The Phoenix & The Dragon

Chapter 1

Scotland, 1475

It had rained for three days straight. The grey skies showed no sign of clearing, and now thunder and lightning had joined the afternoon deluge, illuminating the hills and valleys as though a great battle was raging in the heavens.

The rain beat relentlessly against the stone walls of the outer castle, and the moat had started to flood again. Howling winds lashed at the fields, where farmers hurried to gather their flocks before the lowlands flooded for the third time in a month. They couldn’t afford to lose any more animals to this wicked storm. With winter approaching, and crops as poor as they’d been in years, it would be a harsh season ahead.

Lady Carolyn Kincade sat in a high-backed wooden chair, tucked away in the east wing of her castle. Animal hides and furs lined the stone floor of her bedchamber, providing warmth against the biting chill. The soft glow of the fire and candlelight cast flickering shadows that danced along the dimly lit room, adding a sense of stillness. Carolyn, however, was lost in her thoughts. A thin trickle of water slipped through a small slit in the wall, leaving a tiny puddle at the base of the window.

Her eyes were drawn to the water, which took on a faint reddish hue in the flickering candlelight. Strange, this was the third time in recent weeks that the rain had appeared tinged with red.

She turned her attention back to the fire, seeking comfort in its warm embrace. A black bear hide draped across her shoulders, a gift from her husband, Christian. The memory of him—his strong hands, the way his dark hair slipped through her fingers, the tenderness of his lips—brought a smile to her lips. Christian had been away on a stag hunt for nearly a fortnight now, and the absence of his warmth left her feeling empty.

The fire crackled, sending a fresh wave of smoke and warmth into the room. The earthy, musky smell of the bear hides brought a sense of peace, wrapping her in memories of her husband and his love.

A knock came at the chamber door, pulling her from her reverie.

“Enter,” she called, her gaze drifting lazily back to the fire, where the flames continued their mesmerizing dance.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Morgan, a petite girl with long brown hair tied back in a simple braid. Morgan had been her chambermaid for two years now, ever since Carolyn had found her begging in the streets of a nearby village. The villagers had warned Carolyn that the girl was a witch, her mother burned at the stake, but Carolyn had pitied her and brought her to the castle.

Morgan quickly set about relighting the candles and stoking the fire. Though they were often mistaken for sisters due to their similar features, the main difference was in their eyes: Morgan’s were a warm brown, while Carolyn’s sparkled like emeralds.

“Has there been any word yet?” Carolyn asked softly, glancing over her shoulder.

Morgan, bowing slightly, responded, “No, Milady. No sighting of the men yet. Would you care for something warm to drink?”

Carolyn waved her hand dismissively, signaling she was fine. When she looked back up, Morgan had already melted into the shadows, disappearing as quietly as she’d come.

The fire’s hypnotic dance once again took hold of Carolyn’s thoughts, and she let her fingers trace the intricately carved wolf heads that adorned the armrests of her chair. The chair itself had been a wedding gift from Christian, the carvings of a stag and bear symbolizing his power. She could still feel his presence in every groove, every etching.

Christian was late, but no one seemed worried. Blame had fallen on the persistent bad weather, which had likely delayed the hunting party’s return.

Another knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.”

Morgan reappeared, her face flushed from the long climb up the castle’s stone steps. The firelight bathed her in an eerie glow as she tried to compose herself. Carolyn stood, pulling the fur tighter around her shoulders, her raven-black hair blending seamlessly with the dark pelt.

“What is it?” Carolyn asked, sensing urgency in Morgan’s face.

“Milady, there has been an accident. You must come at once.”

Morgan hurried to fetch Carolyn’s slippers, and within moments, they were racing down the castle’s narrow stone passageways. Morgan lit the torches as they went, the flames casting ominous shadows on the walls as they descended to the lower levels where the healer’s chamber was located.

The smell of damp earth and decay grew stronger the deeper they went. Carolyn’s heart pounded in her chest, a strange sense of dread gnawing at her. It felt as though the walls were closing in, the darkness more oppressive than ever before.

Finally, they reached the large, heavy wooden door that led to the healer’s room. The edges of the door were damp and moss-covered from the endless rain. Morgan knocked softly, and the door creaked open.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by flickering candles and torches. The air was thick with the scent of herbs, oils, and something far more sinister—death. Carolyn’s stomach twisted as she noticed a figure lying in the bed, bloodstained sheets draped across a motionless body. The healer’s apprentice, Ann, stood nearby, her apron stained red with blood.

Carolyn’s breath caught in her throat.

Another flash of light caught her attention, but this one wasn’t from the fire. It was an unnatural, sharp flicker in the corner of the room. Carolyn blinked, unsure of what she had just seen.

“Mistress?” Ann’s voice echoed softly, but the words seemed distant, fading in and out as if muffled by the surrounding darkness.

Another flash.

Carolyn spun around, but the room had changed. The bed, the candles, the figures—everything was gone. She stood alone in an empty, cold chamber. Water trickled down the walls, pooling on the stone floor in dark, red-tinted puddles.

Suddenly, Christian stood before her. His blue eyes were filled with sorrow, his hands covered in blood.

Another flash.

Carolyn jolted awake, her heart racing. The same nightmare had returned, haunting her as it had for centuries. She sat up, glancing around her modern bedroom. The clock on her nightstand flashed 4:30 PM. Sighing, she ran her hands through her long, raven hair. The nightmares had been getting worse, the flashes of her past growing more intense.

A knock came at her door, a familiar voice following.

“Mistress, are you alright?”

Carolyn sighed and swung her feet over the edge of the bed, sinking them into the soft bear fur that lay on the floor.

“I’m fine, Morgan,” she called out, rising to dress for the night. “Just another nightmare.”

Morgan entered, concern etched on her face. “The same one?”

Carolyn nodded, pulling her thoughts together as she headed for the kitchen. The two of them were bound by more than time, and though the present had changed, the shadows of their past still lingered.