The ground shook like a living beast beneath their feet. From the torn sky, claws black as midnight raked wider the bleeding wound of the portal. The valley drowned in crimson light, and then it came—the black dragon. Its head thrust through first, horned and jagged, eyes burning like furnaces in the dark. Its scales shimmered with a cruel shine, each plate as hard as iron, each edge glowing with molten fire. Half its body forced through the rift, and with it came a roar that shattered stone and split the courage of men.
Flames followed, not red or gold but black, a fire that devoured the very air. The first breath of the beast swept across the battlefield, and in that instant the world seemed to end. Houses on the valley's edge burst into cinders. Trees curled into ash. The screaming of villagers and soldiers filled the night as the wave of dark fire consumed them. Armor melted, blades sagged, flesh was burned away in moments. Whole ranks were gone in the time it took a man to blink.
Zeke staggered back as the heat hit him. He raised an arm to shield his face, though it did no good. The blast threw him from his feet, slammed him into the dirt, left his body screaming with pain. His coat smoldered, skin scorched along his side. He coughed smoke, spat blood, and pushed himself up on trembling arms. Around him lay bodies—friends he had fought beside minutes before, now nothing but charred remains.
Still, the dragon pressed forward. Its chest heaved as it tore the air, its wings stretching wide though only half had yet emerged from the portal. Every beat sent hurricanes tearing across the valley. The oathbound company, what was left of them, tried to stand, tried to fight. Their arrows bounced off scales like raindrops. Their blades broke on its hide. Seraphine shouted orders, her voice hoarse, her sword still red with cultist blood, but even her command could not knit together what was breaking apart.
Zeke tried to rise, fell, and tried again. His body betrayed him, wounds deeper than he could measure, yet something pulled him up. He forced himself to his knees, clutching his chest. That was when it happened.
The symbol burned. A mark carved into his flesh long ago, one he never fully understood, now flared to life. Golden light seared through his shirt, brighter than the fires around him, pulsing in rhythm with his heart. He gasped, pain and power flooding him all at once. The dragon's eyes, vast and pitiless, shifted from the battlefield to him. Its head lowered, nostrils flaring, black smoke curling as it drew close.
The beast ignored the others. It ignored Seraphine's charge, the arrows, the cries of dying men. Its gaze locked on Zeke as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. The mark on his chest blazed brighter still, casting shadows even against the inferno.
Zeke gritted his teeth, forced himself to stand though every bone screamed. He raised his knife—not in hope, but in defiance. "Come on then," he rasped, voice raw. "If I'm the one you want, you got me."
The dragon's jaw opened, fangs longer than spears, heat pouring from its throat. Zeke braced for death. But it did not strike. The flames held, coiled, then guttered into smoke. The monster froze, eyes narrowing. A different heat stirred, not in the air but inside Zeke's skull.
The voice came, vast as the void, low as rolling thunder, filling his mind until it drowned all else. It was not a sound but a weight, pressing down on every thought.
I know you.
Zeke's vision blurred, his knees buckled. The valley, the battle, the screams—all fell away. Only the dragon remained, its will piercing through him like a blade through glass. The mark on his chest burned hotter, his heart hammering as if it would break free.
The voice echoed again, deeper, hungrier.
You carry what is mine.
Zeke's breath hitched. He tried to speak, but the words died in his throat. The dragon's gaze bore into him, endless fire in endless dark. Around them the battle raged, men dying, the world burning, but in that instant it was only the beast and the riderless cowboy, standing alone in the eye of the storm.
The dragon leaned closer. Its maw filled his vision, and the voice thundered once more inside his head.
We are not done, you and I.
The night split again with another roar, louder than the last, the portal tearing wider. The world seemed ready to collapse under the weight of what was breaking through. Zeke fell to one knee, clutching his chest as the mark blazed like a star about to shatter.
And then the dragon spoke a final word that only he could hear.
Awaken.
The valley drowned in fire, and Zeke's world went black.