Chapter 14:The Call of the Black Dragon

Rowan's boots crunched on the shingle of Cornwall's northern coast, where the Atlantic roared like a wounded beast. She clutched the silver locket Ethan had given her—a fragment of the Thames' soul, now cold as ice. "Find Lir's daughter," he'd said. But the sea's whispers carried no answers—only a bone-deep chill that seeped into her marrow.

"You're lost, little swan."

The voice slithered from the shadows. Rowan spun, summoning a wave to her palm, but the figure that emerged was no enemy. It was Grampa, his eyes sunken and wild, clutching a weathered journal.

"Grampa?" Rowan lowered her hand. "What are you doing here?"

He staggered forward, pressing the journal into her chest. "The ritual… 1974," he gasped. "Your grandmother… she didn't fail. She succeeded."

Rowan flipped through the pages—sketches of Celtic runes, maps of the Thames' hidden tributaries, and a faded photograph of a woman with silver hair identical to her own. Lir's daughter.

"She bound Cernunnos to the Well of Segais," Grampa whispered. "But the ritual… it created a rift. A door between worlds."

Rowan's blood froze. "A door for what?"

The ground trembled. From the churning waves rose a shape of obsidian scales and crimson eyes—Níðhöggr, the World Tree's devourer, its wings blotting out the moon. The dragon's roar split the air, and the sea surged upward, forming a bridge of water to the shore.

"The Horned God's bargain was never broken," the dragon hissed. Its voice was a thousand voices drowning. "He merely traded one prison for another."

Rowan staggered back. The journal's pages fluttered open to a diagram of the Thames' confluence with the Atlantic—a point where Celtic and Norse mythologies overlapped. "The river is a root of Yggdrasil," Ethan had once said. "And Níðhöggr… he's coming to feast."

Grampa grabbed her arm. "The Well of Segais… it's not just a Celtic gateway. It's a node in the World Tree's network. If Níðhöggr reaches it—"

"London will drown," Rowan finished. She turned to the dragon, whose claws now gripped the cliffs. "But why now? What's changed?"

Níðhöggr's laughter shook the earth. "Your lover's sacrifice weakened the barrier. The Thames' new guardian… he's a bridge. And bridges can be burned."

Rowan's mind raced. Ethan's transformation had made him both a protector and a vulnerability. If Níðhöggr destroyed him, the river's power would collapse, freeing Cernunnos and allowing the dragon to consume the World Tree.

"Join me, daughter of Lir," Níðhöggr crooned. "I'll make you queen of the drowned. Together, we'll shatter the old order."

Rowan hesitated. The dragon's offer echoed her deepest fears—of being trapped between sea and land, of never belonging. But then she thought of Ethan's golden eyes, of the river's song in his voice.

"Never," she spat.

Níðhöggr's tail lashed, smashing a nearby lighthouse into rubble. "Then drown with your precious city."

The dragon dove into the ocean, start a tsunami that towered over the cliffs. Rowan grabbed Grampa, sprinting inland as the wave crashed down. They tumbled into a gully, the force of the water slamming them against the rocks.

When the roar subsided, Rowan lifted her head. The coast was a wasteland of debris, and the dragon was gone. Grampa lay unconscious beside her, the journal splayed open at his feet. She scanned the pages, her breath catching at a passage written in her grandmother's hand:

"The Well of Segais is both prison and key. To destroy Cernunnos, one must merge the river's soul with the sea's… but the cost is a life."

Rowan's hand trembled. A life. Her life.

Grampa stirred. "You… you have to go back," he wheezed. "Ethan… he can't fight Níðhöggr alone."

Rowan helped him to his feet. "Then we'll find another way."

They staggered toward the nearest village, where a fishing boat bobbed in the harbor. As they boarded, Rowan glanced at the horizon—at the storm gathering over London.

"Hold on, Ethan," she whispered. "I'm coming."