Page 23 of Burned Alive to Be His

XVITAR

I wake to a world remade.

The first thing I am aware of is her. The scent of her, a soft, warm, earthy fragrance that has woven itself into the furs of my sleeping ledge, into the very air of my cavern.

The weight of her, a small, trusting presence curled against my side, her head resting in the hollow of my shoulder.

The feeling of her skin, impossibly soft, against my own scaled hide.

Judith.

The pain in my body is a dull, distant thunder, a reminder of the storm I have weathered.

But the rage, the restless, corrosive fire that has been my constant companion for my entire life, is gone.

In its place is a strange, profound calm.

A stillness. It is the quiet that follows a volcanic eruption, when the ash has settled and the very air feels new, fragile, and clean.

I lie there for a long moment, unmoving, my good arm wrapped around her, holding her to me.

My heart, a thing of fire and stone I thought incapable of such a feeling, gives a hard, steady beat against my ribs.

I have spent my life hoarding treasures, cold, dead, beautiful things.

And I did not realize until now that my cavern, my life, has been empty.

She is my hoard now. My only treasure.

The memory of our joining, of her body shattering around mine, of her voice crying out my name, is a brand on my soul. It was not a taking. It was a finding. I did not break her. She remade me.

She stirs in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and snuggles closer, her hand placed on my chest, directly over my heart. The simple, unconscious gesture is a blow more powerful than any Grakar landed. It is a claim. An acceptance.

A movement at the entrance to the cavern draws my attention. It is Vorlag. The Eldest Dragon stands there, his ancient eyes taking in the scene. He looks at me, at the woman sleeping in my arms, and a slow, unreadable expression crosses his face.

“The clan is gathered,” he says, voice vibrating through the cavern. “There is more to be said. More to be understood.”

Judith stirs at the sound of his voice, her eyes fluttering open.

She is instantly awake, instantly alert, the instincts of a lifetime of survival etched deep into her very being.

She sees Vorlag, and her body tenses, her hand instinctively going to where her knife would be.

Then she seems to remember where she is, who she is with, and the tension eases, but a guarded watchfulness remains.

“It is all right,” I say, my voice sounding raspy. She looks up, and her trust in my words is a sharp, painful, and exquisitely beautiful thing.

“Bring her,” Vorlag commands, and turns, leaving us in the charged silence.

I nod, pushing myself into a sitting position, my body a chorus of protesting aches.

Judith moves with me, sitting up, the furs pooling around her waist, her pale shoulders and the map of scars on her back bared to the dim, magical light.

She makes no move to cover herself. The shame, the fear… it is gone.

“I can stand,” I grunt, though the world is a dizzying, grey haze for a moment as I swing my legs over the side of the ledge.

“I know,” she says softly, her hand resting on my good shoulder, a small, steadying pressure. “But you do not have to stand alone.”

I stare at her, at the fierce, unwavering loyalty in her dark eyes, and I feel that strange, terrifying lurch in my chest again. I give a curt nod, and together, we dress in the silence, our movements a new, unspoken dance of partnership. When we are ready, we walk out into the light.

The entire clan is assembled in the clearing before the Great Cavern. They are silent, their faces a mixture of awe, uncertainty, and a new, fragile hope. They part for us as we approach, their eyes on Judith, on the way she walks at my side, not as a captive, but as a partner.

Vorlag stands before them, a figure of ancient authority. Grakar is gone, already taken to the sea cliffs and cast out, his name to be struck from our histories. His followers stand at the back of the crowd, their heads bowed in shame.

“Yesterday, we were a people on the brink of extinction,” Vorlag begins, his voice echoing in the still air. “We were divided. We were losing hope. Today, we are reborn.”

He raises a hand and gestures toward the smoking peak of Bloodstorm. “The prophecy has been fulfilled. The human, Judith, has passed the trials. She has faced the fire of our Mother, and she has emerged not as a victim, but as a master. She has calmed the mountain’s heart. She has opened the way.”

He turns his gaze to us, to me and Judith. “But the prophecy is not yet complete. The path is open, but we must still walk it. The eggs, the future of our race, still sleep.”

A low murmur of confusion ripples through the crowd.

“For generations,” Vorlag continues, his voice taking on the cadence of a storyteller, of a priest, “we have believed that a human mate was all that was required. But the ancient texts, the ones that speak of the First Forging, tell a different story. The human is not just a key. She is a vessel. A partner in creation.”

He looks directly at Judith, his ancient eyes holding hers. “The Hearthkeeper’s fire is a fire of creation. It requires a sacrifice. A union of blood and will. To awaken an egg, it is not enough to be mates. You must become one bloodline.”

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle over the silent clan.

“You, Xvitar, and you, Judith, will choose one egg from the sacred cavern,” he proclaims. “After your mating ceremony, you will take it to the Altar of the First Flame. There, you will anoint it with your own blood, mixed as one. Your two bloodlines will become the catalyst, the spark that awakens the life within. The hatchling will be of your line, Xvitar. It will be a true dragon, with all the strength and fire of our kind. But it will be born of your union. It will be a child of your love.”

A collective gasp goes through the crowd. A child of their love. The concept is so foreign, so revolutionary, it is almost a blasphemy. We do not speak of love. We speak of strength, of bloodlines, of duty.

But as I look at Judith, at the way the morning light catches in her dark hair, at the fierce, beautiful strength in her eyes, I know that Vorlag speaks the truth. What I feel for her… it is a force of nature, as powerful and undeniable as the fire in the mountain’s heart. It is love.

“But the sacrifice does not end there,” Vorlag continues, his gaze still fixed on Judith.

“A dragon egg gestates in the fire of the mountain. But a child born of two worlds requires the nourishment of two worlds. For nine moons, the length of a human gestation, you, Judith, must nourish the egg with your own life force. A single drop of your blood, given to the egg each day, will sustain the life within until it is ready to hatch.”

A wave of shock and horror ripples through me. A drop of blood. Every day. For nine months. It is a slow, draining sacrifice. A constant giving of her own life to create another.

I open my mouth to protest, to refuse, but Judith’s small hand on my arm stops me. I look down. She is not afraid. Her face is the picture of awe, of a profound, humbling reverence. She is not thinking of the sacrifice. She is thinking of the creation.

“It is a great honor,” she says, voice a quiet, clear bell in the silence. She looks at Vorlag, her chin lifted. “I accept.”

And with those two words, she seals her fate. She seals our future. She, the human slave, accepts the sacred duty of becoming the mother of a new generation of dragons.

A roar of approval, of pure, unadulterated joy, erupts from the clan. It is something I have not heard in my entire life. It is a sound of hope reborn.

Vorlag nods, a slow, satisfied smile on his ancient face. “The preparations for the mating ceremony will begin at once. It will be held at sunset, before the entire clan, at the mouth of the sacred cavern.” He looks at me. “Take your mate, Xvitar. Show her the future she has unlocked for us.”

He dismisses the clan, and they disperse, their voices a low, excited buzz. They are no longer a people divided. They are a people united, their focus on the future, on the impossible promise of a new life.

I turn to Judith. The weight of what has just been decreed settles over me, a heavy, terrifying, and exquisitely beautiful thing. A child. Our child. A future.

“You did not have to agree to that,” I say in a rough rasp. “The sacrifice… it is too great.”

“It is not a sacrifice,” she says, her dark eyes shining with a light I have never seen before. “It is a gift. To give life… it is the greatest gift of all.”

I gaze at this creature of impossible strength and even more impossible grace, and I am undone. I reach out and cup her jaw, my thumb stroking her cheek. “You are a constant surprise to me, Judith.”

“I am full of them,” she says, a small, teasing smile playing on her lips.

“Come,” I say, my voice thick with emotions I cannot name. “Let me show you what you have won for us.”

I take her hand, my large, scaled fingers lacing with her small, soft ones, and I lead her toward the newly revealed entrance to the sacred cavern. The air at the entrance is warm, humming with a low, vibrational energy. It is the feeling of a thousand sleeping heartbeats, a thousand dormant souls.

We step through the shimmering, heat-hazed portal, and into another world.

The cavern is immense, a vast, natural cathedral of glittering, crystalline rock. The air is warm and still, and it hums with a palpable, ancient magic. The only light comes from the eggs themselves.

There are hundreds of them. They are nestled in shallow, sandy depressions on the cavern floor, arranged in concentric circles that radiate out from the center.

They are larger than any bird’s egg, the size of a human head, and they are a kaleidoscope of colors.

Some are the deep, fiery red of a dying sun, others the cool, shimmering blue of a glacier’s heart.

Some are the color of molten gold, others the deep, iridescent black of my own scales.

And they all glow with a soft, internal light, a gentle, rhythmic pulsing that fills the cavern with a silent, breathtaking symphony of life.

“By the Thirteen…” I whisper, my own voice a breath of awe. I have heard the legends, but to see it… to feel it…

I look at Judith. She is standing in the center of the cavern, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated wonder. Her eyes are wide, her lips are parted, and she is drinking in the sight, the feeling, the magic of it all.

And then, something extraordinary happens.

As she walks deeper into the cavern, the eggs nearest to her begin to glow brighter.

Their gentle, rhythmic pulsing quickens, matching the beat of her own heart.

A soft, melodic chiming sound, like a thousand tiny crystal bells, fills the air.

The eggs are responding to her. They are singing to her. They are welcoming their new mother.

She stops before a large, deep crimson egg that is veined with threads of pure gold. It is pulsing with a light that is brighter, stronger, than any of the others. She reaches out a hesitant hand and gently touches its smooth, warm surface.

The moment her skin makes contact with the shell, a wave of pure, golden light erupts from the egg, washing over us, filling the entire cavern. It is a light of pure, unadulterated life, of a joy so profound it is almost a pain.

And in that moment, as I stand in the heart of my people’s future, my hand in the hand of the woman who has remade my world, I feel a sense of peace, of purpose, so absolute, so profound, it brings me to my knees.

I am not just a warrior. No longer just a leader.

I am a mate. And soon, by the grace of this impossible human and the fire of our shared hearts, I will be a father.