Page 17 of Ashfall (Firebound #1)

CHAPTER 16

DAX

T he fire sings differently out here. It's older, slower, and more deliberate, like listening before it speaks. Every flicker carries the weight of something primal, echoing through my bones. It doesn’t rage or consume. It remembers.

I move past the outer wards of the canyon—far from Blackstrike’s camp, past the lava-scarred cliffs and obsidian rises, into the ash-covered flatlands where no one but the truly ancient dare to go. The land here breathes with forgotten heat, the wind still tasting faintly of brimstone. The earth remembers out here. You can feel it in the heat beneath your boots, in the hush of the air so still it feels like it’s waiting for something. The silence is stretched taut like old scars that never fully healed. This place is sacred. Dangerous. Forgotten. And it knows me.

Oren waits for me there. My pulse thrums with anticipation, an edge of unease threading through the heat in my blood. It’s not fear—exactly—but something close. A deep, primal knowing that I stand in the presence of something older, wiser, and infinitely more dangerous. The kind of presence that makes the fire inside me go still—not dimmed, but waiting. Watching. Not Dennis Price or Malek, but Oren. The elder. The ancient. A being so old even the mountains whisper when he stirs. He is not a true part of the team, and yet it would feel incomplete without him.

Today, he’s waiting for me, sitting like a statue molded from flame itself, coiled in dragon form, obsidian scales rimmed in silver, his long tail wrapped around him like a serpent guarding sacred knowledge. His breath steams in the air, each exhale radiating heat. His eyes glow with that knowing, terrible calm—the kind of stillness that comes with power too great to challenge. This is what he truly is. What he always was. And there’s no mistaking it now—this is the dragon history long forgotten, but the fire remembers.

"You come because you’re scared," he says without preamble, his voice vibrating through the air like thunder wrapped in silk.

"I came because I need answers," I growl. "About Ember."

Oren shifts fluidly, seamlessly—fire blooming around him in a quiet roar, swallowing his dragon form whole. When it clears, he stands tall in human shape, naked and steaming in the open air. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bother with modesty. Instead, he moves with deliberate grace to retrieve the robe lying folded on a nearby rock, slips it on without haste, and turns to face me, his ancient eyes and silver-threaded hair untouched by time or temperature. No pain. No transition. Full shift. Because that’s the only kind there is.

"The girl carries your fire."

"Not fully. Not yet. The mark appeared after we—" I break off, jaw tightening. "There’s a partial bond forming. But she didn’t burn."

"And that frightens you."

"It should. It means something’s changing."

Oren studies me for a long time, then nods slowly. "There was a prophecy, long before you were born, before any of us chose the sky over the sword. One human woman. Fireborn not by blood, but by bond. She would survive the flame, not be consumed by it. She would walk the razor’s edge between creation and destruction. The fire would answer to her, not claim her. A spark between control and chaos—tempered by heart, not heritage."

"You think it’s her?"

"No, Dax," he says, stepping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. "I know it’s her."

He turns without another word, vanishing into the ash and shadow as if swallowed by the breath of the earth itself. The air ripples faintly where he stood, the scent of scorched sage lingering like a memory. For a moment, the world holds its breath—no wind, no sound, only the whisper of something old and watching. Then he’s gone, as if he had never been there at all.

I make it back to the main camp just in time to hear the roar—deep, primal, laced with fire and something that pulls at the marrow of my bones. Not just any roar. Ember’s. It rolls over the canyon like thunder dipped in flame, and for a heartbeat, everything in me goes still.

The dragon in me knows. Something ancient inside me unfurls, instinct and recognition braided together like flame and breath. She’s shifting—and my world will never be the same.

She’s outside the barracks, surrounded by the rest of the team, who stand back with cautious awe, their faces lit with firelight and wariness. No one moves, like they’re afraid a single breath might ignite her. The air is thick with heat, charged and pulsing like the second before lightning hits—raw and electric, a promise of power barely restrained.

I feel it pressing in on me, too—raw, volatile power radiating off her in waves that sing to the dragon inside me. Her eyes are wide, her pulse visible in her throat, and she’s glowing. Literally. Flame crackles around her skin, dancing along her arms, spiraling from the mark at her shoulder like a brand lit from within. She looks terrified—caught between instinct and disbelief—but she doesn’t run. And despite the fear, she radiates something else, too: raw, unfiltered power. She’s radiant. Untamed. And she's standing in the fire like she was born for it.

"Ember," I call, stepping forward slowly, "You need to breathe. Don’t fight it. Just feel."

"I don’t… Dax; it’s burning me…"

"No," I say, voice low and steady, "It’s becoming you."

The flames swallow her whole, a rush of heat and light so bright the others have to look away, shielding their eyes as if the sun had descended to earth. But I don’t. I can’t. It’s not just fire—it’s her, taking shape, stepping into the truth that was always waiting. And I watch, transfixed, as the impossible becomes real right in front of me.

She disappears in fire—and then emerges, rising from the inferno like a phoenix reborn. For a heartbeat, all I can do is stare, stunned silent by the sheer majesty of her transformation. My chest tightens, not from fear, but from awe and something deeper—reverence.

This is my mate, claiming her power in full, blazing with purpose, unflinching in the face of the unknown. She’s not breaking. She’s becoming. And gods help me, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to protect this fire-borne fury, to stand beside her in every battle, every storm, every flame she commands.

The blaze rolls off her new form in shimmering waves, each one pulsing with heat and power that steals the breath from my lungs. The air thrums with magic, seared ozone, and the sharp tang of elemental fire, pressing against my scales like a physical force.

Her wings stretch wide, copper kissed by flame, catching the light with every slight movement as though the sky itself is bending to her. Her eyes glow with molten gold as if lit from the inside out. The ground shivers beneath her as if the earth recognizes what she is. It’s the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen—and it’s her.

A dragon.

Her scales shimmer like sunrise and copper, a cascade of fire-forged beauty that stuns me silent. Something ancient and possessive coils inside me, fierce and unrelenting. She is radiant, untouchable—and mine. Her form is smaller than mine but fierce, every movement purposeful, every line of her body speaking in the language of dragons. Elegant. Lethal. Divine. Every inch of her speaks of fire and purpose, as if the world had waited just for her to wear this shape.

She trembles, unused to the weight and power of this new body, legs moving awkwardly as her talons dig into the earth for balance. Her wings twitch with uncertain tension, and her tail sweeps low, stirring the ash at her feet. Every movement is hesitant but instinctive, like a song she’s heard before but never sung aloud.

"I don’t know how," she says—her voice raw in my head, the bond already forming.

"Then let me show you."

I shift in a blaze of fire; the world falling away as my form changes—skin giving way to scales, limbs stretching into talons, heat roaring in my chest like a second heart.

When I open my wings, I feel her pulse in mine—like warm electricity crackling through a shared current, an echo of her breath against mine in perfect rhythm. It’s more than heat. It’s ancient, instinctual, a tether of flame and soul that tightens with every wingbeat, every inhale we share through the bond.

I move beside her, wings brushing hers gently.

"Follow me. Bend your knees. Push with your hind legs and beat your wings once, hard."

She copies me, clumsy at first, wings flailing in uneven bursts and her hind legs scrabbling against the earth. She wobbles, falters—but refuses to stop. Her determination burns through the uncertainty.

And then... with a sharp beat of her wings and a final push, she lifts. The ground slips away beneath her, and for the first time, she’s weightless. Free. Her form steadies midair, a shiver of triumph crackling down our bond.

Wind tears through the canyon as she rises, and something primal stirs in my chest. Pride, fierce and full, swells in my heart. She’s clumsy but determined and watching her take the sky for the first time nearly drops me to my knees.

My fated, fireborn mate. My equal. Her wings catch the thermals, her body sways until she finds her rhythm. A shriek leaves her throat, surprised and exultant, echoing through the sky like joy wrapped in wildfire.

I take to the sky beside her, wings catching the updraft just as hers do, our movements syncing like muscle memory passed through the bond. I fly slightly ahead, angling my body to shield her from a sharp gust, guiding her through the thermals and unpredictable winds. Every wingbeat from her sends a surge of pride through me—she’s learning, adapting, rising.

My place is beside her now. Leading. Commanding. Not just as her alpha, but as her mate. Just flying with her, flame to flame.

We rise together above the clouds. The world is nothing but firelight and sky, painted in streaks of orange and molten gold. The air is crisp and thin, carrying the scent of ozone and ash, stinging our nostrils with the memory of fire. Wind ripples along my wings, cool at the edges, sharp with altitude, and I glance sideways to watch her—Ember—soaring beside me.

Her movements are uncertain but graceful, like instinct dancing with discovery. This high, everything below disappears —there’s just her, me, and the endless stretch of sky burning with dawn. Her eyes are wide, her thoughts blazing through the bond. Wonder. Awe. Power. And something else—acceptance. The kind that doesn’t need words, just wings.

She is not afraid. Not anymore. Her fire isn’t just power—it’s freedom. I feel it in the beat of her wings, the way her roar echoes with purpose. The girl who stood trembling in the flame is gone. What rises now is something forged, not broken. Something fierce. Something unstoppable.

And the world just became a lot more dangerous because of it. I feel it in my bones—pride like molten steel, a fierce joy that makes my chest ache, and a low thrum of fear humming beneath it like embers that won’t die. She’s not just fireborn. She’s the prophecy made flesh. The one the world will either worship—or try to destroy. And that makes her powerful... and a target. My target to guard. My fire to shield. My mate to defend with flame and fang until my last breath.