Page 8 of Eluvonia (Rift of Ages #1)

Before I can reach her, a shadow looms overhead. Dragon claws descend from the canopy above in a blur, seizing her fragile body and lifting her into the air in the blink of an eye.

“NO! ESRA!”

My scream tears from my chest as I leap, my fingers brushing empty air where she’d been.

She thrashes against the beast’s grip, her terrified cries fading as it ascends.

Desperation overtakes me. My bow is in my hands, an arrow nocked in one fluid motion.

I fire—once, twice, three times—but the shafts glance off its glimmering scales, useless.

Helpless, I drop to my knees, the bow slipping from my grasp.

My chest heaves, my vision blurring as the Dragon disappears into the smoke-choked sky.

She’s gone. I failed her. I let her be taken.

A firm grip seizes my shoulder, jerking me back to reality. The sharp tug forces me to twist, my dazed gaze locking onto Leynard. His face is tight with urgency, his breath coming in quick bursts.

“Aeris!” he barks, his voice cutting through the fog in my mind like a blade. His fingers dig into my shoulder, grounding me. I blink rapidly, tears blurring my vision as I gasp, “Ley… Le ynard, I—Esra…” The words splinter in my throat, raw and broken.

“We need to move. Where is she?” His gaze darts around the burning chaos, scanning for any sign of her.

My trembling hand rises, pointing weakly toward the darkened sky where the Dragon disappeared.

Leynard’s head snaps up, following my gesture.

His jaw tightens, and a storm clouds his eyes.

For a brief, unguarded moment, his shoulders sag.Then, as if pulled by some inner resolve, he straightens.

His mouth presses into a grim line, his shoulders rolling back to reclaim his usual air of steely determination.

He bows his head for a heartbeat, his lips moving soundlessly—a prayer?

A promise? When he looks at me again, his gaze is sharp, unyielding.

“We can’t stop,” he says, his tone low and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos around us.

“Not now. Come on, Aeris.” He grabs my arm, his grip firm but not unkind.

“We have to survive this. For her. For everyone.”

His words push through the suffocating haze in my mind, anchoring me to the present.

My feet stumble as I try to match his pace, the earth beneath me feeling unsteady, like it might collapse under the weight of my guilt.

The blistering heat of the burning cavern presses against my back, a physical reminder of everything I’ve failed to protect.

Each breath is a struggle, the air thick with ash and smoke.

“Leynard,” I croak, my voice trembling with the weight of unshed tears.

“How did this happen?” My legs falter, and a choked sob escapes me, unbidden.

The tears streaming down my face are hot and unrelenting, mingling with the soot on my cheeks.

He doesn’t meet my eyes, his own gaze fixed ahead as we weave through the burning wreckage.

His jaw works as though he’s chewing over the right words.

“I don’t know,” he mutters finally, each syllable ground out with barely contained anger.

His hand grips the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening.

“I gave the report to your father—warned him about the Dragon sighting. He told me scouts were already on it, said he’d update me.

I waited all night, Aeris. All. Night.” His voice cracks, the admission dragging something raw and vulnerable to the surface.

He rubs a hand across his face, smearing dirt and sweat over his sharp features. “He never came back.”

I trip over a root, barely catching myself against the rough bark of a tree.

My hands tremble as they grip the wood, the coarse texture grounding me for a fleeting moment.

“He should have put the clan on alert. He should have sent a party out. He should have done something,” I whisper hoarsely, each word edged with bitterness.

Guilt and anger churn within me, colliding violently and leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

Leynard’s silence cuts deeper than any response. He moves ahead, his posture rigid, his steps quick and deliberate. Shadows flicker across his face, the orange glow of the fires highlighting every taut line of frustration and resolve.

A flicker of movement snaps us both to attention.

From behind a tree, a male with brown wings folded against his back steps into the path, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

He stands tall and unhurried, his sword resting casually on his shoulder.

The edges of his grin curve wickedly, a predator’s expression that promises no mercy.

“Going somewhere?” he drawls, his voice smooth and mocking. His gaze sweeps over us like we’re prey caught in his snare.

Leynard doesn’t hesitate .

His sword flashes into his hand, the motion so fluid it’s almost a blur.

He shoves me behind him with a force that leaves no room for argument.

“Stay back,” he growls, his voice low and edged with steel.

Every line of his body is taut, his stance wide and solid as he prepares to face the threat head-on.

The Dragon male chuckles darkly, the sound rippling through the tense air. “I’d like to see you try,” he sneers before lunging forward, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.

The clash of steel erupts, the sharp ring echoing through the forest. Sparks fly as their blades meet, each strike reverberating with raw power.

Leynard moves with practiced precision, his sword an extension of himself as he parries and counters.

But the Dragon male is relentless, his attacks heavy and unyielding, each blow forcing Leynard back step by step.

The Dragon male’s eyes gleam with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a grin that dares Leynard to falter.

“Is this all you’ve got?” the male taunts, his voice dripping with mockery as he presses forward. His blade crashes down like a hammer, sending Leynard skidding back, boots kicking up dirt.

Leynard doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he grits his teeth, his jaw tightening in that stubborn, infuriating way of his. “You talk too much,” he mutters, sidestepping a downward slash that carves a jagged scar into the earth.

I press myself against a tree, my nails digging into the bark as I watch the battle unfold. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.

Leynard feints left, then drives his blade forward, the tip finding its mark. The Dragon male’s eyes widen as Leynard’s sword sinks deep into his abdomen. Blood spills, dark and viscous, staining the ground at his feet.

But victory is short-lived. Leynard retracts his sword and stumbles back a few steps before his knees buckle. My stomach lurches when I see him clutching his side, a crimson stain blooming across his tunic, spreading in a slow, merciless tide.

“No!” The word rips from my throat as I rush to his side.

Dropping to my knees, I press my hands to the wound, trying in vain to staunch the bleeding.

The sticky warmth of his blood seeps through my fingers, and I bite back a sob.

“Stay with me,” I plead, my voice trembling.

“We can still make it. Just hold on—please!”

His hand clamps over mine, startlingly firm despite the tremor in his body. His eyes meet mine, desperate and resolute. “Run,” he rasps, his voice rough but commanding. “You have to run, Aeris.”

I shake my head violently, tears streaming down my face. “No! I won’t leave you! We can still—”

“Aeris!” he barks, his voice sharp enough to cut through my panic. He pushes me back with a surge of strength that belies his injuries. “Go! Now!”

A rustle behind us draws my attention. My blood runs cold as the Dragon male rises, his bloodied hand gripping his sword. He grins, a twisted mockery of triumph. “You’re going to regret that,” he sneers, his eyes blazing with vengeance.

“Leynard!” I scream, but he’s already pushing himself upright, leaning heavily on his sword. He turns to face the threat, his body trembling but unyielding. “Go,” he says again, softer this time, his eyes fierce yet pleading. “Run.” A sob tears from my throat as I force myself to stand .

Every step away feels like a betrayal, but his shouted commands and the clash of steel behind me propel me forward.

The forest blurs around me, shadows and flames merging into a chaotic haze. Tears streak my face as I push through the brush, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I stumble to a stop, pressing a hand against the rough bark of a tree, the only thing keeping me upright.

Bent over, one hand braced on my knee, I gulp down air, willing my heart to slow.

Then—a branch snaps ahead.

My head jerks up, eyes scanning the trees, pulse hammering.

A male leans against a tree, watching me like he has all the time in the world. Relaxed. Unbothered. As if he isn’t standing in the middle of chaos.

His tousled dark hair and piercing blue eyes gleam with wicked amusement, pinning me in place. His sharp jawline and high cheekbones give him an almost otherworldly beauty—the kind that feels more like a threat than an invitation.

He is disgustingly gorgeous. For a Dragon .

I switch my stance, straightening, angling my dagger toward him, bracing myself. He doesn’t flinch. Just chuckles—a deep, knowing sound that slides down my spine like silk laced with thorns.

With effortless, lazy grace, he pushes off the tree, straightening to his full height.

The shadows at his feet stir, curling up his legs like living smoke. They slither over his fitted, functional dark pants, winding around pockets that likely conceal weapons—or something worse. The tendrils climb higher, wrapping around his bare torso with an almost languid grace.

Of course, he’s not wearing a shirt. Because why would he bother with a shirt?

Moonlight spills over his chest, illuminating every carved ridge of muscle, sculpted and honed like something out of a fever dream—or a nightmare.

The shadows snake down his arms, trailing over the gray wraps that spiral from just below his elbows to his hands, leaving only the obsidian tips of his fingers exposed.

His black wings twitch behind him, the moonlight catching on their edges, giving them an eerie, ethereal glow. They move slowly, deliberately—like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Then the shadows tighten around him, coiling down his arms, pooling in his hands. With a flick of his wrist, they dissolve, vanishing as if they were never there. A simple display of power. A reminder of what he could do.

His fingers lengthen, the tips sharpening into wickedly curved black claws, polished and gleaming like onyx. He flexes them, testing their sharpness, the sound of claw against claw like a blade whispering free of its sheath. Then, with deliberate ease, he drags them across the tree beside him.

Deep, jagged grooves tear through the bark.

I swallow hard.

And he just keeps smiling.

“What’s the matter, Fae?” he drawls, his voice smooth as silk, rich with amusement. “Speechless already?”

The air around us thickens, heavy with his malevolent energy. Every muscle in my body tenses, my instincts screaming at me to run. But I don’t. My pride keeps me rooted to the spot, even as the darkness around him seems to swell and twist, bending the moonlight into unnatural shapes

He takes a slow step toward me, his smirk deepening. “Well, at least this raid won’t be entirely dull.” he says, his voice laced with mockery.

The air between us crackles with tension as he advances, every step deliberate. My hand tightens around the hilt of my dagger, its small, worn blade a feeble defense against his towering presence and deadly claws.

The cold reality sinks in—I am so screwed.