Page 98

Dracoth

Declaration

“ I kneel before no one,” I growl, the suggestion absurd. Still, I take her hand in mine, the act strangely intimate. She leans forward and presses a kiss to the bruised and bloodied cuts on my right hand, her lips soft and warm against my battered flesh.

“My strong red dragon,” she whispers, her voice like a caress, her fluttering lashes casting shadows over her cheeks.

With deliberate care, I slide her human mating band onto her delicate finger, marveling at how impossibly small it seems against my hand. A surge of joy blooms within our sacred bond, fierce and undeniable.

“Rough and spiky,” she murmurs, holding out her hand to admire the diamond band, its jagged edges reflecting the molten glow from the magma veins streaking the walls. “Just like you, Dracoth.” Her eyes snap to mine, alight with joy. “I love it.”

Her words send my heart soaring, her approval igniting a desire that burns brighter than the molten rivers of Scarn. I’ve passed her human test. She is mine forever—not that she ever truly had a choice.

“Good,” I rumble, my eyes blazing with crimson intensity, unable to suppress the pride swelling within me.

Princesa laughs, turning her hand, tilting the ring to catch every glint of light, almost vibrating with excitement.

“Gods, I wish my parents were here to see this. I’d love to see the look on their faces—imagine it. Their only daughter, married to a giant red alien warlord.” She pauses, catching herself, her expression softening. “No offense.”

I feel no offense, only unease. The image of my own mother flashes, unbidden, churning my guts with sudden anxiety. Ruthlessly, I crush the thought like an enemy beneath my heel.

“They would show pride at such a fine match. The same emotion that beats in my heart,” I state, tapping my aching fist against my chest.

“You don’t know my mother like I do,” Princesa scoffs, her expression shifting to narrow-eyed contempt. “Sour-faced old prune,” she mutters darkly under her breath.

I study her, feeling an unexpected pang of kinship. Like me, Princesa has no true connection with her family. A shame, perhaps, but irrelevant. Together, we will forge our own destiny.

The crowd grows restless—many watching with awe, others growing distracted, discussing amongst themselves. A surge of anxious energy curls my lip at what comes next—a bold proclamation. Perhaps tempting fate. Yet glory was never won by tame hearts.

I lift my hand, signaling to the two hunters stationed at the cavern’s edge. They nod, vanishing into the dark tunnels to retrieve my next offering.

“I have another gift for you, my Mortakin-Kis,” I say, unable to suppress the flicker of a smile.

“Oh, really?” Princesa arches an eyebrow, her grin wicked.

“Well, I do enjoy some... gifts.” Her gaze slowly sweeps over the glittering remnants of the shattered diamond scattered across the cavern floor.

“Wait, shouldn’t we have some servants collect this?

Must be a billion carats just lying around.

” Her silver eyes gleam with sudden greed, reflecting the twinkling shards.

“I mean, with this, we could be billionaires, Dracoth!” she exclaims, awe lighting up her features.

Ah. So that’s why she wanted the ring. Diamonds must hold immense value on Earth, but here, amongst the advanced species of the universe, they’re as worthless as dust.

“Petty baubles, nothing more,” I growl, sweeping my arm dismissively over the sparkling debris.

Her face falls instantly, anger flaring in her eyes as if I’d crushed all her dreams with one mighty hand. “What do you mean?” she demands, her voice rising with indignation. “They must be worth something, for fuck’s sake!”

“Nothing,” I reply with finality.

“Nothing...” she echoes in a groan, slumping forward as her shoulders sag. “Typical. Why am I not surprised?” She shakes her head, disdain dripping from her voice, each word as bitter as unripened zarberries. “A wedding ring that’s basically a Ring Pop!”

Ring Pop?

“This is why I offered Elerium instead,” I grumble, my frown deepening at her ungrateful display.

“Oh, of course! Elerium! Why didn’t I accept the mysterious, alien material I know absolutely nothing about?” she snaps, throwing her hands in the hazy air as though summoning Arawnoth himself to deliver justice.

Her materialism irks me, a detestable remnant of her shallow human upbringing. In time, she will learn such desires are trivial. That all will be provided, that only power and glory matter—the true riches of life.

“It’s okay, Todd,” Princesa coos, patting the sleepy, clacking cyloillar affectionately, as though it were somehow aware of the conversation.

“Daddy Dracoth just wants us to live homeless on the streets, eating from garbage cans. That’s how much he loves us,” she sighs dramatically, her tone dripping with sarcasm, though whether she’s mocking me or entirely sincere is impossible to tell.

I’m left utterly perplexed and grateful for the distraction as the hunters return.

A team of them struggles to haul the immense, lifeless sneachir between them.

The colossal beast, once a towering predator, is now a charred ruin, stripped of most of its scales and flesh, exposing blackened skeleton beneath.

Its remains are a testament to my divine fury—the fate awaiting all who oppose me.

Gasps ripple through the crowd as awe floods their faces, their eyes darting between me and the monstrous carcass. My chest swells with pride, my heart racing as I relive the battle in my mind’s eye. None but I could have achieved such a feat, alone and unarmed.

Such a glorious triumph.

“Beneath the frozen sheets of northern Aroth, I battled this sneachir,” I declare, my booming voice echoing through the cavernous hall, resonating like war drums. “With nothing but my claws and the divine gifts Arawnoth has bestowed upon me—his chosen avatar of war.”

The hunters advance, their faces taut with effort. From the crowd, cheers erupt, and a few rush forward to aid in carrying the massive monster. The mood shifts to one of jubilant conquest, spreading like wildfire through the assembly and lifting my spirits with an uncharacteristic levity.

“This sneachir sought to devour me, thinking I was weak—a mere male,” I continue, my tone mocking as I let the pause hang for effect. “Perhaps it thought I hailed from Clan Draxxus!” The jest elicits uproarious laughter from the crowd.

“But I stand before you as one of your own—Magaxus, strong and proud. I fought, I bled, and I tore this beast to shreds to win my Mortakin-Kis.” I gesture toward Princesa, who no longer radiates annoyance but stands tall, regal as a goddess, a knowing smile of admiration lighting her face.

The sneachir’s immense body winds its way through the ritual chamber, its fanged head finally reaching the dais, while its tail still snakes through the entrance tunnel. Bending down, I retrieve the folded scale cloaks resting in its monstrous jaws—prepared for this moment, my declaration.

“Only I, the pinnacle of our Clan, could have triumphed. Only I can fulfill Arawnoth’s will!” With a flourish, I unfurl the larger of the cloaks. Its white scales shimmer with radiant blue hues, streaked with charred black lines that lash like frozen flames.

My clan looks on with expectant, eager eyes. They long for this, as much as I do—to be led by strength.

“I am—”

I sweep the cloak over my immense shoulders, clasping its metal fasteners to my arcweave armor. Its weight settles upon me like destiny made tangible, an extension of my very being.

“ The War Chieftain! ” I declare, pounding my fist against my chest, the scale cloak fluttering with my movement, its weight already familiar as if I had always worn it.

The veterans of my clan erupt into raucous cheering, their fists pumping the air with fervor.

The wave of their radiant enthusiasm washes over me like searing lashes of flame.

Arms raised to the heavens, I bask in their adulation, a living echo of the statue of Arawnoth that towers behind me. Good—they accept my inevitable rise.

Yet, one obstacle remains: the pretender Drexios. But there is no doubt—I will crush him.

“War Chieftain!” the crowd roars, their voices blending into a magnificent cacophony. Each cry is fuel to my molten heart, carrying me one step closer to claiming the mantle of my great father. My gaze sweeps across the mass of warriors, drinking in their eager expressions, swelling my pride.

But my eyes halt on Jazreal. Arms folded, his steely glare pierces through the celebration. No joy there, only judgment. Beside him, Garzum slumps forward, his downcast eyes searching the ground as if it holds the answers only I can provide.

Lifted by the moment, I turn to Princesa, her radiant smile lighting the molten cavern. I unfurl her cloak, its weight feather-light in my hands. She’s earned this, my beautiful, fierce, maddeningly clever female. Yet as I approach, a frown wrinkles her soft brows.

“Eww. Dracoth, I’m not wearing that... thing !” she exclaims, recoiling. Her gaze flicks between me and the scaled cloak, disdain clear in her silver eyes. “It’s filthy.” She raises her hands as if to ward me off.

Irritating female!

“You will,” I assert, brushing aside her feeble protests. Todd scurries from her shoulder to the safety of her arms, his many limbs a blur of motion. Even the bloated cyloillar understands—she will wear this cloak. It is her destiny.

“Stop, Drac—”

“This cloak marks you as a chieftainess— my War Chieftainess,” I cut her off, draping the shimmering white-blue scales over her supple shoulders. My fingers linger, savoring the moment, the heat of our bond rising between us. “As I promised,” I growl, my crimson eyes blazing down at her.

“Oh, why didn’t you say so!” Her intoxicating smile returns, banishing her earlier resistance. She tucks the cloak snugly around her, hurrying to adjust it. “Hurry, I want to be Chieftainess-ified!” she titters, her laughter a melody that stokes the embers of my soul.

My fingers brush her scorched brand as I clasp the golden fasteners, leaving trails of stoked embers in their wake.

“Hmm,” she mumbles, grimacing as I step back, admiring her regal beauty. “Not bad... not bad.” She preens, swishing the cloak dramatically as she inspects it from every angle. “The colors are ugh, though. It’s going to be a nightmare finding a matching outfit.”

I frown, uncertain if she’s mocking me or being sincere—not for the first time.

“It is you who must match the cloak,” I challenge, my tone firm, hoping to instill in her the weight of this moment, this responsibility.

“Is that right, Mr. Frowny Face?” she retorts, her silver eyes flashing with mischief. “Don’t worry—you know there’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She strides forward, confident and graceful, like a matriarchal venefex surveying her domain.

Her posture is straight yet fluid, each step deliberate as she slowly scans the expectant crowd.

Joy surges through me as I watch her command their attention with natural poise and leadership.

It’s amusing how she can inspire such contempt in one moment and, in the next, intense admiration—at least in me.

My chaotic beauty.

With a playful poke of her finger, Todd scampers back up her arm to settle on her shoulder, his many limbs curling into a comfortable rest. Princesa flicks her shimmering cloak over one shoulder, her silver eyes sweeping the crowd.

The restless murmurs fade into a heavy, expectant silence as her presence seems to fill the space.

“Warriors of Clan Magaxus,” she begins, her voice ringing out clear and commanding, drawing everyone’s attention, a stark contrast to her tiny size.

“You look to him,” she says, gesturing toward me, “Your War Chieftain, as your leader. But you’ll find me beside him—no fragile human, no weakling to be coddled. ”

Her fingers trace the scorched runes etched into her chest and neck, which flare like rivulets of molten lava, glowing with an otherworldly light.

“I am Alexandra of Earth. Your War Chieftainess. Blessed Daughter of Arawnoth himself. Through us, his will is forged.”

The crowd erupts in a thunderous roar of approval, the veteran warriors banging their fists against their armored chests.

Her words settle over the clan like a battle hymn.

Pride surges within me, a molten force that courses through my veins.

She is truly magnificent, embodying every ounce of the strength and fire I knew she possessed.

I step forward, towering over the assembly, my deep voice booming to carry above their cheers.

“We feast tonight to honor the strength of Clan Magaxus!” My gaze sweeps over their eager faces, then falls on the massive carcass of the sneachir.

“Feast upon the beast I conquered beneath the frozen wastes of Aroth. Its flesh will fuel you, and its spirit will unite us!”

The roar of approval swells even louder, shaking the cavernous halls. Princesa and I stand side by side, her glowing presence a beacon of fire and poise beside my towering form. The bond between us—unspoken yet unbreakable—anchors the moment in glory.

A movement near the tunnel entrance catches my eye, the silhouette of a figure emerging from the shadows. My heart skips as recognition dawns—a face I never thought I’d see again.

“Sandra approaches.”