The Ashen Crags roared with wind, sharp and cold, slicing through Elyra Starflame's leather armor like a thief's blade. She stood defiant at the cliff's edge, silver-streaked hair dancing wildly, her heart a furnace of rage and grief. Behind her, Zephyr, her sapphire-scaled dragon, growled low, his golden eyes blazing with loyalty. Below, the Starflame Clan's citadel flickered like a fading star, its spires mocking her exile.
"Elyra Starflame, you are a blight," Elder Voryn's voice hissed in her memory, venomous and final. "Your starfire consumes without mercy. You are no rider—you are a curse."
Her fists clenched, nails biting into her palms. Starfire, the gift that should've crowned her clan's greatest rider, was her damnation. A week ago, it had flared during the Rite of Ascendance, turning the sacred grove to ash. An accident, she'd sworn, but the elders saw only ruin. Now, stripped of her title, she was nothing—an outcast with a dragon and a death wish.
Zephyr's snout brushed her shoulder, warm and steady. "We'll burn our own path, old friend," Elyra murmured, her voice thick with resolve. She traced the scar across her palm, a reminder of the fire she couldn't tame. I'll prove them wrong.
A shadow darted across the rocks, silent as death. Elyra's hand snapped to her dagger, starfire crackling in her veins like a storm begging for release. "Come out, coward," she snarled, her voice cutting through the wind.
A figure emerged from the darkness, cloaked in midnight leather that hugged a lean, muscled frame. Twin daggers gleamed at his hips, and when he pushed back his hood, Elyra's breath caught. Storm-gray eyes, sharp as flint, met hers, framed by tousled black hair and a jawline that could carve stone. A smirk played on his lips, equal parts danger and allure.
"Elyra Starflame," he said, his voice a velvet drawl that sent a shiver down her spine. "You're even more trouble than they say."
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, starfire flaring at her fingertips. Zephyr's tail lashed, a warning rumble shaking the ground.
"Kael Nightshade," he replied, stepping closer, unfazed by the heat radiating from her. "Assassin, rogue, and—lucky you—the only one who can keep you alive."
Elyra's eyes narrowed, her pulse racing—not just from suspicion. There was something about him, a magnetic pull that made her want to step closer and shove him off the cliff at the same time. "I don't need a savior," she snapped. "Speak fast, or Zephyr's lunch gets an upgrade."
Kael's smirk widened, his gaze flicking over her like he was sizing up a prize. "The Dawnheart was stolen from your clan's vault tonight. The elders are screaming your name, saying you took it to curse them all. Hunters are coming, Elyra, and they don't plan to chat."
Her stomach twisted. The Dawnheart, a crystal pulsing with the soul of Aeltharion's first dragon, was the clan's lifeline. Without it, their magic would fade, and rival clans would strike. "I didn't steal it," she growled, stepping toward him, her dagger glinting. "I was here, plotting how to not burn this mountain down."
"Believe it or not, I'm on your side," Kael said, his voice softening, though his eyes held a glint of mischief. "Help me find the Dawnheart, and I'll clear your name. Say no, and you're dragon food by dawn."
Elyra studied him, her heart pounding. He was trouble wrapped in leather, all sharp edges and secrets, but those eyes… they promised something more, something that made her skin hum. "Why trust a snake like you?" she asked, her voice low, challenging.
Kael leaned in, close enough that she caught the scent of cedar and steel on him. "Because, Starflame," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, "you're out of moves, and I'm the best bad idea you've got."
Zephyr snorted, smoke curling from his jaws, but Elyra's lips twitched. Damn him, he was infuriating—and she liked it. "Betray me, Nightshade," she said, her voice a dangerous purr, "and I'll turn you to cinders."
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't try," he shot back, his grin wicked.
Before she could retort, a bone-chilling shriek tore through the night. Shadows surged across the horizon, resolving into winged drakes, their riders' blades flashing with murderous intent. Elyra's starfire roared to life, painting her hands in molten light. Kael's daggers spun in his grip, his stance loose but lethal.
"Run or fight, princess?" he asked, his voice thrillingly calm, eyes locked on hers.
Elyra's grin was feral, her blood singing with defiance. "Fight, you cocky bastard."
But as they braced for the onslaught, her gaze caught a glint on the lead drake's saddle—a Nightshade crest, Kael's clan. Her heart lurched. The assassin she'd just allied with wasn't just trouble—he was tied to her hunters, and he'd led them right to her doorstep.