The dragon erupted from flesh and bones, a massive creature covered in shining black scale with red highlights and glow from beneath. Its head reared back in a roar, and the force of the shift shook and shattered the temple walls. Ancient stone crumbled as his colossal form expanded, his long form unfurling with a deafening crack as it crashed against the stone.


    The priestesses screamed, scattering like frightened birds as debris rained down. Some were not quick enough—Mira caught glimpses of robes swallowed by the falling stone, their wearers silenced in an instant. Splashes of crimson coated the floor. The sanctuary, once sacred, now trembled under the sheer force of the dragon’s presence.


    Lazroth shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos, guiding those who could still move to safety. Faliam, carried by the priestess, strained to look back, whimpering out for his son in hopes he could hear and his thin words would matter. They did not. Haros was gone and the Legacy had awakened.


    Meanwhile, the chosen girls, those meant to be his partners, desperately wielded their magic, their hands glowing with subdued golden light. Ringlets and strings of magic twisted and entangled around the beast but did little to quell the rage. Their spells lashed out as their chanting rose, attempting to bind him, but Haros became the Legacy unlike anyone before him—his power wild, his instincts unchecked. He tossed his head, snapping his jaws, shattering spells as if they were mist.


    The girl he had chosen stood frozen, wide-eyed, trembling. Her name was unknown, but at that moment, she was someone. A person facing the impossible. How could she conquer a dragon, a beast as massive as this? She was meant to be the one to subdue him, to complete the ritual and stabilize his transformation—but fear held her paralyzed. She wasn’t the one for this, she heard no call or song that guided her magic. The only thing in her ears was the ringing from broken glass and stone.


    Mira’s pulse hammered as she dodged another falling rock. If no one acted, Haros would destroy everything. Dragons were wild, godly creatures. They needed the balance of magic to keep them. And so, the decision made itself. She bolted toward the ritual table where ancient anthology laid open, yanking it from its pedestal, flipping through brittle pages until she found what she needed. She barely skimmed the incantation before throwing the book aside.


    She knew the spell. Her mother had her learn it over and over again. It would bind the beast, that was certain. Mira, sprinting toward the ceremonial knife lying near the cowering priestess, leaped over a fallen woman and slid on the side of her foot, tearing her precious royal robes. It didn’t matter, though. They were just fabrics, and when it came to surviving, nothing so material could matter. Without hesitation, she snatched the blade, its edge still gleaming with untouched power.


    Haros roared, the sound shaking her bones as he twisted in agony. She barely dodged the lash of his tail as she reached his massive, shifting form. Somehow, he was still growing, still expanding, and the fury of the dragon grew with him. This was no normal shift. He was fighting for himself—fighting the beast that sought to consume him. His eyes, blazing blue, locked onto hers for a moment, a flicker of recognition cutting through the storm. The dragon knew her. He knew her.


    Mira tightened her grip on the chain still wrapped around his form and pulled. “Haros! Calm down!” she shouted, her voice barely above the chaos. “Stop acting like a petulant child!”


    For one suspended moment, he stilled.


    Mira huffed, pleased with his obedience, and whispered the incantation under her breath, raising the knife. She slashed her palm open without hesitation, blood spilling freely. She clenched her jaw to hide the wince and pain and then pressed the blade in deeper to ensure the flow. With one last glance at him, she pressed her bloodied hand against his fanged maw.


    Magic surged. A wave of energy exploded outward from where she stood, so strong it sent the remaining priestesses stumbling back. The flood of power and light engulfed him, tangling around him and swarming her in a whirlwind of maddening command. Haros let out a strangled sound, his form faltering in metallic shivers, his entire body seizing as the ancient power took hold. The dragon thrashed one final time before his massive form collapsed inward, shifting, shrinking—until Haros lay before her, human again, his bare chest rising and falling in labored gasps.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Mira fell to her knees beside him, breathless. “I need you to do what I tell you now, Haros,” she murmured, lifting her trembling hand to his lips. Blood smeared his mouth, the scent thick in the air. “Bite me, and don’t let go until you can’t hold on any longer.”


    Haros’s eyes fluttered open, wild and unfocused, but found her dark gaze in an instant. Then, in one sudden movement, his hand shot up, gripping her wrist with startling strength. His mouth parted—and then, without warning, his teeth clamped down on her hand.


    Mira gasped, pain lancing through her as his elongated fangs sank deep into her skin. A sharp, citric scent filled the air—venom. The sacred poison of the Legacy, and no other. Her vision blurred, a voice whispering in her head some distant promise that she would be alright, that she was safe. And she believed it as she collapsed against his chest, too weak to stay upright. The temple rumbled again, his body twisting beneath her, shifting form again.


    She barely had time to register it, to look up at the scales and dragon he’d become, before darkness consumed her and the strength of life and magic slipped away.


    <hr>


    Lazroth stood among the wounded priestesses, this expression tight as he helped Ysara tend to the survivors. The temple sanctuary was littered with debris, the scent of scorched magic still thick in the air. The doors to the chamber glowed in burning hot iron, melded to seal shut. Ysara worked at a frantic pace, her hands trembling as she wrapped bandages around a young priestess’s bleeding arm. Lazroth half whispered a direction, motioning to someone else gripping a twisted leg.


    At last, she broke. The High Priestess slammed her hands on the ground and stared at Lazroth. It didn’t matter that he was nothing more than a teenage boy; he’d taken command at the helm.


    “We have to get her out of there!” Ysara demanded, her voice sharp with desperation. “Mira is still inside!”


    Dynara, who had kneeled beside her injured husband, Faliam, like a nurse attending the wounded, looked up with cool detachment. “She is a servant, and there’s more than enough wounded and dying for us to deal with right here. It is not our priority to—”


    “Mother,” Lazroth interrupted, “she’s my friend, and she’s a Styxin born, we can’t just abandon her.”


    “The doors are sealed,” she waved a hand. “Your father is nearly gone, his breathing—”


    “She’s trapped in there with the beast,” Ysara insisted. “You do not know what price will be paid if—”


    “A servant girl dies?” Dynara spat and scoffed. “Her life is nothing next to Faliam’s, next to my son’s, who need I remind you, is trapped in there right now with neither his partner nor a hope that he might return to himself if… if…” Her eyes welled as her words dribbled away.


    “He’s going to be okay.” Lazroth set his hand on her shoulder, though he barely believed those words himself.


    “Mira is no servant, you ice hearted bitch!” Ysara’s voice cracked as she rose to her feet, eyes blazing. “She serves her people. Because she is their queen. She has sealed herself in there with that… monsterosity! Haros should have never been given that dragon. Never!”


    Silence slammed over them. Lazroth’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of Ysara’s words settling like stone in his chest. Queen of Styxis? Mira had said she was a Styxin heir, but he’d thought it was in the same way as any other noble girl who wanted a little anonymity. Not that she carried a burden he couldn’t understand, not in any real way. She wasn’t any ordinary queen. She was the queen of an empire, the highest throne, the child stolen from the last queen and hidden from the world—and they were friends.


    He turned to Ysara, voice low and urgent. “What happened back there? Why did the doors seal. It was magic, wasn’t it? That magic she used—what was it?”


    Ysara swallowed hard, her face pale with fear. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her fingers twisting in the bloodied fabric of her robes. “Mira came to our temple, trained and powerful. We made her a servant to suppress it, but it was something ancient from her mother. I don’t fully know what she is capable of, and I doubt she has any idea either, but I fear she may have used too much. That expulsion was a tidal force, one rarely survived. A Styxin’s magic is not infinite—it is drawn from life itself. If she’s pushed beyond her limit, then her life is in mortal danger. Not just from the dragon. From herself. And without an heir…”


    Lazroth clenched his fists. He couldn’t just stand here while she was trapped inside, possibly dying from saving them. He turned toward the burning temple doors, determination hardening his resolve. “Then we have to get her out. Now. The Styxin and the balance depend on it.”