The Untamed Wild : Lilith

I always thought the stories about dragons were exaggerations.

Then the sky split open and proved me wrong.

My name is Lilith Raven.

Daughter of no saint, no savior, and definitely no quiet legend. My blood is half divine, half cursed, and apparently one hundred percent bad at staying out of trouble. I was supposed to be passing through this village—one stop, one night, one bowl of soup—and then the air went white-hot and everything I knew about peace went up in flames.

The first scream came from the watchtower. The second from the baker’s wife. The third was mine.

A shadow rolled across the fields like a tidal wave. The smell of sulfur burned my throat. And when I looked up, I saw it—wings like torn banners, scales the color of molten blood, and eyes that burned through the clouds. A red dragon. Real. Ancient. Angry.

Most people ran.

I didn’t.

Because that’s the thing about being half god and half monster—running feels like an insult. My pulse sang like thunder as I reached for the earth beneath me. The ground answered. Roots cracked through the cobblestones, twisting up in a storm of green and light. The village square became a living shield, vines curling around screaming villagers as I stepped forward, bare feet pressing into the dirt.

Magic rushed through me—wild, untamed, perfect.

“Alright,” I muttered to no one but the wind. “Let’s see if you bleed.”

The dragon roared. I roared back.

Flames met storm. Fire met bloom.

And that’s how it started—

Not my brother’s story, not my father’s legend.

Mine.

The ground bucked beneath me as the dragon’s roar cracked the air apart. Roofs collapsed. Smoke clawed at the sky.

“Get the children to the well!” I shouted, voice slicing through the noise. “Anyone who can fight—circle the square! Keep your distance from the fire!”

I didn’t know their names. Didn’t care. In that moment, they were mine to protect.

A handful of villagers grabbed pitchforks and spears. A few mercenaries, blood already streaked across their armor, fell in beside me. One—a broad, red-skinned man with a blade big enough to split stone—nodded once, wordless, and charged into the flames.

The dragon dove.

I dove back—

slamming my palm into the dirt as I ran. The earth moved for me, like a living tide. Walls of stone rose and twisted into jagged spires, breaking the creature’s path. The impact shook the world; heat and dust blasted across my skin.

“Move!” I barked at the men beside me. “Flank it before it climbs again!”

They moved. Gods, they actually listened.

I sprinted through the smoke, heart pounding like a war drum. Every step drew power. Roots tore up through the cobbles, lashing around the dragon’s talons. Arrows hissed past me. One found its mark in a crack between scales, but it only made the beast angrier.

The next breath it took lit the sky.

Flame poured down, turning daylight to red. I threw up my arms and screamed a spell older than the tongue that named me. The air shuddered. The ground obeyed. A barrier of living oak burst from the soil, blackening in the heat but holding long enough for the people behind it to scatter.

My lungs burned. My skin felt raw. Magic thrummed too hot in my veins, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

The dragon turned, its gaze locking on me—recognition, fury, hunger all at once.

I spat blood, smiled, and whispered,

“Come on then. Let’s see who burns first.”