Chapter 38

  I felt my blood turn into pure fury as I spread my wings—now black, buzzing shadows that sliced through the air like demons from long-forgotten nightmares. I wanted to show Ygrath what it meant to make me angry. What it meant to not just feel Gravor’s power, but to give it a face.

  But the dragon—this icy bastard—just looked at me… and snorted.

  Then he laughed.

  Not like a friend. Not like a warrior acknowledging an opponent’s courage. It was a mocking, hissing laugh that cut through bone. It vibrated in the air like the crack of freezing flesh. No joy. No respect. Just contempt. And it wasn’t even meant for me.

  “You chose a pitiful host, Gravor. A pitiful, ignorant host.”

  I clenched my fist, shrouded in black smoke that seeped from my joints like living poison. My chest rose in ragged breaths, the mist steamed from my back. I snapped back.

  “First of all, you don’t get to insult me, and second: weren’t we going to fight?”

  Ygrath turned his massive head back to me. His eyes—two glowing moons of icy light—bored into my soul. It didn’t feel like he was looking at me, but at every thought I’d ever had.

  “First,” he said, his voice strangely soft, “I didn’t mean to insult you. Any other human would be just as clueless.”

  He turned his gaze away, letting it drift over our group.

  Simon, flames at the ready.

  Vin, trembling with focused rage.

  Maira, eyes sparkling, vials between her fingers.

  And me—half man, half monster.

  “Second, yes—we fight,” Ygrath said quietly.

  “We fight for my freedom.”

  A moment of silence. Almost reverent.

  “One I’ve long dreamed of.”

  There was something in his voice… something real. No lie. No mask. A wish, bound in chains.

  But then, he looked at me again—his gaze full of bitter understanding. And perhaps even… sorrow?

  “And the thing inside you… took it from me.”

  He said it softly, like final words before a farewell. And I knew: whatever had happened between Ygrath and Gravor was older than me. Deeper than I could ever grasp.

  Maybe I really was just a pawn. Or a keyhole to an ancient door.

  But there was no time to reflect.

  Ygrath raised his claw. A massive paw, heavy as stone, encrusted with jagged ice crystals. It came crashing down with merciless force—and I braced myself, ready to strike back.

  Then: lightning!

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  A blinding beam of light slashed through the chamber and struck Ygrath in the side. Not just light—thunder followed, tearing through the air like paper. The dragon roared, staggered back, and turned his head, searching for the attacker.

  Vin seized the moment. No more gentle vines, no more defense. She let her magic erupt—thick, thorny roots shot from the ground and pierced the dragon’s right foreleg. A wet, tearing sound rang out as flesh split and blood sprayed—steaming in the cold air. Ygrath howled.

  Then Maira stepped forward. Her face was calm, her gaze as cold as the flames she summoned. With perfect precision, she hurled a small glass vial. It hit exactly at the dragon’s right flank—where the scales were thinner. The vial shattered, and instantly a deep green liquid crawled across his skin. It hissed. The acid ate through scale, then flesh.

  A horrible scream filled the dome. Ygrath thrashed, reared up—and I seized the moment, pushing off the ground and taking to the air once more.

  “Gravor,” I whispered inside, “what did he mean… about freedom?”

  “Later,” came the answer—sharper than usual.

  “Right now, we kill a dragon.”

  I nodded, more to myself than anyone else.

  "Let's do this."

  I accelerated. My wings tore through the air like blades, slicing it to shreds as I flew straight toward the bloodied, steaming wound on Ygrath’s right flank—where Maira’s acid had melted through his scales and into the flesh. A weak spot in a fortress of ice. And I would use it.

  As I shot forward, I let several shadowy spikes burst from my back. They whirred through the air like obsidian-glass projectiles, embedding themselves deep into the already wounded flesh. Ygrath snorted in irritation, his body twitching from the impacts—not because they truly hurt him, but because they wounded his pride. I felt it. I was annoying him.

  "Don’t you dare scream, you bastard, don’t you dare…" I thought. And that’s exactly what he did—or tried to do. His throat began to glow again. That ominous blue pulsed through the veins under his scales, crawling upward like luminous venom.

  "Not this time!" I hissed inwardly and changed my course at the last second. I broke away from the flank—going instead for the throat. The source of the attack. The root of his death.

  But before I could get close, Ygrath reared up. His tail—a massive, bony hammer—lashed out with earth-shaking speed. I yanked my wings upward, pulling myself into a tight ascent. I could still feel the cold air brushing my legs. A blink slower and he would’ve crushed me like a fly.

  Ygrath turned with the fury of a wounded beast. His maw swung toward me, and the ice breath erupted—a roaring torrent of pure death. I twisted midair, veering sideways. The cold grazed my face, shattering the left vambrace of my armor. I dove under his tail, spun around him—and there it was.

  The gap.

  A tiny slit between two scales, barely a finger wide. Right at the side, beneath the base of the neck. A spot no armor could protect. I focused Gravor’s power, felt the sword pulse in my hand—and with a piercing scream, I drove it into that gap with everything I had.

  The effect was immediate.

  Ygrath convulsed. Not like a beast. Like a man having the breath ripped from his lungs. The scream he had prepared died in his throat. He gagged. A furious, pitiful sound. Ice dripped from his maw, mingled with blood. He tried to speak—or curse, maybe—but only a choking cough came, followed by a gurgle of pain.

  I left the sword lodged in him, kicked off his body with both feet, and shot upward—his neck now my path. I landed on him, climbed the trembling, writhing line of his spine. Every step was a risk. He thrashed, jerked, but I held on, clinging to the blood-slick, frozen skin, crawling like a shadow toward the skull—until, at the junction of head and spine, I raised my tail.

  Gravor’s demonic energy gathered in the tip. With all my strength, I drove it into the back of his head—right at the connection between skull and spine. Then I rammed both clawed hands in after it, plunged them deep until I felt warm, pulsing tissue.

  Ygrath roared—not in fury, but in agony. Then he gasped. Loud, rattling. His massive body trembled. A shudder ran through him, as if even his heart no longer knew whether to beat.

  One final time he tried to shake me off—but I held fast, buried deep in his flesh.

  Blood. So much blood.

  It poured from the back of his head, cascading down his neck like a blackened waterfall. A thick, dark stream. Finally, his body gave out. Muscles slackened. Wings drooped. Limbs seized.

  Then he fell.

  Not like a beast.

  But like a legend. A titan who had fought his last battle.

  With a world-shaking crash, Ygrath toppled to the side, his enormous mass tearing into the ground, shaking the dome. Dust, blood, shards of ice—all erupted around us. And me—I jumped at the last second, gliding down, landing in a slick smear of blood and grime.

  Ygrath lay still. Motionless.

  A fallen god, brought down by mortals.

  And we… we were still alive.