Page 8 of Beneath Scales and Shadows (Lost Lunas of Artania #1)
CHAPTER EIGHT
SORA
Warmth enveloped Sora, cocooning her in comfort unlike anything she’d known in her academic life of cramped apartments and forgotten meals. She nestled deeper into the sensation, her mind hovering in that perfect space between dreams and waking. Something solid yet yielding curved against her body—warm, textured, alive.
Her eyes snapped open.
Ruby scales filled her vision, gleaming in the soft light that filtered through the chamber. Her legs were wrapped around Ignis’s oversized tail, her arms hugging it to her chest like some enormous, scaled body pillow. Heat flooded her face as she realized she’d spent the night cuddling a dragon’s tail.
She attempted to disentangle herself without waking him, but the moment she moved, a low rumble vibrated through the chamber. Ignis’s head lifted, crimson eyes finding hers with unmistakable amusement.
“Sleep well?” His voice resonated in her mind, carrying a hint of masculine satisfaction.
“I... um...” She released his tail and sat up, drawing the silken sheets around her. “Sorry about that. I must have gotten cold in the night.”
“Dragons radiate heat , ” he observed, his mental voice laced with that same pleased undertone. “It’s natural you would seek warmth.”
“Right. Warmth. That’s all it was.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding his knowing gaze. She wasn’t going to tell him how comforting it was—he was—not wanting to give him the idea that he could freely touch her…
Because she didn’t know if she could resist him, as odd as it sounded.
Ignis uncoiled his hefty form from the stone slab, stretching like an enormous cat, wings extending to brush the chamber’s high ceiling. Magic shimmered around him as he began shifting into his half-form, scales flowing and rearranging until he stood before her on two legs, wings folded neatly against his back.
“The council awaits,” he said, his physical voice rougher than the smooth mental communication. “They’re eager to speak more to the twice-born who has awakened dragon magic within our mountain.”
“Dragon magic?” She frowned. “What do you mean?”
Ignis gestured toward the prismatic veins that ran through the chamber walls. “They’ve grown brighter since your arrival. New formations appeared overnight in the main cavern.”
“That can’t be because of me.”
His expression softened. “You still resist your nature.” He approached, offering a taloned hand. “Come. Let’s eat first, then answers.”
The dining hall—if such a mundane term could apply to the breathtaking space—opened onto a wide balcony overlooking the central cavern. Dragons in various forms moved through the enormous space below, some in their full draconic glory, others in their half-form like Ignis, while others were in more human appearances.
Somehow without any masks… were they betas? Or just lost their magic?
Platters of unfamiliar food awaited them—fruits with iridescent skins, breads studded with nuts and honey glazed, and a seemingly endless supply of meats and fish prepared in ways that released aromas both savory and spicy. Sora’s stomach growled, reminding her how little she’d eaten during yesterday’s chaos.
“Your body requires nourishment to support the transformation,” Ignis explained, filling a plate for her. “Especially since dragon metabolism burns hotter than human.”
She accepted the offering, noting how oddly natural it felt to be served by him. “Is that why my body experience’s waves of fever-like heat?”
“One reason.” His gaze lingered on the silver scales now permanently visible along her arms. “Your dragon nature emerges more with each passing day.”
As they ate, Sora observed the clan members below, her historian’s mind instinctually cataloging details. “There aren’t many of you, are there?”
Pain flickered across Ignis’s features. “We number fewer than two hundred now. Once, thousands of dragons filled these mountains.”
“What happened?”
“The purge.” He set down his goblet, claws scraping against metal. “When King Aldric betrayed our omega queen during peace negotiations, he didn’t just kill her—he used her body—like her scales for nefarious reasons and used the ancient knowledge that they stole to craft weapons capable of piercing us through our defenses.”
The betrayal echoed what Lyra had told her in the castle, but hearing it from Ignis carried new weight. This wasn’t distant history—he had lived it.
“You were there,” she realized.
“I was young. Barely considered an adult by dragon standards.” His gaze grew distant. “But old enough to watch both my grandparents and parents fall defending our home.”
She reached across the table without thinking, fingers brushing his scaled forearm. “I’m sorry.”
The contact seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. For a heartbeat, a haunting vulnerability replaced the ancient power in his crimson eyes.
“The council chamber awaits,” he said, recovering his composure. “Many questions require answers.”
The council chamber carved into the mountain’s heart pulsed with the same crystal energy that illuminated the rest of the dragon stronghold. Six figures awaited them—including the same five she’d met when she’d first arrived.
Ember standing guard at the entrance, Asher seated beside an elderly male dragon whose scales had faded to pale silver, the twin Wing Leaders Blaze and Enixa positioned on either side of a weighty stone table, and Coal lingering in the shadows near a side entrance.
Notably absent was Zalaya, though Sora spotted several of her feathers on a nearby shelf, suggesting she frequented these meetings.
“The twice-born arrives,” announced the elderly dragon, his voice carrying the whisper of ancient fires. “I am Cinderfell, advisor to three generations of Dralux kings.”
Ignis guided her to a seat at his right hand, his wing extending slightly behind her chair—a gesture of protection that didn’t go unnoticed by her and the others. She wondered why she would need protection in the midst of his council, and if they truly could be trusted.
“Our scouts report chaos at Celestoria Castle,” Ember began without preamble. “Princess Jewels claims a dragon kidnapped a royal servant during the Midwinter Ball. The royal soothsayer has been imprisoned for her prophecy, which has spread across the land and into the nearby kingdoms.”
“How long would it be before all of Artania knows?” Ignis asked, scanning his council. “If we contact our neighbors, we could warn them about the prophecy coming true.” He rested a hand on Sora’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as he met her gaze. “ They will want to search for any lost lunas, take them in and teach them about this world, before Celestoria and any of their supporters discover them.”
“I can send messenger crows to them.” Coal kicked away from the wall, uncrossing his arms. “Perhaps our allies will be willing to aid us.”
“What do you mean by ‘aid us’?” A heavy stone lodged in her gut.
“They’ve mobilized the northern garrison,” Blaze answered her, his copper-scaled form tensing. “Twenty thousand soldiers now march toward the mountain pass.”
Sora’s stomach twisted. “Because of me? Because I was taken?”
Enixa’s emerald eyes studied her with cool assessment. “You provide convenient justification for a conflict they’ve sought for generations. The royals feared the prophecy’s fulfillment—your appearance confirmed their worst nightmares.”
“What exactly does this prophecy say?” Sora looked around the table, frustration building. “Everyone keeps referencing it, but no one has told me what it actually contains.”
The council members exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them before Cinderfell nodded slowly.
“The prophecy speaks of a group of twice-born omegas—Lunas—who carry knowledge from beyond our world, fallen from the Blue Moon,” the elderly advisor explained. “Marked by the Moon Goddess, shimmering beneath her light, they’re destined to unite the fractured realms of Artania and restore the balance destroyed when humans betrayed not only our dragonkind—but the others as well.”
“It foretells the return of magic to all species,” Asher continued, his healer’s gaze assessing her with professional interest. “Beginning with the awakening of a dragon-blooded omega who would become the mate to the last pure-form dragon king.”
Heat crept up Sora’s neck. “That’s very specific.”
“Most prophecies often are,” Ignis replied, his voice neutral despite the intensity in his eyes. “Which was why we were searching for you all this time… I was searching for my queen to rule by my side.”
“I don’t want to be anyone’s prophecy,” she insisted, crossing her arms. “I was a historian—a researcher.” She frowned, gripping her elbow as she waved a hand aimlessly in the air. “Not some mystical chosen one.”
“It’s normal to want to resist your destiny initially, especially since you aren’t originally from Artania. Everything is new to you.” Cinderfell let out a long measured sigh. “But your reluctance changes nothing.”
Before Sora could argue further, a commotion outside drew their attention. Zalaya entered, her wings slightly extended in agitation.
“My king,” the harpy announced, bowing quickly. “The royal alchemist was spotted at the southern caves. With collection equipment.”
A low growl rumbled through Ignis’s chest. “Omega essence.”
The air in the chamber grew heavy, a chilling contrast to the heat radiating from the dragon king. Sora looked between their grim faces, confusion evident in her expression.
“What’s omega essence?” she asked.
Asher’s face hardened, a stark contrast to the kindness that usually defined the gentle healer. “A perversion of ancient magic. Humans discovered they could extract the magical essence from omega bodies—particularly those with non-human ancestry. The process leaves the victims hollow shells, neither truly alive nor dead.”
Horror washed over Sora. “They’re harvesting people?”
“It began as a method to enhance weapons,” Ember explained, disgust evident in her tone. “Now they use it to sustain failing human magic—a temporary solution that requires constant fresh supply.”
“My sister,” Asher added quietly, “was taken during a failed peace negotiation a decade ago. When we found her, she was empty—eyes vacant, scales missing, body breathing but soul gone.”
The implications turned Sora’s stomach. If she’d been discovered at the castle, this would have been her fate.
“We need to stop them,” she said, surprising herself with the vehemence in her voice.
Ignis’s gaze sharpened with approval. “We will. But first, you must understand what you’re becoming.” He turned to Zalaya. “Take her to the sacred library. Show her our history—and hers.”
The harpy nodded, feathers rustling with the movement. “It would be my honor.”
As the council continued discussing defensive strategies, Zalaya guided Sora through corridors that delved deeper into the mountain. Unlike the main caverns with their bustling activity, these passages grew increasingly quiet, their light dimming to a reverent glow.
“Few clan members venture this deep,” Zalaya explained, her taloned feet clicking softly against the stone floor. “These chambers hold memories too painful for many to revisit.”
They emerged into a vast circular space that stole Sora’s breath. Shelves carved directly into the living stone rose from floor to ceiling, interspersed with crystalline growths that illuminated countless books, scrolls, and artifacts. At the chamber’s center, a pool of still water reflected the domed ceiling, where a mosaic of precious stones depicted dragons soaring alongside other creatures—elves with their delicate features, massive wolves running beneath the moons, winged beings that might have been Ignis’s or Zalaya’s ancestors.
“The Sacred Library of Dralux,” Zalaya announced, her voice softening with reverence. “Every text salvaged from the purge resides here, along with histories dating back to the first dragons.”
Sora approached the nearest shelf with historian’s reverence, fingers hovering above leather-bound volumes whose spines bore unfamiliar script. “This is incredible.”
“Knowledge is sacred to the dragonkind,” Zalaya said, watching as Sora’s eyes devoured the shelves. “They were scholars before we were warriors.”
For the first time since awakening in this world, Sora felt a flutter of genuine excitement. This was familiar territory—research, discovery, cataloging information. She moved along the shelves, a smile spreading across her face.
“Where should I start?”
Zalaya considered for a moment. “Perhaps with how our world operates.” She selected a volume bound in midnight blue leather. “The social hierarchy affects all species in Artania, though its expression varies.”
Over the next several hours, Sora lost herself in discovery. With Zalaya as her guide, she explored volumes explaining the complex interplay between alphas, betas, omegas, and deltas. She learned of communal hatching rituals where dragons combined their magic to strengthen eggs, ensuring the next generation’s survival despite diminished numbers. Ancient honor codes emphasized truth and responsibility above blind obedience—a stark contrast to Celestoria’s rigid hierarchy.
“Dragons believe power exists to protect, not control,” Zalaya explained, her jade eyes warm with approval as Sora absorbed each new concept. “When an alpha claims their rightful omega, the bond strengthens both—neither diminished by the connection.”
“That’s not how the castle staff described it,” Sora admitted, remembering hushed conversations about omegas being claimed like property. “I’ve heard whispers that they have to be controlled, that only alphas can tame them—otherwise, they’ll rise up and take over with the unique abilities the Moon Goddess gifted them.”
“Humans perverted the bond.” Zalaya’s feathers ruffled with indignation. “What should be sacred partnership became ownership. Is it any wonder the Moon Goddess withdrew her blessing from their kingdoms? Their deltas lost their magic… and their alphas have been losing their power—their control.”
“Which is why I’m seen as a threat—I’m the symbol of change.” Sora frowned, hating how her life was now pre-determined for her. How this world had politics much different than she could even fathom from her life on Earth. “I’m not only an omega, but a dragon-blood Luna.”
“Preciously.”
They moved deeper into the library, where Zalaya revealed texts documenting dragon metalworking traditions—techniques mixing their magic fire breath with ancient craftsmanship, learned from the elves to help protect their vulnerable betas and deltas when full-scale armor proved impractical.
“This metal,” Sora said, examining a blade displayed in a glass case. “It looks like the dagger I was studying on Earth.”
Zalaya stilled, her head tilting with sudden interest. “What dagger?”
“In the museum where I worked. It had symbols that seemed to move when I traced them.” Sora closed her eyes, recalling the artifact that had fascinated her in her final hours on Earth. The collection that would’ve changed her life with its discovery… and in another way, it had. “Obsidian blade, symbols along the spine. It felt... alive under my touch.”
The harpy approached a sealed cabinet at the far wall, talons inputting a complex sequence that caused the glass doors to slide open. From within, she withdrew an object wrapped in midnight silk, carrying it with extreme care to where Sora waited.
“Like this?” Zalaya asked, unwrapping the bundle to reveal a ceremonial dagger nearly identical to the one Sora had studied.
“Yes!” She reached toward it on impulse, then hesitated. “May I?”
Zalaya nodded, extending the silk-wrapped handle.
The moment Sora’s fingers closed around it, warmth pulsed through her arm—not the shocking jolt she’d experienced on Earth, but a gentle recognition, like greeting an old friend. The symbols along the blade seemed to glow faintly, though they remained fixed in place.
“It was crafted from the talon of the first dragon patriarch,” Zalaya explained. “One of thirteen sacred blades, each possessing ancient power that blesses its wielder—if they are worthy of its gifts.”
“There was one exactly like this on Earth,” Sora whispered, twisting the dagger in her hand, watching her reflection in its blade. “How is that possible?”
“The barriers between worlds thin during certain celestial alignments. Objects of power sometimes cross over.” Zalaya tilted her head, her feathered brow furrowing slightly as her expression turned thoughtful. “If you encountered its twin before your death, it may have recognized your destiny—who you are. The moving symbols would be your mind attempting to read ancient draconic language before your soul was ready.”
Sora snapped her head toward Zalaya, eyes wide with sudden realization, then jerked her gaze back to the blade, shaking her head. “But I can’t read draconic.”
“Are you certain?” Zalaya gestured toward the symbols. “What do you see?”
Sora studied the intricate script, expecting the same incomprehensible patterns she’d observed on Earth. Instead, meaning flowed into her mind, instantly translating effortlessly:
“When twice-born blood awakens, fire returns to frozen stone.”
“I can read it,” she breathed, shock rippling through her as her gaze snapped to the avian healer. “How is that possible?”
“Knowledge lives in blood, not merely mind,” Zalaya replied, echoing Ignis’s earlier words. “Your soul remembers what your conscious thoughts cannot yet accept.”
The harpy guided her to a dense tome displayed on a central pedestal, its pages covered in the same flowing foreign script. “Read this as well.”
Sora bent over the ancient text, expecting confusion. Instead, words formed in her mind as clearly as if they were written in English:
“The Thirteen shall return when the world falters under tyranny’s weight. Death shall be their passage, rebirth their awakening. From worlds apart they come, bearing knowledge to unite what hatred has divided. First among them, the fire-bringer, mate to the last pure king, whose union shall awaken dormant magic in all worthy bloodlines.”
She stumbled back from the pedestal, her heart racing. “This can’t be about me.”
Zalaya’s smile carried ancient wisdom, her wings fluttering gently as her eyes shone with quiet warmth. “You stand in a world not your own, reading a language you never learned, with scales emerging from flesh that once was fully human. Yet you still deny what is written in stars older than either world?”
“I’m not special,” Sora insisted. “Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Or precisely where you were always meant to be,” Zalaya countered gently. “The Moon Goddess chooses carefully. Your arrival is no accident, but the fulfillment of a design centuries in the making.”
They continued through the archives, Sora absorbing information with professional hunger despite her personal reservations. Hours passed unnoticed as she explored dragon culture—their poetry, their science, their complex family structures that balanced individuality with communal responsibility.
It was a treasure trove of knowledge—about dragons in a world that shouldn’t exist.
And yet, here she was, some foretold—written in the stars themselves—Luna that’s supposed to save Artania from her own kind? Exactly how was she supposed to do that?
Eventually, they reached a section containing personal accounts from the time before the purge. Here, Sora discovered records of dragon riders—humans who formed deep bonds with their winged partners, creating a symbiotic relationship that enhanced both beings’ natural abilities.
“This is fascinating,” she said, examining illustrations depicting the bond formation ceremony. “The humans and dragons shared consciousness?”
“More than consciousness—they shared souls,” Zalaya explained. “The bond transformed both participants. Humans gained extended life and heightened senses, while dragons received access to human intuition and adaptability. Often a natural romance would blossom between them—and sometimes even in small pods.”
“So they just…” Sora’s fingers trembled against the old tome. “Dragons and their riders… They mate ?”
Zalaya’s wings rustled, the faint shimmer of her silver feathers catching the firelight. “Yes.”
Sora blinked hard, as if the absurd impossibility of it might vanish with enough effort. “But how would they even—I mean, physically—” She flailed, heat rushing up her neck. “How would they fit ?”
A soft trilling chuckle, feathers brushing as Zalaya shifted closer and pointed to the elf rider cupping the dragon’s lowered head on the page. “Love finds a way. It always has. It depends on the pair… or the pod.”
“The what ?”
“Pod,” Zalaya said simply. “When multiple dragons and riders live—and love—together. Often they’re from the same wing, working together to defend their clan. Not so different from wulfkin packs. Sometimes an alpha forms a pack, his inner cycle within his clan. For protection. For connection. If they’re lucky, they find an omega to hold them together.”
Sora’s eyes dragged back to the tome, to dragon and rider pair, and then to the prophecy, where it stated “ the fire-bringer, mate to the last pure king ” inked in what appeared in old blood. “So what am I supposed to do, then?” Her arm swept out, gesturing to the book. “Just accept this? That I’m meant to be with the king because someone long dead wrote that the stars say so?”
“Follow your heart.”
“That’s it?”
“It will come naturally,” Zalaya said, voice low, feather-light. “One way or another.”
Sora looked down at her palm. Silver glinted beneath the skin—new scales blooming just below the surface, framed in red like a rash or a burn. She closed her hand into a fist, noticing that the calluses were gone and her nails were longer, sharper.
As if she was becoming whatever their dragon-blood— the fire-bringer —luna was… the ‘perfect’ mate to Ignis, the last pure dragon king of their clan, and somehow save them all.
“I have been accepting,” Sora muttered, as glanced up at Zalaya. “More than you know.”
The harpy tilted her head, silent.
“I didn’t run. I didn’t scream when the masked man I had been kissing transformed into a powerful dragon. I’m grateful.” She sighed, placing her hand on the dragon on the page. “The Dralux have treated me like… like I belong. Even when I’m clearly something else.” Her throat tightened. “Unlike the Celestorians. They would’ve tortured and killed me the moment they learned my truth.”
Zalaya’s wings drew in tighter, silver and blue feathers whispering against each other. Her eyes, so old and clouded with light, dimmed just slightly, and she nodded. “What you say is true.”
“I just need time,” Sora said. “Time to learn about this world, the clans, what any of this actually means. I can’t make choices based on some ancient prophecy and a library full of Artania’s history and dragon anatomy.”
“Time,” Zalaya offered softly. “It’s a strange thing to value.”
Something fragile curled at the edge of her words. Grief.
Sora’s breath caught as she remembered how the Celestorians had killed her people… and now they were slowly killing off Ignis’s clan.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help the Dralux,” she said softly, stepping closer. “But I’m not a warrior. I wasn’t trained with a blade or claw. I was a researcher where I was from.” She gestured to the endless rows of shelves. “This was my weapon. Data. Theory. Translation algorithms. My strength was knowing how to think . Knowledge is power, and mine was always my mind.”
Silver shimmered at the edges of her robe, catching the light like a mirror beneath water. She stared at the scales blooming along her arm, disappearing underneath her tunic’s sleeve.
“I just don’t know if that’s enough anymore,” she muttered with a frown. “If I’m enough. To fight. To stand beside Ignis and the rest of them like the prophecy says I’m supposed to—like everyone expects me to do.”
Zalaya cupped her cheek, the soft down feathers on her palm calming. “Behind every powerful alpha,” she said, locking gazes, “is often an omega, lethal in their own way.”
“Really?” Sora gently shook her head, not wanting to blindly believe. “You really think I have what it takes?”
“Perhaps the Moon Goddess didn’t choose you to fight,” Zalaya murmured, tilting her head, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps she chose you to see . To observe what others cannot. To remember.”
Then, with one sharp talon, she tapped the open tome.
“Keep going, girl. The answers you’re looking for don’t lie in your fear. They lie here. ”
Sora turned the page to find an illustration that stopped her heart—a human woman with silver scales shimmering across her skin, standing beside a hulking black dragon whose crimson eyes bore unmistakable intelligence. The woman’s face could have been her twin.
“Who is this?” she whispered, fingers hovering above the page as if touching it might make the image dissolve.
Zalaya leaned closer, her wing brushing Sora’s shoulder as feathers rustled with her soft melodic wind-chime chuckle. “Queen Vaelora, the last dragon-blooded omega queen. She was the one who was murdered by King Aldric during peace negotiations three centuries ago.”
“She looks like me.” The words felt inadequate for the uncanny reflection staring back from parchment yellowed by centuries. “Only she’s a dragon, and I’m not.”
In the illustration, Queen Vaelora stood with quiet dignity, silver scales tracing patterns along her throat and temples that mirrored the very formations now emerging on Sora’s own skin. Her eyes—rendered in remarkable detail by some forgotten artist—held the same sapphire hue, the same questioning intelligence. Even the slight tilt of her head matched Sora’s habitual posture when contemplating a historical puzzle.
“The resemblance is uncanny,” Zalaya agreed, studying the illustration with newfound intensity. “Perhaps your connection runs deeper than even the prophecy suggests.”