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DAIN

P ain.

It isn’t the sharp kind, the fleeting bite of a blade or the sting of an open wound. This pain is deep, rotted, embedded in the marrow of me—a sickness that stretches through every inch of my flesh, filling the cracks of my body with something old, something ruined.

I am trapped.

I have been trapped.

I will not be trapped again.

A sound pierces the silence, sharp as a blade, a gasping intake of breath that is not mine.

There is another.

A threat.

Something shifts beneath me, around me—stone breaking, chains rattling, a prison unraveling. Centuries sloughs off like crumbling ruins, my senses clawing back into my body piece by jagged piece. My skin tightens, stone flaking off in burning sheets, raw flesh pulsing beneath. My wings, stiff and starved of movement, unfurl in jerking spasms, half-numb, heavy with disuse.

But my mind—my mind is a storm, fragmented and vicious, shattered memories bleeding into each other in a tangle of time and rage.

Who am I?

My fingers curl against the stone, claws scraping against the jagged edges of the broken seal. A throne. A war. A woman with fire in her hands and betrayal on her tongue. I see her, I feel her—she did this to me.

A hiss escapes me, low and ragged, dragging against a throat too long unused. It turns into a growl. A snarl. Something guttural and hungry.

The presence in the room shifts. A tremor in the darkness. A fragile breath,a pulse racing too fast, thrumming like a rabbit’s in a snare.

I smell her fear.

It snaps something loose inside me.

I lurch forward, muscles shrieking in protest, my entire form raw and aching, but I push past the agony. My head snaps up, molten gold eyes locking onto her—the figure standing frozen near the ruined throne.

Small. Soft. Human.

Purna.

The word erupts from some buried part of me, dripping with venom, with violence, with a hatred so deep I feel it deep in my core. They did this. They caged me. They stole centuries from me.

She flinches back, bare feet slipping against the dust-slick stone. The dim torchlight flickers over her face, illuminating wild storm-gray eyes that seem too large for her face, too bright, too familiar.

No, I do not know her.

I lunge.

She stumbles away, a strangled noise breaking from her lips, a plea, a curse, a whisper—it doesn’t matter. I am on her in a breath, my claws slamming into the wall on either side of her head, stone cracking under the force. She trembles between the cage of my arms, the stench of blood, sweat, defiance curling around me like a challenge.

I could crush her. Should crush her.

But I don’t.

Something stops me.

It is small at first, a flicker of hesitation that I shove down, baring my teeth as I curl my claws around her throat, just enough to feel the rapid flutter of her pulse. So fragile. So easy to break.

But my fingers won’t tighten.

A memory surges—a different throat beneath my hand, a different woman, dark eyes burning with power, whispering something that shattered me.

Her lips part, but the sound that leaves them isn’t a scream. It isn’t a beg.

It’s my name.

“Dain.”

My body seizes. My grip slackens just enough for her to move—a mistake.

She ducks under my arm, shoving herself free, and bolts toward the ruins of the temple doors.

I snarl, rage blistering through my veins, and chase her down.

She is fast. I am faster.

She darts between fallen pillars, bare feet skidding over the uneven ground, desperation carved into every breath. I gain on her, wings snapping open, ignoring the sharp crack of pain in my back. The temple groans, the walls splitting further from the lingering magic that still churns through the air.

She did this.

She woke me.

She should be dead.

A single burst of speed closes the distance. My claws catch her wrist, yanking her back—too hard, too fast. She slams against me, soft curves colliding with stone-forged muscle, a gasp punching from her lungs as I spin her, pressing her down against the nearest pillar.

I bare my teeth, my wings curling around us, trapping her in a cage of heat and fury.

She stares up at me, breath heaving, lips parted.

Something sharp lances through my gut.

It is not pity.

Not mercy.

Not anything I can stomach.

I should rip her throat out. Tear her apart. Make her bleed for the time stolen from me, for the chains, the cold, the curse that still lingers in my bones like poison.

But something in her stares back at me, something familiar.

The realization fills me with rage, deeper than before. I want to hate her. I need to.

But my grip won’t tighten.

I force myself closer, crowding her against the pillar, letting her feel what hunts her.

She trembles. But she does not look away.

“I should kill you,” I breathe, voice scraping against the raw edges of my throat.

Her lips part, and gods curse me, my eyes flick to them.

The moment stretches. Too long. Too wrong.

She lifts her chin. No words, just a silent challenge, a fragile thing daring to stand against a monster.

For some reason, I do not end her.

I shove myself away instead, chest heaving, body coiled too tight. My pulse pounds in my ears, my own fury choking me.

She watches me like she’s seen me before.

Like she knows me.

I do not like it.

I will not let her live.

I stalk toward her again but the temple has other plans.

The ceiling trembles. The pillars buckle. Whatever magic she wielded has broken something deeper, and the temple collapses around us.

I don’t have time to think, to act, before the floor vanishes beneath our feet.

The last thing I hear is her gasp, the last thing I feel is her body colliding with mine.

We are falling.