Page 113 of The Serpent and the Silver Wolf

Every face she turned to held history. Wounds and small victories.

She held each gaze, her eyes burning bright with the draconic gleam that marked her for what she was. And one by one, she pulled them into her heart, anchoring herself to them in that final, fragile calm, the last stillness before the storm.

She usually wore the shape of an average human woman.

There was a certain utility to it, unassuming, familiar, often underestimated. Compared to almost every other intelligent lifeform, humans were short-lived, physically fragile, and originally designated as low-tier labor stock or fodder for wars they didn’t start. They were a stitched-together mess of half-baked creation ideas that had no business surviving as long as they had—and yet, they did. Repeatedly. Sometimes spectacularly. They were the universe’s accidental success story.

Maybe that was why her fractured, disobedient heart always rooted for them.

She preferred humans. Their chaos. Their resilience. Their mess. And she had walked in their shape more often than her own, chosen soft feet over golden claws, living among them instead of above them.

But not today.

Today, she would not hide.

Stepping forward, she let the shift take her fully. Gold blazed along her skin, scales unfurling down her arms and legs in gleaming waves. They caught the bridge lights and scattered them like flame through mist. Each scale curved with perfection, razor-edged and battle-worn, radiant as a sunrise set afire.

A hush fell across the bridge.

Some stared, unmoving, reverent in their silence. Others stepped forward instinctively, hands rising in salute, fists over steady hearts. A few bowed their heads, not in submission, but in shared faith.

She met their attention, one after another, holding onto the moment.

Then she roared, her heartbeat made audible, splitting the air like thunder through shattered crystal.

The soul of a dragon loosed into the world.