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Zarvash

The darkness was absolute.

It was an oppressive, weight-crushing vision, heavier than any sleep. This void was an insult; a cage built of stolen light. Then, there was agony. It lanced through my skull, starting where my scales scraped against something cold.

I fought the blackness, tried to command limbs that refused to answer.

I was bound. The tight, coarse material bit deep, grinding against hide, against bone.

Humiliation burned hotter than the pain.

My wings were in agony. They were wrenched back, twisted grotesquely, joints screaming a silent protest. Fury clawed at my throat.

Grounded, flightless. A warrior stripped of his sky is less than nothing.

Blood filled my mouth, sharp and metallic. My stomach tightened with anger. I carefully worked my jaw, ignoring the fresh pulse of agony through my skull. I was unbroken. It was a small mercy in this degradation.

“… waste of resources …” The voice grated, harsh and thick with the unmistakable, sloppy cadence of the Ignarath. It was like stones scraping stone. Contemptible.

“Orders are orders.” The second voice was smoother yet carried the same underlying arrogance. “They pay well for live ones.”

Live ones. Tactical awareness cut through the pain. I made myself stay still and listen. It was the only defense I had left. Stillness was a shield; information, a blade waiting to be drawn. They needed to think I was broken.

“The female's useless,” the first grunted, closer now. The scrape of his talons on unseen stone set my teeth on edge. “Human. She won't survive.”

Human? The word struck like a physical blow.

Female. Images fractured behind the darkness—the scouting mission, the sudden chaos, Ignarath filth pouring from the rocks.

Was it Kira? No … Terra? Darrokar's mate?

Impossible. He would have leveled this mountain range.

Who else? Khorlar would have died fighting.

Who?

A guttural snort followed. “It's double price for humans now.”

Then, something else cut through the stench of blood and the cold dampness of the stone.

A scent bloomed in the stale air, impossibly sweet, complex.

It was like fire-nectar blooms, yes, but laced with something …

alien. Utterly foreign, yet it resonated deep within my bones, a vibration beneath the pain.

My nostrils flared, drawing it in against my will.

It invaded my senses like fine smoke, bypassing thought, settling somewhere primal.

My fangs ached—a sharp, unfamiliar pang.

The very air seemed to thicken, growing textured against my tongue.

“Check the bronze one's restraints,” the calmer voice commanded, closer now. “He's dangerous.”

Heavy talons scraped stone, approaching. Every instinct screamed to tear free, to rend and shatter, but I forced stillness. Weakness is a cloak.

“Still out,” the first grunted. “I hit him hard enough.” A sharp prod dug into my shoulder, finding a nasty wound I hadn't fully registered. Pain flared, white-hot. I clamped my jaw, biting back the instinctive growl, tasting blood anew.

Then the scent intensified. It was overwhelming.

Closer. Something warm, impossibly soft, pressed against my side.

Heat radiated through thin fabric, against my scales.

Not stone. Not metal. Life. Small, rhythmic breaths, too fast for my kind.

A human. Her. The realization struck like lightning, rearranging the landscape of my pain.

The scent poured from her, wrapping around my senses, drowning the stench of Ignarath and damp rock. It filled my head, overwhelming, drawing me toward her against all sense.

“He's waking up,” a voice snarled from my other side. A vicious kick landed squarely on my ribs, stealing my breath. “Dose him again.”

“Waste of venom. We’ll be at the exchange by nightfall.”

Movement beside me told me she stirred, the woman—the source of the scent. A soft sound, feminine, fragile, bypassed reason, striking a deep, resounding chord within my chest. It was possessive. Primal. My muscles bunched, straining futilely against the unyielding bindings.

“Separate them,” the calmer one ordered sharply. “He's reacting. I've seen this filth before.”

“Disgusting,” spat the first. “Scalvaris heathens. Mating with off-worlders.” Another kick slammed into my wounded side, fueled by contempt.

She made another sound. It was pained. A soft whimper that ignited a bonfire of fury within me. A growl tore from my throat, low and vicious, shattering my facade of unconsciousness. I was exposed.

“See? Told you.” Rough hands fumbled near my head, grabbing at the binding over my eyes, then pausing. “Leave him blind. It's less trouble.”

“Move her.”

“No …,” her voice came. Barely a whisper, yet it rang through my bones like a struck shield. A challenge. A claim?

Hands seized her, dragging the warmth, the scent, away. Illogical panic clawed through me. The sudden emptiness beside me was an agony sharper than any physical wound. The scent faded, pulling my focus, my strength, with it.

“Stop …” The word was a broken rasp, torn from my throat. Darkness surged at the edges of the void, thicker now.

Pain pulsed, a relentless hammer against my skull, but beneath it, one imperative burned with the clarity of molten rock. This pull, this sudden, fierce certainty … it wasn't confusion. It was recognition. An awakening of something buried deep within the bedrock of my being.

Whoever she was, she belonged under my protection.

I had to find her. Shield her.

She was mine.

The blackness swallowed me whole once more.