Chapter 1
The sky is filled with bomber jets that rattle the earth. My teeth clatter as a missile strikes a dragon overhead. The golden creature falls, crashing to the ground, causing the earth to shake and crack. Peace ruled our world once—until he was born.
Conri Olcan. A beautiful baby boy gifted with an uncontrollable power. They say he has eyes darker than night and hands that can kill anything they touch. His birth shook the world in ways we couldn’t predict. Our world changed forever with his arrival.
Every shifter, every human bowed before the babe, afraid of what he might become. Now their fears are realized. With each rebellion, more blood spills. The dragons have launched an uprising, determined to end his reign.
But for each battle they lose, innocent lives fall to starvation, disease spreads, and the land weakens. Conri is too powerful. They can’t overthrow him—the Lycan prince rumored to have a hundred lives but no soul.
Why they keep trying, I can’t understand. Just leave us in peace, if only for a while. This war has dragged on for three years—three years of fighting for every meal as dragons intercept food carts, medicine, and other supplies.
I hate the dragons for upending my simple life, but I hate Conri Olcan more. By existing, he has doomed us all. And as a human among supernatural beings, survival is already hard enough.
My mother, my sister, and I fight each day to stay alive. Survive we do. Survive we must.
The rumble of a dragon jolts me back to the present. We have to keep running, find shelter. Today, it’s an old, abandoned grocery store, mostly looted and hollowed out, but it’ll shield us from the chaos outside.
Mom sets up a makeshift camp near the back of the store. We unroll our ragged sleeping bags, and the other humans there give us nods of acknowledgment. We’re all in hell—no point fighting amongst ourselves.
Mom hands out little cups of broth to the small children huddled near the broken dairy freezers. They stare in awe at the warmth in their hands.
“H-how did you get this, miss?” asks a redheaded boy, sipping carefully.
“I traded some yarn and shoes for it, dear.” She pats his head, offering a cup to his sister and mother.
“This is too precious. We can’t accept it,” the mother says, hesitant.
“Nonsense! You will. We’re all each other has now,” Mom insists, smiling warmly. The woman whispers a tearful thank-you, glancing at Mom’s bare feet.
“Alright, little bird.” Mom calls me over to help her.
“Yes, Mom.” She smiles and kisses my cheek.
“Let’s work on stitching this sleeping bag. I’ll teach you how.” She guides my hands through the process, and once we finish, she begins braiding my hair. My dull, dishwater-blonde hair could use a wash, but clean water is scarce.
“Little bird, your papa would be so proud of you,” she says softly. “You’re strong and steady. Someday, you’ll get your chance to fly, and it’ll be beautiful. I hope I’m here to see it.”
“Oh, Mom.” I fight back tears, the pain of losing Papa still fresh.
“No tears now,” she says, brushing a strand from my face. “Just promise me you’ll always fight. Conri is a good prince. People are afraid of what they don’t understand and jealous of those with great power.”
“You really believe he’s good?” I ask, surprised.
“Oh, yes. Before you were born, I worked for the Queen. The prince was never one to start trouble. He was always the one left to finish it.”
“You worked for the Queen?” This is new to me.
“Yes, long ago. They wanted peace; I saw it myself. But peace is a slippery thing, like a bird—always fluttering away just as you try to hold it.”
“Will the wars ever stop?” I ask, glancing at her face, lined with worry.
“Yes. Someday, the prince will find his mate, and together they’ll cleanse the land of all evil.”
“How can you be so sure?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“Because, dear, when you find true love, nothing is impossible.”
“It sounds too good to be true,” I mutter as she ties off the braid.
“That’s what makes it so special.” She smiles, her eyes soft with hope.
The air outside shakes again with the roar of dragons. My heart pounds in my chest as I grip Mom's hand tighter. In moments like this, it's hard to believe in anything—peace, hope, love—all of it feels so far away. But Mom's words stick with me, a flicker of warmth in the cold chaos of war.
“Stay close, little bird,” she says as she tucks Lila under her other arm. We find shelter in an old storage room at the back of the store, settling in for the night.
As we lay down, I close my eyes, trying to remember what life was like before. I picture fields of wildflowers, Papa lifting me on his shoulders, the sun warm on our faces. I remember laughter. Now, everything feels covered in ash.
But Mom is right. We have to believe there’s still something worth fighting for. Even if I can’t see it now. Even if it’s a faint hope tied to a prince I despise.
