trip me. The sky darkens, twilight bleeding across the horizon.
Then I see it.
The castle rises from the mountain like a nightmare. Black stone towers pierce the sky, their spires sharp as blades. Ivy chokes the walls.
The wind shifts. Brings a smell.
Blood. Fresh. Thick.
My stomach heaves. I turn to run.
A roar splits the air.
Not a wolf's howl. Something deeper. Ancient. A sound that shakes the earth and rattles my bones.
Then fire erupts from above. A massive jet of flame crashes down, blocking my path. Heat slams into my face. I scream, stumbling backward as the flames tower over me—a perfect wall of impossible light.
My eyes snap upward.
Oh God.
The dragon descends.
It's like watching a mountain fall. Massive black wings blot out the dying sun. The wind from each wingbeat nearly knocks me off my feet. The ground shakes when it lands—a tremor that runs through my legs and up my spine.
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare.
It's enormous. Bigger than the castle itself, bigger than anything that should be able to exist. Its body is pure black, scales gleaming like polished obsidian, each one the size of a shield. Massive wings fold against its sides, still radiating heat. Talons—each one longer than my entire body—dig into the earth, carving furrows in the stone. Smoke curls from its nostrils.
And its eyes.
God, its eyes.
They're red. Not just red—burning. Like looking into the heart of a forge, like all the rage and hunger in the world condensed into two points of light.
This isn't just a dragon.
This is what nightmares are made of.
I've seen drawings in old books. Legends of ancient dragons, creatures of magic and destruction that existed before the werewolf packs, before civilization itself. Beings so powerful they were worshipped as gods. So terrible that entire kingdoms fell trying to fight them.
This is one of them.
A true ancient dragon. Pure evil given form.
My legs give out. I collapse onto the rocky ground, my dress tearing on the stones. The dragon moves closer. Each step shakes the earth. Its shadow falls over me, cold and absolute.
It reaches down. One massive claw hooks under my arm and lifts.
I dangle in the air like a rag doll. My feet kick uselessly. The dragon brings me closer to its face—close enough that I can see the blood dripping from its jaw. Thick. Dark. Still warm.
Someone else didn't make it to the castle.
I'm going to die. Right here. Right now.
But then something shifts inside me. The fear doesn't disappear—it transforms. Hardens into something else.
Rage.
I'm so tired of being afraid. So tired of cowering. Of letting people use me, hurt me, throw me away like garbage.
If I'm going to die, I'm going to die on my own terms.
I force myself to look up. To meet those burning red eyes directly.
The dragon's pupils contract. Its head tilts slightly, studying me.
Come on, then. I think the words so hard they feel like a scream in my mind. Come on, demon. Do it. I won't bow to you. I won't beg.
My lips move, forming the words silently. "I. Don't. Surrender."
The dragon goes completely still.
For one heartbeat, neither of us moves. The world holds its breath.
Then it speaks.
The voice doesn't come from its throat. It comes from everywhere at once—from the ground beneath me, from the air around me, from inside my own chest. Thunder rolling through mountains that have stood since before time had a name.
"You are the first to meet my gaze."
Its jaw opens. Wider. Wider.
I see rows of teeth like swords. See the glow building in its throat. Smell the death that clings to its breath.
"Interesting."
The word reverberates through my bones.
Then its mouth closes around me.
Darkness swallows everything.
My mind goes blank. My body shuts down. The last thing I feel is cold—so cold—and the certainty that I've reached the end.
I pass out.
- Writer
