Ashborn

Lyeora Evergarten had never known fear. At eight summers old, she had thrown herself feet-first into a nest of vipers to rescue a village dog. Her mother watched in horror, cursing the gods for burdening her with such a reckless, untamed daughter.

Lyeora, however, had emerged without so much as a fang mark, the trembling dog clutched against her chest. Below her, the vipers lay woven together in thick, sleeping coils, docile beneath the sound of her voice.

It had always been that way. Wild rabbits ate from her palm, untamed horses lowered their heads when she approached. Claws, teeth, and venom had never given her reason to be afraid.

Until now.

The injured white fox was gone, and she cursed herself for following it into the ruin. A soft heart had led her here, placing her before something far older and far more dangerous than she had imagined.

The dragon exhaled. Heat washed over her, carrying the bitter scent of ash and ancient stone. Still, she didn't run. Every instinct she had ever trusted urged her to be still. Watch. Learn.

So she did.

She traced the slow flare of its nostrils. The steady rise and fall of its broad chest. The immense body remained coiled, every muscle capable of ending her life in a heartbeat, yet it did not strike. Its eyes held no fury.

Only awareness.

Something shifted. Not in the ruin.

Inside her mind.

Leave.

The word isn't spoken. It crashes into her mind, heavy and ancient, carrying a resonance no human voice could possess. Lyeora recoils a half-step, her hand flying to her temple. For a fleeting, disorienting moment, she wonders if she’s finally lost hold of herself. But the presence lingers; vast, watchful. Before reason can catch up, instinct answers.

I'm not going to hurt you.

Silence follows. Not emptiness, but attention. The dragon goes utterly still. Its golden eyes narrow, fixing on her with unnerving precision.

You hear me, child? It isn't a question; it’s a realization. And beneath it… disbelief. The air between them tightens.

Lyeora swallows against the strange pressure gathering behind her eyes. "Am I... not supposed to?" The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, her voice steadier than she feels.

The dragon exhales, a plume of hot breath curling through the ruined temple.

If you were, it rumbles, I wouldn't have needed to ask.

Heat creeps into Lyeora's cheeks. "Forgive me. Speaking with dragons isn't exactly a skill I've had reason to practice."

For the first time, the creature moves. One massive foreclaw slides over the other, its onyx scales catching the light. They shimmer with an oil-slick sheen, flashing violet, emerald, and sapphire before fading back into black.

It has been an age since a human has answered my thoughts… a pause.

You carry the blood of the Ashborn; how curious.

Lyeora frowned. "The Ashborn?"

The old ones. Those who walked beside dragons instead of hunted them. Those who spoke with us, those who remembered. Its gaze never left hers. You are the first I have encountered in many generations.

The chill returned with sudden force, climbing her spine despite the dragon's furnace-like breath.

A stray breeze threaded through the broken temple, lifting a strand of her fiery red hair across her face. She tucked it behind her ear. Only then did she truly look around and remember where she was.

That damned fox had led her into a temple. Or, what remained of one. Time had stripped it bare. Massive blocks of pale stone lay scattered where walls had once stood, and weatherworn statues stared sightlessly from beneath blankets of moss and dust. Wind sighed through the hollow corridors, mourning in the cracked arches overhead. The roof had long since surrendered to the sky, leaving only fragments of stone to frame an endless stretch of blue. Vines poured through the open gaps like emerald waterfalls, swallowing pillars that still stubbornly clung to the earth. Once, this place had been sacred. Now, it belonged to ruin.

And to the dragon.

It rested beneath the shadow of a fractured overhang, its immense obsidian body coiled with effortless power. Each measured breath awakened an iridescent shimmer across its hide, a fleeting display of color that vanished as quickly as it appeared. Those enormous golden eyes never left her. She'd stumbled into its sanctuary. Except… no, there was more.

Beyond the dragon's body, stone shelves had been carved directly into the wall, each lined with objects too distant to make out. Their shapes were softened by dust and shadow, but they carried an unmistakable weight, as though every forgotten relic still remembered the hands that had once held it. Yet they weren't what captured her attention; something else beyond them did. A door.

Ancient stone veined with fading carvings, half-hidden beneath curtains of ivy. The moment her eyes found it, something deep inside her answered. Not a sound, not a voice; a pull.

As though the door had been waiting for her.

"What are you guarding?" The question slipped free before she could stop it. The revelation of her Ashborn blood should have demanded every ounce of her attention, yet it drifted to the edges of her mind. Whatever lay beyond that door eclipsed it all. Her mother would have called it foolish curiosity; the impossible ache of standing at the threshold of a place she'd never seen.

The dragon rose onto all fours and the temple seemed to shrink around it. Its head lowered until those molten-gold eyes were level with hers, close enough that she could see the countless flecks of amber suspended within them. Every instinct screamed at her to run. She didn't.

Things your kind abandoned, forgotten, cast aside when reverence gave way to greed. I have guarded them through the rise and fall of kingdoms. Through wars. Through silence. Until—

The thought stopped. The dragon blinked; a translucent inner eyelid swept across its eye before lifting again. The creature remained motionless, its expression shifting from certainty to something almost... contemplative. Lyeora waited, and when the silence stretched too long, she cleared her throat.

"I can't answer for those who came before me." Her voice sounded impossibly small inside the ruined temple. "But I didn't come here to take anything." She held the dragon's gaze despite the hammering of her heart. "I only want to understand."

Fool.

The thought rumbled through her skull before the dragon even realized it had spoken.

For centuries I have waited. They always came claiming to be the one foretold... and every one of them sought only to plunder what was never theirs.

The dragon turned away from her, pacing in slow, measured circles. Its tail swept across the stone floor with a low scrape, stirring centuries of dust into the shafts of sunlight pouring through the ruined roof.

Its thoughts continued to spill into hers, no longer guarded.

How many lies have I listened to? How many false heirs? And still I nearly made the same mistake.

As the dragon moved, the chamber beyond it revealed itself. There it stood, the ancient stone door; its fading carvings half-hidden beneath curtains of ivy. Time had reduced the surrounding walls to fractured stone and tangled vines, yet the door endured, quietly untouched amid the ruin. Something ancient stirred within Lyeora the moment her gaze settled upon it, answering the same quiet hum that seemed to radiate from the stone. Not pain, recognition; like something on the other side had just opened its eyes.

Lyeora leaned in ever so slightly, trying to make out the faded titles which lined the stone walls. The symbols meant nothing to her, yet something about them felt strangely familiar.

… been alone for so long, I’ve forgotten who to trust, who to believe, and I -

“Excuse me?” Lyeora interrupts the dragon’s ramblings. “What are those tomes?”

Lyeora took a cautious step forward. The dragon reacted before her boot touched the stone.

One heartbeat, it stood beside the door. The next, it filled the space between them, body lowered, wings shifting just enough to shield the entrance. Every muscle tensed. She had apparently crossed a boundary she couldn't see.

"Oh—I... I'm sorry, I wasn't—"

"I see you've met."

The voice did not come from inside her mind, but behind her.

Lyeora spun so quickly she nearly lost her footing, instinctively turning her back on the dragon.

A man stood at the edge of the ruined chamber as though he'd always belonged there. He was impossibly tall and lean, dressed in flowing white robes gathered at the waist by a silver belt that caught the afternoon light. His cropped blond hair was so pale it nearly vanished against skin the color of carved alabaster. He offered her a small, apologetic smile.

"My apologies for the delay. Returning to this shape grows more tiresome every century."

Lyeora stared. It wasn't his height, or his robes, or even the effortless calm with which he stood in a dragon's presence. It was his ears. Long, gracefully tapered.

Fae.

Him again, always here, always watching. Always waiting.

Lyeora turned back just in time to see the dragon shift, broad shoulders angling between her and the newcomer. The protective stance hadn't changed, only the threat had. The fae merely smiled.

"Must we do this every time, Larken?" His voice carried the easy familiarity of someone entirely unafraid. "We both know you're not going to eat me."

Before Lyeora realized he'd moved, the Fae was standing beside her. Far too close.

"Dragons," he sighed, folding his hands behind his back. "They're endlessly suspicious. It's one of their less charming qualities."

What is he saying?

Larken's thoughts brushed against hers, puzzled rather than angry. He returns. He wanders these halls. He speaks without ceasing. A curious creature, the fae…

"Fennec," the stranger said smoothly, cutting across the dragon's thoughts with a slight bow. "A pleasure." He offered her his hand. Lyeora ignored it. Instead, she stepped backward until she felt the reassuring presence of Larken at her shoulder. Something about the fae unsettled her. It wasn't simply that he was unfamiliar; it was that he felt... rehearsed. Like every smile had been practiced long before she'd arrived.

"Lyeora," she replied carefully, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm not sure Larken is very happy to see you."

For the first time, Fennec's pleasant expression slipped; not much, just enough. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face before he closed the distance in two effortless strides.

"So," he murmured, his excitement no longer hidden, "you really can hear him." His silver eyes gleamed. "I suspected it the moment I caught your scent." His attention shifted to the dragon. "After all these centuries..." His smile sharpened. "Your apprentice has finally arrived."

Every instinct Lyeora possessed screamed the same command: run.

Girl, what did he say? Tell me, now. Lyeora swallowed hard.

"He said..." She frowned, trying to make sense of words that made no sense at all. "He said your apprentice has finally arrived."

For one suspended heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Larken exploded into motion. Not with fire, but with joy. His great wings snapped open, sending a violent rush of wind tearing through the ruined temple. Dust spiraled into the air as the dragon bounded sideways with surprising grace, almost playful despite his enormous size. Fennec didn't move; he simply watched.

Of course! It was written: ‘A girl of ashen blood and hair of flame, shall rectify the old one's shame.’ The dragon's thoughts tumbled over one another in breathless excitement.  I knew you would come. I waited, I waited for you, through every passing century.

As Larken shifted aside, Lyeora's breath caught. The shelves she had seen weren’t just lined with books; they were histories. Scrolls stacked beside leather-bound journals whose bindings had long disappeared beneath dust. Saddles shaped for backs that would never bear riders again. Rings dulled by centuries. Tarnished collars, carved idols, weapons of every shape and size. This wasn't simply a dragon's hoard; it was the memory of an entire world. And at its heart… the door, which seemed almost alive now, a faint pulse rippling beneath its weatherless surface. Waiting.

"Go on." Fennec's voice drifted beside her ear. She hadn't felt him move. "We've all waited a very long time for you." Although his smile was warm, his eyes weren’t.

She should have questioned why every instinct urged her forward. Instead, relief settled over her. Something deep inside Lyeora stirred. An ache she'd carried her entire life—one she'd never known was there—rose into her chest, pulling her toward the ancient doorway with quiet, relentless certainty.  She stepped forward, almost without meaning to. Her fingers drifted over forgotten books and brittle scrolls as she passed. Dust clung to her skin, and with every relic she brushed, another fragment of a forgotten people seemed to settle inside her. Grief welled in her chest for lives she'd never lived.

"What happened to the Ashborn?" she asked softly.

They faded with the dragons who remembered them. Larken's voice had grown quiet once more. Mine is the last bloodline left. We were entrusted with one purpose: to guard the door and wait for the apprentice. They are the key.

"It's been lost to history," Fennec said behind her. "But perhaps... not forever."

Lyeora stopped before the ancient stone door. Up close, it hummed beneath the silence, a vibration she felt in her bones more than heard with her ears.

"What do I do?" she whispered. "How do I open it?"

I do not know. Only you can discover that.

She frowned. "Are you afraid of what's behind it?"

No. The certainty in Larken's answer surprised her.

"Then... why guard it?" For the first time since they'd met, the dragon hesitated.

Because I was told to. My brother before me, our father before him. We were entrusted with one purpose: guard the door... and wait for the apprentice.

Something about the answer unsettled her, the dragon’s faith unwavering.

Behind her, Fennec shifted. The whisper of his robes was barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

"Place your hands on the stone."

Lyeora didn't turn around to question the male. The door consumed her mind, smothering every rational instinct.  Warmth bloomed beneath her skin, spreading through her chest like the first rays of dawn. It felt like coming home, the door; something inside her was reaching for it with desperate familiarity. Yet beneath that pull, another feeling clawed to the surface: apprehension, discomfort, doubt. The warning flickered through her mind like the last ember of a fire before it died, and then it was gone. Every step she took felt inevitable, as though this choice had been made long before she'd ever crossed the temple threshold.

Her hands found the stone. For a heartbeat… nothing happened. Then…

Gold flared beneath her fingertips. One glowing vein became dozens. Then hundreds. Light raced through the faded carvings, branching across the door like living fire until every ancient line blazed with impossible radiance. The temple erupted in golden light. Heat tore through her hands, exploding with pain. Lyeora gasped and tried to pull away, but she couldn't.

"Yes!" Fennec's voice echoed as though from the far end of a tunnel, triumphant. The light swallowed everything else.

No, this is wrong! Larken's voice crashed into her mind, distant beneath the roar consuming the chamber. The warmth vanished so quickly she almost wondered if she'd imagined it. The belonging followed. Then came the cold.

Whatever had called to her from beyond the stone had never been reaching out in welcome. It had been reaching for a key.

This wasn't an awakening. It wasn't destiny. This had never been a temple; it had been a prison. The dragon hadn't been guarding a relic.

He'd been guarding a lock.

Horror crashed through her, not for herself, but for everyone beyond these ruins. Because Lyeora Evergarten, Ashborn or not, had just set something free.