Across the room, on a shelf just above the hearth, a single book had begun to shimmer—its deep red cover flickering faintly in the morning light. No title marked its surface, only a double clasp of gold inlaid with dull red gems.
The book hadn't moved in years.
Mira stared at it now—still closed, still sealed—yet glowing like something alive beneath its crimson cover. The light wasn't blinding. Just enough to alarm her. She'd carried that thing for over a decade. Protected it. Hated it. Ignored it. It had never responded.
Not until now. Not until him.
Maximus shifted on the couch behind her, one wing draped awkwardly over the side like a too-large coat. She could hear him breathing—slow and uneasy.
The book still glowed faintly on the shelf, its red cover pulsing like a heartbeat.
But Maximus wasn't looking at it anymore. He was looking at her.
✦
Fog rolled through the trees like smoke. Thick. Heavy. Strange.
And for a moment, Maximus wasn't in Mira's cottage anymore. He was somewhere else.
The forest had twisted into something darker—wider. The trees leaned away, scorched at their edges. The earth was torn and cracked beneath him, littered with shattered arrows and blackened leaves, ashes and soot. The remnants of an ambush.
Blood soaked the roots. Not his. Hers.
He saw her standing in the clearing, a distant figure in the mist. The few silver strands of her almost black hair caught the light like flame. She turned to him. And then the arrow came. Fast. Silent. Sharp. It tore through the fog and buried itself in her side.
One second, she'd been walking around, muttering about herbs or bandages or whatever else she fussed over. The next, an arrow had sliced through the mist and pierced her side. It had struck deep. The iron tip piercing flesh, warmth spilling fast—and yet...
The sound of it hitting that he would never forget.
Her breath left her in a stunned exhale. She staggered. Fell. Blood rushed down her tunic, seeping into the moss.
He ran. Or tried to.
But before he could reach her, the battlefield vanished.
✦
"W-What...?" Maximus's voice cracked.
No arrow. No blood. No wound.
"I saw it." His voice was shaking. "The blood. The arrow. You—" He took a step back. "You almost died. I saw it."
She was upright and calm, blinking at him as if he had lost his mind.
Maximus ran a trembling hand through his hair. His breath was uneven.
Mira tilted her head. Wiped at her tunic instinctively, as if checking for blood that wasn't there. "Are you… seeing things?" Then, dryly, "Did you lose too much blood?"
He froze. His wing tensed. "What?" His voice came in a whisper. Then it cracked. "You think I... hallucinated that?"
She sneered. "Then what else?"
"You—" He pointed, breath ragged. "You got shot! I saw—"
"You saw wrong." She arched a brow. "Unless you mean the twig that crackled two feet away—in the hearth."
A log popped in the fire behind her, sending a small spark toward the stone floor.
He didn't answer. Because he had seen it...
Her fingers brushed her side again, slower this time. And deep down—beneath the mask and the sarcasm—she feared the answer. Feared he might be seeing fragments. Just like she did.
His voice dropped. "I saw blood."
Mira's smile faded—just slightly. She stepped toward him, slower now. "You're sure?"
"I'm not blind." He muttered.
"No," she said thoughtfully. "But you might be something else."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
She sat across from him, one leg tucked beneath the other. Her gaze lingered on his eyes—still faintly glowing from the earlier flare. "Visions," she said quietly. "Premonitions, maybe. The kind that twist truth and time." She gestured toward her unbroken skin. "You saw something that didn't happen."
"Not yet?" he asked, unsure if he was joking.
She didn't answer. Instead, she leaned forward and said, softly, "You saw me die."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
His chest tightened. He swallowed hard. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." Her voice was steady. "I've had that vision before, too."
His mouth went dry. "You're messing with me."
"If I were, you'd be laughing." Her eyes didn't move, serious and unflinching.
He wasn't.
Neither was she.
But a moment later, her tone shifted—lighter, just barely. "Besides, if I was dying, you'd be really bad at battlefield first aid."
"That scared the life out of me," he snapped.
For a moment, the teasing fell away.
She looked at him differently then—like she was seeing something fragile, buried under all that fire. "I didn't expect you to care."
"I didn't." He looked away. "You saved me first."
The silence stretched.
And then, quieter, gentler. "How are you supposed to have visions... Not like that…" Her words trailed off. Her eyes widened. She stiffened.
The crimson glow flared again—brighter than before. It lit the space between them. Reflected in his eyes. Eyes that suddenly looked like molten lava.
Her gaze flickered toward the source. And saw them.
His wings. Unfurled slightly in the firelight. Red. Not blood-red. Not rust or ember.
Crimson—the shade of legends. The shade of extinction.
Her gaze snapped to the shelf.
The crimson book was glowing again. The dull red gems set into it pulsed softly—like they recognized him, too.
Her gaze was still fixed on the glowing red. "You're a dragon," she whispered, dazed, as if that explained everything. "A red dragon. The crimson flame from the prophecy."
"A what now?" His voice cracked, caught somewhere between disbelief and a laugh he didn't quite manage. Raised among magical creatures and jungle beasts, he'd always known he wasn't ordinary, but a dragon?
"Why do you think you have wings? Not just wings—fangs. Claws. Heat in your blood. And flame in your eyes!"
He looked stunned. "That... but a dragon? I don't—"
"Red dragons." Her voice had dropped to something quieter. Older. "Born from human and dragon blood. Supposedly a mistake." She moved toward the hearth, her hand brushing the shelf just above it. Her fingers closed around the book. "But legends say the last one won't just be a dragon."
She pulled the book free. The red, jewel-encrusted cover pulsed in her hands, twin clasps glinting in the firelight. The gems glowed. Then the clasps clicked—on their own. Her eyes widened. "Legends say the last will be more. Magic. Power. Peace. A wizard, at most."
His pupils dilated in the glowing light—and sparkled. "Where… where did you get that?"
She didn't answer right away. Just echoed, softer: "Where did I get this?" Her fingers tightened on the book's edge—just slightly—as a flicker of memory surfaced. Just a fragment. Uninvited. Like the dreams. Like the voices.
✦
Heat. Rocks glowing faint red beneath her boots. She was meant to go straight to the forest—to the sacred grove where time slept and the Void Dragon waited. A cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms. Humming with unborn fire.
But she'd strayed. Or been called. Into the crags of Veyra's Spire.
A vault had been sealed there. Warded by crimson flame. Or the spirit of the white flame. Dravengarde.
Forgotten by men and dragons alike. The sealed valley parted for her like it had been waiting. No monsters. No traps. No ghosts. Just silence. Fog. And heat. And a single ruin, carved deep into the mountain's ribs.
Inside—a book. Not on a shelf. Not buried. Displayed. Guarded. Watching. Bound in red leather. Clasped in gold. Gems dulled by time.
It refused to open. Until she touched it. Until the egg pulsed once—bright and hot—and the book answered.
✦
The vision flickered. Vanished.
Mira blinked hard. Her fingers were still on the dark red gem on the cover.
The fire popped in the hearth. Maximus was still staring. Still glowing.
And the book was… warm.
She flipped it open. The pages glowed faintly. And then the words lit up—etched deep and red and real:
The Flame Forgotten
"When all believe dragons are no more,
Then comes the last: of flame and lore.
Strength of black, the peace of white,
A crimson born of dark and light.
With wizard's hand and dragon's roar—
Death shall fall and rise once more."