the ashes of humans

The fortress was drowned in an oppressive silence, broken only by the crackling of flames in the hearth. Lyra stared at the fire, her hands clenched over her knees. The golden veins beneath her skin pulsed in sync with the embers, as if Vaelrath's power responded to the heat. She closed her eyes, trying to push away the visions that haunted her since the day before—images of burning skies, cities reduced to ashes, and dragon eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"You must learn to control it," Vaelrath's voice murmured in her mind. "Or it will consume you."

Lyra gritted her teeth. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for your help."

The dragon, lying beside her, slowly turned his head. His black scales caught the firelight, giving his massive body a ghostly sheen. "You accepted the pact to survive. Now, own your choices."

A shiver of anger ran through Lyra. She rose abruptly, her sword clanking against its sheath. "I'm going to get water," she announced, unwilling to argue any further.

She stepped out of the fortress, the cold night air biting at her face. The moon, full and pale, bathed the forest in silver light. Lyra walked toward a nearby stream, her footsteps echoing against the stones. But as she moved further away, the pressure in her skull intensified, as if an invisible hand was squeezing her mind.

"You can't run forever, Lyra." Vaelrath's voice was more insistent now, almost mocking.

"Shut up," she growled through clenched teeth, quickening her pace.

Reaching the stream, she crouched to fill a flask. Her reflection in the water made her freeze. Her once emerald-green eyes now glowed with a golden fire, identical to Vaelrath's. She lifted a trembling hand to her face, horrified. "What…?"

"The fusion deepens," the dragon's voice answered. "My essence is changing your body. It is inevitable."

Lyra staggered back, tripping over a root. Her heart pounded violently, her breathing turning ragged. It wasn't just her eyes. Her nails had grown sharper, more claw-like, and in the moonlight, tiny scales shimmered across her skin. She clenched her fists, refusing to panic.

Then a noise made her tense. A branch snapping—too close to be natural. She drew her sword, every sense on high alert. The forest was too still. Even the wind held its breath.

"I know you're there," she called out, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Show yourselves."

Muted laughter answered her. Three figures emerged from the shadows, draped in black cloaks embroidered with fiery spirals. The Shadows. Their featureless white masks gleamed in the moonlight, making them eerily inhuman.

"There she is, the dragon's little pet," one of them sneered. "Did you really think you could escape us?"

Lyra shifted into a combat stance, her sword raised. "You won't have him."

"Not him…" the second Shadow corrected. "You. You're far more valuable now. A human fused with a dragon… a rare specimen."

Without warning, they attacked. Lyra dodged a blade slicing toward her temple, countering with a brutal strike that severed her attacker's arm. A sharp scream cut through the air, but the Shadows didn't falter. They advanced with eerie, mechanical precision, unfazed by pain.

The heat inside her surged. Vaelrath's power churned beneath her skin. "Use it!" his voice roared in her mind. "Burn them!"

"No!" she shouted, resisting the urge. "I won't become that!"

But the Shadows pressed harder. One of them slashed her shoulder, pain lancing through her body. Lyra cried out—this time in fury as much as agony. She felt something snap inside her. A barrier breaking.

Suddenly, everything blurred.

An inhuman roar tore from her throat. The golden veins across her skin blazed with searing light, and flames erupted from her hands, engulfing her sword. The Shadows hesitated—but too late.

Lyra lunged, her weapon carving through the night in arcs of fire. Her enemies burned before they could even scream.

When the last Shadow fell, Lyra collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath. The flames around her flickered out, leaving only the acrid stench of charred flesh. She stared at her hands, blackened with soot, and vomited.

"What have I done…" she whispered, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

"What you had to," Vaelrath's voice answered. The dragon stepped into the clearing, his colossal form looming over the carnage. "You survived. That is all that matters."

"No!" Lyra screamed, scrambling to her feet. "I'm not… I don't want to be a monster!"

She lifted her sword toward Vaelrath, her hand shaking so violently that the blade trembled. "Break this pact. Now."

The dragon gazed at her, unmoved. "You know that's impossible. We are bound, Lyra. The fusion is irreversible. Every time you use my power, you will lose a piece of yourself. That is the price."

Lyra let her sword drop, the metal ringing against the stones. She knew he was right. She had enjoyed that power, even for a fleeting moment. And that terrified her more than anything.

"Then help me," she whispered, voice raw. "Help me not become… this."

Vaelrath inclined his head, something almost like compassion in his golden gaze. "I will. But it will take more strength than you can imagine."

As they returned to the fortress, a deep, searing pain flared in Lyra's chest. She lifted her tunic and choked back a cry. A dark mark, like a burn, spread across her skin—intricate patterns resembling Vaelrath's scales. The curse was growing.

"Time is against us, Lyra," the dragon murmured. "The Shadows are merely pawns. Their master will come. And he will want more than just your power…"

Lyra didn't answer. She stared at the mark, realizing for the first time that she was in a race against fate. A race where the price was her soul.