The cave's damp walls pressed in, the torchlight dancin' over them scales etched into the stone—old as hell, like they'd been carved by somethin' that ain't walked this earth in ages. My breath rasped, steam risin' off my scales, and that amulet burned hot 'gainst my chest, its hum drillin' into my skull. Elara stood by the entrance, bow ready, them runes on her armor glowin' soft, keepin' the villagers' torches at bay outside. My gut churned—half from the chase, half from that whisper still echoin'—"The throne awaits." I slumped 'gainst the wall, claws scrapin' rock, tryin' to make sense of it all. That sorceress—she'd started this, and I needed to know why.
My mind dragged me back, years ago, to that fevered night when my life turned upside down. I'd been younger then, just a scrappy kid learnin' herbs from my pa, livin' in this same hut 'fore it burned tonight. Storm was brewin', thunder crackin' like the gods were fightin', and I was stirrin' a pot of feverfew when the door slammed open. She stumbled in—robe torn to rags, hair wild like a banshee's, eyes blazin' with somethin' I couldn't name. Blood streaked her face, and she clutched a staff that pulsed with a sickly green light. "Help me," she croaked, collapsin' 'fore I could move.
I rushed over, all nerves and no brains, tryin' to prop her up. She was light, too light, like the life was already leakin' out. "Who did this?" I growled, but she just shook her head, coughin' up blood. Her hand—cold as death—grabbed mine, and that's when I felt it, a jolt like lightnin' up my arm. "The blood of the old ones flows in you," she rasped, her voice echoin' with power that didn't fit her dyin' frame. She shoved that amulet into my palm, the metal searin' hot, them runes twistin' like snakes. "Protect it… the throne… they're comin'…" Her eyes glazed over, and she went still, staff clatterin' to the floor.
I sat there, stunned, the storm ragin' outside. Didn't know what to do with her—buried her 'neath the oak, figurin' that was respect enough. Kept the amulet, though, hangin' it 'round my neck like a damn fool. Nights after, I'd wake sweatin', dreams of scales and claws hauntin' me, but I shook it off—thought it was the fever messin' with my head. Now, lookin' back, I see it clear. That jolt wasn't just shock—it was her magic sinkin' into me, wakin' somethin' buried deep.
Elara's voice snapped me back, rough but low. "You're driftin'. What'd she mean by 'old ones'?" She'd moved closer, torch castin' shadows over her sharp face, them green eyes diggin' into me. I shifted, tail brushin' the cave floor, scales clackin' soft. "Dunno," I grunted. "She was delirious—talked of a throne, some 'they' chasin' her. Thought it was ravin' 'til tonight."
She frowned, tracein' a scale-carvin' with her dagger. "The old ones were lizard gods, rulers of Elyria 'fore men or elves walked. Legends say they forged the Scaled Throne—power to command beasts, bend shadows. If she gave you that amulet, you're tied to it, whether you like it or not." Her words hit hard, and I felt the truth in 'em, that whisper growin' louder in my head. My claws tightened, rock crunchin' under 'em.
"Great," I muttered, crossin' it out—damn it—"so I'm some pawn in a dead woman's game?" The amulet pulsed, and a flash hit me—her last moments, her staff glowin' as shadows with red eyes closed in. I shook it off, but the cave felt tighter, the air thick with somethin' old. Elara's runes flared, and she tensed. "Somethin's here," she whispered, nockin' an arrow.
The ground trembled, dust siftin' down, and a low hiss filled the air. Shadows peeled off the walls, formin' shapes—clawed hands, glintin' scales, eyes like coals. My heart pounded, the beast stirrin' again, hunger risin' with it. "What the hell?" I growled, standin' tall, tail lashin'. Elara fired, the arrow strikin' a shadow, but it just melted and reformed. "Phantoms," she hissed. "Guardians of the old ones' lore. They're testin' you."
Testin' me? I didn't sign up for this! But the amulet burned hotter, and that flash came again—her voice, clear as day: "You must rise…" The shadows lunged, claws rakin' air, and I roared, transformin' full—scales coverin' me, jaws snappin'. I swung my tail, smashin' one, but more came, hiss in' like a nest of vipers. Elara danced 'round 'em, arrows flyin', but they kept comin'. My claws tore through, bloodlust singin' in my veins, and that hunger—damn it—twisted lower, mixin' with the fight.
One shadow grabbed my arm, cold as ice, and I felt it—her memory, her fear. She'd been runnin' from these things, protectors turned hunters when she stole the amulet. "For you," she'd thought, seein' somethin' in me I didn't. I roared again, shakin' it off, and smashed the shadow 'gainst the wall, its form dispersin' in a wail. The others paused, then retreated, meltin' into the stone, leavin' an eerie silence.
I panted, scales glistenin' with sweat, and slumped back, the transformation ebbin'. Elara lowered her bow, breathin' hard. "You're stronger than I thought," she said, a grudgin' respect in her tone. I glared at the amulet, its runes glowin' faint. "She gave me this to fight 'em," I said, voice rough. "But why me?"
Elara knelt, examinin' the carvings. "Maybe she saw your bloodline—some trace of the old ones. Or maybe she had no choice. Either way, those phantoms'll be back. The amulet's a beacon." Suspense coiled in my gut. Beacons draw hunters, and I wasn't sure I could handle more.
Outside, the villagers' shouts grew fainter, but the cave's depth rumbled again, a deeper hiss echoin'. Somethin' worse than phantoms lurked, I could feel it. Elara stood, offerin' a hand. "We move deeper," she said. "Answers are down there." I took it, her grip firm, and felt that hunger stir again—her scent, pine and magic, hittin' me hard. I shook it off, but the beast grinned inside.
The sorceress's legacy weighed on me, a burden and a blade. Her death, her gift, tied me to this throne, to these shadows. As we ventured into the dark, the amulet pulsed, promisin' power—or doom. I gripped my claws, ready for whatever came, knowin' this was just the start.