Chapter 6
The Beast
The mist swallows everything. There’s no shore. No bones, no ruins, no screams—just endless water, dark and impossibly still, bathed in the glow of a ghostly moon. My paddle moves soundlessly through the lake’s surface, each stroke the only sign I’m still tethered to this world.
The other brides have vanished behind me, their boats scattered across the fog like stars across a clouded sky.
Alone, I float in silence, the kind that stretches too long and too wide. Even my breath feels like an interruption.
The paddle rests in my hands, slick with dew and rose oil.
I dip it in, but the water resists. It clings to the wood, almost sticky.
The mist coils tighter around the boat like a second skin.
I pause, the blade hovering above the lake’s surface.
The torches flicker, but there is no wind.
The moon above me stutters as if blinking.
It’s too quiet.
No birds. Not even ripples. My own heartbeat itself feels muted. The silence presses against me, suffocating and watchful. The kind of silence that comes before.
And then something shifts.
I feel it before I see it. The temperature drops. The torches gutter. I instinctively freeze, holding my breath.
There. A shadow.
It stretches across the water first, its wings blotting out the moon in one fell swoop. The surface ripples violently, as if the lake itself were recoiling from it. My heart pounds, and my nerve falters.
Then the first scream tears through the dark.
The jagged sound pierces the mist like an assassin’s blade, followed by a flash of red—too bright, too fast, and far too cruel to be natural.
I twist in the canoe, realizing the other boats have disappeared around me.
Then a ruthless burst of wind hits, slamming into the side of my boat and nearly capsizing it.
I throw myself low, fingers digging into the wooden rim.
Another scream—closer now. A thunderous roar shakes the air itself, ancient and hungry.
It tears through the mist and vibrates my very bones.
I whip my head to the sky but find nothing.
The wind returns with a vengeance, churning the water below my suddenly fragile boat, my only lifeline in a place between worlds.
Then everything tilts, and I’m pulled—no, pushed—under.
The lake becomes a mouth, wide and merciless. I sink fast, the dress dragging me down like a net. My lungs seize. I fight, kicking, clawing at the dark.
Something scrapes my leg.
I wrench the knife from my bodice and slash wildly at whatever the blade can find. The dress. The weight. The memory. The fear.
It finds its target, and I hear a shriek. Whatever weight was submerging me releases me.
I surface with a gasp and thrash toward the broken edge of the boat. My fingers latch on, trembling, and I haul myself halfway in, only to be submerged yet again.
The beast’s roar cleaves the mist, vibrating my bones and completely shattering the boat.
I’m dragged underwater again. Panic surging in my chest, I twist and swim blindly forward, my lungs screaming in protest. My shoulder slams into something sharp—stone or bone, I can’t tell.
Finally, I break the surface with a scream, but the noise is strangled in my throat as hot pain sears across my palm—right where the Oracle cut me. I cry out, cradling my hand. It glows, blood-red and pulsing.
Blistering. Burning.
I dunk it into the lake, desperate for relief, but instead of soothing the burn, the water only hisses. Boils. The mark starts to blister, veins of red threading from the wound like lightning under my skin.
Then the sky ignites.
A column of flame splits the heavens, lighting the lake in blinding red and gold. As if from a distance, I hear myself scream as I move to shield my eyes. An instant later, the heat hits.
I remember the first time I was burned. The sickening smell. The way my skin bubbled. The silence that followed.
And the fear. The helpless, crawling fear.
Another roar rends the sky like a war horn.
That’s when I see it—the island.
I ditch the canoe and swim. My arms burn with the effort, but sheer survival pushes me forward. The world spins as a metallic tang fills my mouth. My head throbs. My vision stutters.
I claw my way to shore, scraping my exhausted body over a beach of ash and bones.
Brittle skeletons crack and crumble under my weight, a sound so haunting that it takes everything in me not to empty the contents of my stomach.
I keep scrambling forward until I’m clear of them, trying not to think about what—or who—I’m crawling over.
When I reach the soft sand, I collapse, my chest screaming for air and my hand stinging like a thousand wasps. The wind returns.
Only it’s not wind—it’s wings.
A dark shape dives down from the sky. I roll as fast as I can, instinct shoving me out of the way just in time. Fire scorches the spot where I stood a moment before, the heat searing my skin.
The massive beast lands, wreathed in flame, its talons sinking into the earth.
And its eyes—oh stars, its eyes.
Red. Glowing. Ancient.
The beast from my nightmares. Coming for me.
Another scream slices through the dark. I jerk upright, catching a glimpse of another bride just as she’s engulfed in flame.
I don’t look. I don’t think. I just run.
Flames explode behind me as I race back to shore, desperately searching for an intact canoe—anything to get me off this godsforsaken island.
But another girl finds me first—screaming, thrashing, soaked and bloodied. She grabs me, pulling hard. Her nails rake across my arm as she brings me crashing down to the ground. We fall together, rolling down the beach and back into the water below.
“Let go!” I shriek. “You’ll drown us both!”
But she won’t. She can’t. Her mind is gone. She’s screaming wordlessly for someone—anyone.
The wind shifts, and talons close around us. Then we’re airborne, yanked skyward like a hawk’s prey, one girl in each clawed and armored fist.
I can’t breathe; the air is too thin. My body dangles limply, the icy wind slicing across my skin.
Below us, the lake glows. The now-empty boats vanish, swallowed by mist. My lungs tremble with the altitude, causing my vision to swim.
The other girl, who I now recognize as Awnya, screams. She kicks and sobs like a madwoman, desperate to get free.
She can’t accept her fate. The claws tighten around her, but she only thrashes all the harder and screams all the louder.
The beast growls, as if warning her to shut up and stop resisting.
The wind shrieks around us as the beast climbs even higher. My hair whips my face as I try to gulp down air, suffocating in the headwind.
“Awnya!” I gasp. “You have to stop—”
Snap.
Her body jerks once, and then she’s falling, her limp silhouette sinking toward the earth below. From this angle, I can’t look away as she is swallowed by the mist.
I dare not scream. I dare not even move.
The wind is a blade against my skin. My head pounds, thundering a rhythm like an army marching into battle.
And still—we rise.
The monster beats its enormous wings even more ferociously as it carries me into a cloud bank. The thick mist rips away any shred of heat I still had left.
When we clear the cloud, Solmere stretches below in miniature. Another lake glows beneath us like a silver eye in the darkness. I am a speck. A sacrifice. A soul surrendered to a god I do not believe in.
And yet, something in me quiets. I should be screaming. Begging. Praying. But I’m calm.
Then something stirs inside me. A memory.
I’m six years old, tumbling from the branch of our old apricot tree.
I hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from my lungs.
And then I’m enveloped in the safest warmth of all: my mother’s arms. The aroma of lavender and leather washes over me as she whispers, “You’re braver than most. But even the bravest need to be held sometimes. ”
I blink it away.
And then, without warning, I’m falling.
The world spins, and I close my eyes, waiting to be crushed.
This time, I don’t hit water. I hit the ground hard, ribs slamming into the earth, sending what little breath still clung to my lungs scattering.
My elbow cracks, and stars dance before my eyes.
The rancid scent of soot and rot makes me cough, gasping shallow breaths.
My ribs ache as if the beast’s talonprints are still outlined across my skin.
My palms sting, scraped and raw. But worse than that is the throbbing at the side of my head—the steady pulse of heat and dizziness.
I reach up, and my fingers come away slick with crimson.
I try to sit, but the world tilts. The air in this place is as thick as a clot—heavy with moisture, rot, and something fouler, like scorched meat and sulfur.
Beneath me, the black stone is cracked and spiderwebbed with soot.
Bones litter the edges, half-buried in ash and moss.
Some still bear scorch marks. Others are fresh.
Too fresh.
I blink through the dark and suddenly realize I’m in a cave. The walls sweat. The air is wet and foul, like something died here and has been rotting for centuries. Somewhere in the dark, something moves. A low rumble follows it like distant thunder.
I just barely manage to push myself upright, fear keeping me from sinking back into unconsciousness.
Then I see them.
Eyes.
They glow gold, no longer the crimson red I first thought I glimpsed.
The darkness peels back as a massive head materializes from it, horned, spiked, and ancient. The dragon steps into the faint light, steam curling from its nostrils. Its scales shimmer obsidian, etched with molten lines like veins of fire beneath stone.
It snarls and bares its fangs. The sound is deep and guttural.
But it isn’t anger.
No—it’s a challenge.
I freeze.
The air thickens, growing hotter, heavier. My heart pounds, and my knees tremble, but I force myself not to move. Not to scream. Every instinct screams run, but there’s nowhere to go. And I refuse to die a coward.
I feel my Pegasus dagger in my hand, etched with ancestral memory—the blade Aaron slipped into my palm like a lifeline. I clutch it now, trembling. But I don’t raise it.
My fingers tighten around its hilt. The steel hums. Yet something deeper—older—stills my hand. What would be the point of fighting such a colossal beast with a mere dagger, anyway? If only I could remember what it was called, maybe then I could remember how to survive. But pain has usurped my mind.
I should cower. I should faint.
Instead, I meet its gaze—and growl back.
The sound is nothing compared to its own snarl, more breath than voice, but it echoes in the cavern. I bare my teeth, jaw clenched tight around a sound born of blood and fire.
The beast pauses.
It tilts its massive head, studying me. Watching. For a moment, we simply stare.
A girl bleeding on the stone floor of a cursed cave. A beast that could kill with a single, heated breath—and chooses not to.
Something shifts. Not in the cave—but between us.
I don’t understand it, but I feel it in my bones, in the slow settling of heat in my palm, the strange calm crawling over my skin.
Recognition. A tether of fate pulling tight.
The beast lowers its head, peering closer. Its breath steams the air between us—hot, thick with smoke and… curiosity.
It exhales. Smoke curls toward me, and for a heartbeat it takes the shape of a rose—burning, blooming—before fading into nothing.
And suddenly, I remember the name.
“Dragon,” I breathe.
My legs go numb. The world tilts. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. But by sheer force of will, I keep my eyes open.
Then the dragon opens its maw and roars.
And something ancient inside me answers.
A sound tears from my chest—not fear, not defiance, but recognition. I scream back.
The dragon stops.
The pain, the blood loss, the heat, the cold—it all crashes over me at once. My limbs go slack.
Just before the darkness takes me, the dragon tilts its head. Firelight catches its gaze—and in its eyes, I see my reflection. Small. Bleeding.
But unafraid.
For one heartbeat longer, the molten pools of the dragon’s eyes hold mine.
Then the world goes dark.