The Dragons Keeper (The Keeper #2)

Prologue

T

he way they gazed at her was as if she were the embodiment of Death itself.

“Please stop looking at me like that,” Azahara leaned back in the wooden chair, which squeaked in protest, “or at least say something. You are making me nervous.”

A whole year had passed since the Temple of Ohrok incident and the appearance of Goddrick.

It felt like it had swept by in the blink of an eye, leaving her in a constant state of unease.

Every moment was filled with paranoid glances over her shoulder, seeking solace within the safety of her home, or tears soaking her pillow.

She tried to convince herself it was just a nightmare, a terrifying creation of her imagination.

But Mel and Skyy’s relentless questions about her well-being kept dragging her back to that ominous day.

Her gaze shifted from Mel to Skyy.

Skyy broke the silence, her voice gentle and filled with concern.

“We’re just worried about you, Aza.” Her hand reached out across the table, tenderly grasping Azahara’s as if to provide comfort and reassurance.

“Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of...” She let her words trail off, leaving the unspoken emotions to linger in the air, acknowledging the heaviness of the memories that day brought.

“I know, Skyy.” she replied, her tone free of bitterness. She hoped the smile on her face would be enough to reassure her sister.

Mel closed the gap, pulling up the nearest chair and leaning in. Azahara mirrored the gesture, wrapping her arm around her sister and gently resting her head against Mel’s.

Remembering Goddrick’s words, “Immortality is such a blessing, so there will have to be a catch, you understand.” She had expected acknowledgment of said catch throughout the year, but nothing ever came about.

Everything had gone as smoothly as a year should go, except for the anxiety and depression that had come with the whole ordeal.

“You have no choice but to accept it. Only then will I remove this curse, and we will be together forever.”

His voice echoed in her mind, as if he stood right beside her. It no longer seemed like Mel and Skyy were alone in her family’s dining room; instead, it felt like the god who had nearly ended her life with a single strike was there, demanding her to become his Dikos Mou.

“Aza?” Mel called, bringing her back from her thoughts.

“Yes? Sorry—What did you say?” Azahara ran her fingers through her sister’s long red hair.

“Are you scared?” Mel’s body trembled under her hold.

“Why would I be scared? It’s just another day.”

“I think what she means,” Skyy interjected, her voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment as she averted her gaze downward, clearly remorseful.

It was her accidental activation of Goddrick’s hourglass that set everything in motion.

Although Azahara had been upset, she quickly forgave her sister, understanding her youth and curiosity.

What mattered the most was that they all survived that day.

“Is, are you scared of the curse that Goddrick put on you?” Skyy clarified.

Azahara sighed, straightening her posture as she summoned a forced smile.

“You’ve all seen this year go by, and nothing has changed.

He was probably trying to scare me into submission.

The foolish god didn’t realize that I, Azahara Rhay Rothwen, daughter of Alexandar Rothwen the Third and Jessalyn Rhay, am not someone to be trifled with.

” she proclaimed, her tone carrying a playful edge.

Her words had the desired effect, causing her sisters to burst into laughter.

She masked well enough, but deep down, she was genuinely terrified.

“I love you both, don’t worry so much about me.

You have your year-end exams coming up,” she was eyeing Skyy, “and you should be preparing to go into Upper Grade in the new year.” She squeezed Mel’s shoulder.

“Trust me, if I think there is trouble, I will come running. I know that together, this family can do anything. We are the mighty Rothwen’s, after all. ”

That seemed to sedate any concern that they had, and while she knew Skyy would be watching her like a hawk the next day, things would pass.

The hour had grown late, and they stayed up solely to welcome their father home from work.

This year, he had been away more often than in the past, making every chance to see him a cherished moment for the sisters.

After he arrived and they exchanged warm greetings, they bid each other goodnight and retired to their beds.

Azahara hadn’t fully grasped just how exhausted she was. Despite her efforts to maintain a strong facade for her family, the past week had been nothing short of hell. The awareness that this day was approaching, and its rapid arrival, had sent her into a downward spiral.

It was the cause of her family’s concern, and she knew it.

As her head hit the pillow, she gazed out the window for as long as possible. Not a single cloud adorned the sky, bringing her joy. Stars twinkled, momentarily vanishing and reappearing, while the encroaching darkness behind them gradually approached and eventually lulled her into slumber.

“Such a misfortune to torture yourself.”

No, please, don’t do this. Her voice pained as his own ripped right through her.

“You are mine, even if I must wait a millennium.”

Why? Please, tell me why? She was begging for salvation through means of understanding.

“Dikos Mou, the gods gave you to me. Who am I to deny such a gift?”

His hand felt as cold as ice against her throat, and she watched as his eyes emerged from the darkest recesses of her mind. They bore down on her, rekindling the fear she had experienced on that fateful day.

“Be mine, as you have already surpassed my patience.”

Never. Not now. Not then. Not ever.

“Then suffer as you have.”

Her body was upright then, fingers combing through her hair, gripping it tightly.

The rhythm of her heartbeat felt alarmingly rapid, as though it were struggling to break free from her chest. The world around her began to spin in a dizzying whirl, compelling her to pull her legs close to her chest and bury her face between her knees.

Please, make it stop! The agony in her head exceeded the pain in her chest, rendering it unbearable.

It was an endless torment that threatened to tear her to pieces. After rocking back and forth for several heartbeats, she finally managed to break free from the haunting dream and the previous day’s events.

The scent of vanilla and peppermint wafted into her nose, and she instantly felt a sense of being home. She wasn’t back at the Temple, and Goddrick wasn’t there. Perhaps it had all been a dreadful dream, her mind just playing tricks on her.

There was no being ignorant to the fact that it wasn’t a dream, even if she wished it to be.

Carrying the sleeping figures of Skyy and Mel on her shoulders down the hill and through several villages to get them home would haunt her as much as the other event.

The fear that they might have been dead the entire time, despite their hearts beating, drove her to push through her pain and dread.

A chill ran down her spine then. When she had dropped them off at the apothecary, they hadn’t even asked to check on her.

It only dawned on her when she took in her appearance in the mirror that she held no wounds.

The hit to her face, the scrapes, and the bruises were all gone.

Whatever Goddrick had done to her had healed all of her injuries.

Not that she would have thanked him. He had been the one to cause them in the first place.

Inhaling deeply, she cast her blanket aside and finally lifted her gaze. The headache had subsided and she suddenly felt the urgency to go and check on Skyy and Mel to ensure they were okay.

However, as her eyes finally focused on the room around her, she realized it wasn’t hers.

It bore some resemblances, with vines adorning the walls and doorframes, and meticulously placed candles in the corners and along the solitary windowsill.

The bed was of a similar size, yet the sheets and blankets were different.

And then there was the view outside the window; instead of a sprawling sky, towering mountains loomed in the distance.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and glanced down, noticing a rug of similar color to the grass, beneath her feet.

However, it lacked the stain Mel had inadvertently caused while celebrating her birthday with wine one year.

The red liquid had splattered the corner, and she had adamantly refused to replace it, deeming it a mark of character.

There was a sense of dread that was beginning to overcome her. “Where am I…?” She said aloud.

Standing, she moved to the closed door and was ready to run from it when a piece of paper caught her attention. It was pinned to the door, with “READ ME” written in big letters. She hesitated, uncertain whether to heed the message, as the handwriting didn’t seem familiar.

It only took her a moment to decide to take the piece of paper and open it.

It was addressed to her: