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RHAEGAR

T he first thing I feel is pain.

It is not the slow, creeping agony of old wounds or the numbing weight of stone sleep. It is something deeper, something raw— a fire igniting in a long-dead body, a forgotten hunger stirring awake.

I was not meant to wake.

Still, I breathe.

The air is overflowing with the stench of blood and magic , two things that should not mix but now coil around me like a summoning. My body shifts, half-solid, half-formed, caught between the realms of flesh and stone. I feel the heavy pulse of the bond —new, fragile , and yet already anchored deep within me.

My eyes snap open.

A girl lies before me, her body slumped against the ruins , dark hair fanned out over shattered stone. Blood trickles from the cut on her palm, sinking into the ancient runes beneath her. My runes.

The bond flares, a deep pull in my chest—a hollow, aching need that I have not felt in centuries.

She has awakened me. Her magic is familiar… something that I should loathe with every part of my being.

But now, she is mine.

I inhale sharply, testing the limits of my form. My limbs are unsteady, the weight of my existence shifting as the curse fights against its breaking. The stone still clings to me, reluctant to let me go. My left arm remains frozen, rough and cracked, while the right burns with raw flesh, veins glowing ember-red beneath obsidian skin. My wings tremble, half-formed— more shadow than substance.

Imperfect.

Incomplete.

The realization sends a ripple of fury through me. I was a warlord once, a force that kings alike feared . And now?

Now, I am half a man. Half a monster.

I bare my teeth, a low growl vibrating deep in my chest.

A body lies sprawled beside her—a dark elf, lifeless, his throat crushed beneath my claws. I do not remember killing him. The instinct must have taken over, the violence as natural as breath. His kind have always hunted mine, though I do not remember why.

I should not care.

My gaze drags back to her.

The bond coils tighter.

I kneel beside her, studying her face. Too pale. Her heartbeat is slow, faltering— dangerously weak. She is dying.

And I do not know why that bothers me.

I reach for her without thinking. The moment my fingers brush her skin, I feel her magic surge through me —even tainted, even weakened, it is intoxicating. Power licks up my arm, sharp and bright, sinking deep into my bones.

I inhale sharply, and I feel truly alive.

A curse and a blessing, bound together in the frail body of a dying Purna.

The temptation to take more lingers at the deepest recesses of my mind.

If I consume her fully, I could be whole again.

The thought sends a shudder through me. It should not be so easy to entertain. And yet, the hunger is already there , stretching its talons through my ribs, whispering its cruel truths.

She is only human.

A creature meant to burn bright and die young, while I have endured centuries of slumber. Her life is fleeting. Mine was stolen.

It would not be a crime to take back what was once mine.

I clench my jaw, wrenching my hand away.

I shove down the hunger, forcing myself to focus. This girl woke me. Bound me. That means she is useful. For now.

I glance toward the darkened treeline. The scent of elves lingers—there were more. They will come looking for their missing man. And when they do, they will find a monster waiting.

I shift my grip beneath her, lifting her as if she weighs nothing. She doesn’t stir. Her body is warm but fragile, far too mortal for what she has done.

Her head lolls against my chest, the delicate curve of her neck exposed. Her pulse beats faintly beneath her skin.

Weak.

She will not last long unless I find a way to strengthen her.

I inhale again, forcing myself to ignore the scent of her magic, the sharp pull in my chest that demands more. Instead, I unfurl my wings—what little remains of them—and push off the ground, launching us into the shadows of the ruins.

The night swallows us whole. I find shelter in a hollowed-out temple, its pillars cracked and weathered , the old sigils nearly erased by time. This place was not built by elves or men.

It was built for creatures like me.

I set her down gently, an act that should mean nothing, but somehow, it does.

She stirs slightly, a quiet sound escaping her lips. Not pain. Not fear.

Something else.

The flicker of a dream, perhaps.

I watch her, arms folded, forcing myself to remain still.

She is not beautiful in the way of elves— too human, fragile. But there is something about her that unsettles me.

I could understand if she was a warrior, a killer. But she is neither.

A healer. I feel her magic.

A creature meant to mend, not destroy.

And yet, she has done something far worse than death.

She has bound herself to me.

S he is mine.

She does not know what that means. But she will.

The night deepens, the air thick with the scent of coming rain. I sit beside her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.

The hunger stirs again, coiling tight in my gut. S oon.