Page 12

KADE

F lames gutter low in the forge barrel I hid behind the abandoned mechanics shed—just enough glow to kiss the rusty walls with orange, painting them in flickers of copper and blood.

The air hangs heavy with scorched oil and soot, and in the distance, a lonely coyote call winds into the hum of night patrol radios.

The whole place smells like sweat, steel, and secrets—perfect for the work I need to do under cover of dark. I scroll the decrypted Ignis thread one last time, the words bleeding across my phone like poison scripture.

Ignis plans to lift an entire weapons convoy right under Fort Verde’s nose—while every firefighter in a fifty-mile radius scrambles to contain a canyon inferno rigged to burn bright and fast, all smoke and spectacle.

And Liv? She’s the ignition. The spark they planted to set the whole distraction ablaze.

“Not happening,” I growl.

Across the screen, another message unfurls—Dax’s voice note, encrypted and pulsing in that heartbeat rhythm only our unit knows. Greer’s bought mercs loaded with foam- jacket rounds. Non-metal, anti-tracker. They vanish on thermal like mist at sunrise. You’ll have one shot, brother.

I slip the phone into my pocket and plant both hands on the forge’s rim.

The coals stir with a low, eager growl, recognizing the violence churning just beneath my skin.

Heat climbs in a greedy tide, rushing through my veins and pulling sweat from my pores, a searing force that claims rather than comforts.

The forge exhales a breath of scorched iron and bitter ash, wrapping around me with the heavy promise of purpose. Every inhale tastes like fury reignited—smoke, old blood, and the heat of something ancient clawing to be born again.

I draw the silver pendant from my gear pocket, its surface cool and weighted with quiet potential. I’d forged it from dragon-steel—a legendary alloy of meteor-forged star-iron and purified human silver—it’s the rarest of metals, bonded through flame and oath.

Star-iron falls from the sky already touched by celestial fire, but only dragons can awaken it—reignite it—by fusing it in their breath, binding it to purpose.

The result? A metal alive with memory and will, volatile and fiercely loyal to its maker.

The moment my fingers close around it, the disc stirs, humming with energy that resonates deep in my chest. Not a lullaby—no, this isn’t gentle.

It’s a summons. A call to action. A fire-song from the bones of the earth, demanding to be reborn.

Liv deserves more than words or warnings.

She needs something tangible—something forged not just in flame, but in the essence of who and what I am.

A symbol of the bond carved in fire and oath, carrying a part of my soul across the distance between us.

Not just a talisman, but a sentinel—etched with memory, tempered with intent—that will find her, no matter how far the dark reaches.

Knowing I will need them later, I remove my clothes and crouch beside the forge, the earth trembling subtly beneath my boots, like it senses what’s coming.

The stones press against my knees, warm from the residual heat, holding tension in every pore.

I breathe deep, drawing in the char of soot, the bite of molten steel, the ancient stir of something wilder.

Smoke clings to my lungs. The fire answers before I even call—rising, coiling up my spine with the inevitability of blood memory, heat blooming in my core, a star reborn.

It surges from the ground, golden and alive, igniting the air with a low roar that silences everything else.

The earth thrums beneath me, not with chaos—but with purpose.

Fire coils upward in a spiral of radiance, wrapping the shed in a sacred veil of heat and light.

I don’t fight it. I surrender. The flame inside doesn’t ask. It claims.

My breath stills as the transformation begins—not violent, not forced, but inevitable.

Light envelops me. Skin becomes heat. Form becomes fire.

And then—dragon. Cobalt scales shimmer into existence where skin once was, wings unfurling through the blaze like memory remembered.

There’s no pain, only presence. Only power.

I rise through the flame, not burned, but reborn. No metaphor. No illusion. Dragon—eternal, elemental, mine.

I exhale, and a controlled stream of dragon flame pours from my throat into the coals.

The forge drinks deep, roaring to life with a white-hot flame, fed by breath capable of melting stone.

I step forward into the heat, lowering the blank into the inferno with one clawed hand.

The metal responds, singeing and glowing, forged into life.

Only then, wrapped in fire and memory, do I let the dragon fall away. The transformation comes swift—fire folding inward, scales sinking beneath skin. When the mist clears, I’m crouched beside the forge, human once more—bare-chested, sweat streaming, breath ragged from the claiming.

After redressing, I retrieve the smallest hammer I own—crafted for precision, not brute force, far too delicate for a dragon’s talons.

I lay the blank across the anvil stone and begin to strike.

Dragon fire clings to the metal, feathering the edges.

The shape bends into a V as I drive the mark deep—my sigil, carved from oath and instinct.

Each blow rings out in the dark, steady and sharp, a vow made flesh.

When it’s done, I lift the pendant before lowering it into a crystal vial of quartz-filtered water. The hiss of quenching steam rises around me, mingled with the scent of molten silver and sacred fire. There is a kind of magic that seals into the core of the disc, captured and quiet, but not tamed.

The pendant lies on the anvil, cooled now.

Its surface holds a shimmer like frozen heat—silver touched by starlight.

Along the rim, tiny rune-flutes catch the light and bend it, pulsing once as they link to my field beacon.

It’ll ping every few breaths, no matter how many signals Ignis tries to jam. No one else will understand what it is.

But I’ll sense it—a steady beat in tandem with mine, low and insistent, no matter the distance.

That pendant isn’t just metal; it’s a link forged in dragon flame, seared into memory and bone.

Wherever she moves, I’ll feel the tug—her presence threading through me as wildfire beneath skin.

Liv’s heartbeat, bound to mine, will boom like thunder in the quiet places only I can hear.

The anvil groans under the weight of the forging—twin scorch crescents seared into the steel, aftermath of dragon fire.

I knew better, damn well knew better, but the pendant had to be made right, and that meant calling the dragon, letting him do what only he could.

No mundane flame would bind the magic to the metal—not truly, not safely.

Still, the marks are a risk I can't afford. I sweep a tarp over the anvil and scatter ash to dull the gleam. It will pass at a glance, maybe, but the steel’s warped—touched by something sacred, something forbidden.

If Ruiz’s inspectors come sniffing, this place needs to look like junk and rust, not the altar of a dragon’s forge.

I hit the secure line, routing the call through three ghost towers—old military remnants that leave no trace. On the second buzz, the connection hisses to life. My breath holds. Muscles tighten. That familiar razor-wire tension knots low in my gut, coiling into something sharp and merciless.

Greer answers, voice slick with triumph and something fouler beneath, like oil slicking over blood. “Didn’t think this number would bite back. Who the hell is this?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say, keeping my tone flat as forged steel. “What matters is this—if you hurt Liv again, in any way, I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of you but smoke and rumor.”

A beat of silence. Then a low, oily chuckle. “She’s the storm, not me. She’ll light the fuse herself. And you’ll stand there and watch her burn—no matter how many toys you’ve got, or how many threats you spit.”

My hand tightens around the edge of the workbench, metal groaning beneath my grip. “Then start digging your grave.”

“If you’re planning my funeral, you’d better bring flowers,” he purrs, and the line goes dead.

I pocket the phone, pulse hammering. Foam rounds, invisible mercs, Liv at the center of the bullseye—too many moving parts.

I swallow the urge to run straight to her trailer and drag her clear of this place.

Mission first. Protect her by ending the threat, not by spooking her into reckless questions.

I strip down beside the forge, folding each piece of clothing with clinical precision—even as fire already coils low in my belly, waiting.

My boots thud against packed dirt, the last tie to the man I pretend to be.

With a breath that tastes of steel and ash, I close my eyes and reach inward—not gently, but like dragging a blade through marrow.

The fire answers instantly. It erupts from the earth, golden and alive, coiling around my limbs with a predator’s grace. The roar swells, not destructive but commanding—heat and hunger made manifest. It doesn’t burn. It becomes.

Light flows over me, through me, until skin gives way to flame and flame gives way to scale.

There’s no break, no fracture—only a seamless transformation, as natural as breath.

My body stretches into truth, form redefined by something older than memory.

Scales ripple into being like molten cobalt poured over muscle, flowing with purpose, hardening into armor forged from storm and shadow.

My wings unfurl in a cascade of light, the air parting to welcome them.

When I move, the ground remembers. My tail cuts a furrow in the scorched soil, marking the moment of return—not as a man reborn, but as a dragon made whole.