Ashes of the Fallen Gods

The Sky of Dragons

The sky disappeared.

Not beneath clouds.

Not beneath darkness.

But beneath dragons.

Thousands of wings stretched across the horizon.

Ancient dragons.

Young dragons.

Dragons thought long dead.

Dragons that hadn't been seen in centuries.

All circling above Aethoria.

All watching.

Waiting.

Listening.

Brynn stood frozen in the center of the plaza.

Silver and black light still crackled around her.

The black rose mark on her wrist burned like fire.

And every dragon in the sky had turned toward her.

The weight of it nearly brought her to her knees.

Not fear.

Expectation.

Hope.

A burden she had never asked for.

Malachar stared upward.

For the first time since Brynn had met him, he looked genuinely stunned.

"No..."

His voice was barely a whisper.

"That's impossible."

Nyxaris stepped forward.

His wings spread wide.

"You should know better than anyone."

The dragons overhead roared.

The sound shook the city.

Shook the mountains.

Shook the world.

Malachar's eyes snapped back to Brynn.

"You remember."

It wasn't a question.

Brynn shook her head.

"Not everything."

A flicker of relief crossed his face.

Gone an instant later.

Because she added:

"But enough."

The darkness beyond Aethoria's walls shifted.

Moved.

Watched.

The first god was still there.

Waiting.

Testing.

Learning.

And somehow that terrified Brynn more than if it had attacked.

Predators tested their prey.

They studied weaknesses.

They waited for the right moment to strike.

The god was doing exactly that.

A deafening roar shattered the silence.

One of the ancient dragons descended from the sky.

Then another.

Then another.

The massive creatures landed throughout the city.

People scrambled out of the way.

Stone cracked beneath enormous claws.

Dust filled the air.

Brynn stared.

The dragons weren't arriving to fight.

They were arriving to kneel.

One by one.

The creatures lowered their heads.

A gesture older than kingdoms.

Older than crowns.

Older than history.

The city watched in stunned silence.

Even Malachar looked shaken.

Because this had never happened before.

Not even for Evelyne.

Brynn immediately hated it.

"What are they doing?"

Nyxaris made a sound that might have been amusement.

"Acknowledging you."

"Can they stop?"

"No."

"Wonderful."

A laugh escaped Rowan.

The first genuine laugh Brynn had heard from him in days.

"You may be the first person in history to complain about dragons bowing to them."

"Good."

She crossed her arms.

"I'd like that to remain unique."

Several Riders actually smiled.

The tension eased.

Just slightly.

For the first time in what felt like forever.

Then the sky darkened.

Again.

Every dragon immediately became alert.

Heads lifted.

Wings spread.

Growls echoed through the city.

Nyxaris's expression hardened.

"It's coming."

Brynn looked toward the horizon.

The darkness beyond the walls was moving.

Not the god.

Something else.

Something smaller.

Faster.

And heading directly toward Aethoria.

Minutes later, a lone figure burst through the northern gates.

Covered in blood.

Half-collapsed from exhaustion.

A scout.

One of Rowan's Riders.

The man barely remained conscious long enough to speak.

"They're awake."

The plaza fell silent.

Rowan stepped forward.

"Who?"

The Rider looked terrified.

The kind of terrified that couldn't be faked.

"The Fallen Kings."

Every face in the plaza changed.

Fear.

Real fear.

The Rider swallowed hard.

"There are seven tombs."

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

The man continued.

His voice shaking.

"We found the first one."

Brynn's stomach dropped.

The Rider looked directly at her.

"The tomb was empty."

Silence.

Dead silence.

Then somewhere far away...

A horn sounded.

The same horn Brynn had heard in the Vale.

Low.

Ancient.

Mournful.

One horn.

Then another.

Then another.

Seven in total.

Across the world.

Each answering the next.

Each announcing the same thing.

The Fallen Kings had returned.

And they were no longer sleeping.