Chapter 2: The Wyrm Descends
The first scream cut through the night like a blade.
Ravelle jolted upright, heart slamming against her ribs. Her room was bathed in cold moonlight, the fire long dead, the air oddly still until the second scream echoed, louder, closer.
Then the tremor hit.
Her bedframe shuddered. The floor groaned. Distant roars rolled like thunder through the hills surrounding Ashmere.
She was on her feet in seconds, her silver braid swinging over her shoulder as she grabbed the leather satchel hanging by the door. She hesitated for only a moment before snatching the short sword she'd made last winter a weapon no one ever expected her to use. She didn't know why she grabbed it. Only that she had to move.
Outside, the night sky glowed sickly green, streaked with fire and ash. The earth trembled beneath her boots as she sprinted toward the village square. Villagers were pouring into the streets screaming, barefoot, dragging children, carrying only what they could. Their faces were pale and streaked with soot, eyes wide with primal fear.
"THE WYRM!" someone screamed.
A sound like boulders grinding together shattered the air. Ravelle skidded to a halt at the edge of the square just in time to see the beast.
It towered above the buildings, a writhing, sinuous monster of black scales, jagged obsidian armor along its spine, glowing red eyes burning like twin suns. Its fanged maw stretched open, unleashing another deafening roar. The Obsidian Wyrm ancient, thought to be extinct, a living nightmare summoned from the lost age was here.
And it was tearing through Ashmere.
With one sweep of its tail, it flattened a line of houses. Fire erupted from its mouth, engulfing the town granary. Alpha guards, glowing with their sigils, charged forward swords raised, powers flaring.
"Form a circle!" shouted Captain Darrow, his claw-mark sigil glowing brightly on his chest. "Contain it! We push it back to the ridge!"
But it was no use.
The Wyrm's hide turned blades to splinters. Its roar shattered eardrums. With terrifying precision, it whipped its body through the line of defenders. Ravelle watched in horror as Brom yes, Brom was caught midair and flung like a doll against a stone wall. He didn't rise again.
People ran.
Powerful warriors fled.
The square became chaos incarnate screams, fire, the scent of burning fur and flesh. Sigils flickered as the Wyrm's roar disrupted their aura channels.
Ravelle stood frozen beneath the moonlight, the short sword in her hand trembling. Her breath came in sharp gasps as heat began to coil beneath her skin again the same burn that had awakened her hours ago.
Another house collapsed. A child's cry rang out. Someone stumbled beside her, blood covering their leg. "Please, help…"
Ravelle turned but not toward the fallen.
Her eyes were locked on the beast.
It saw her.
The Wyrm's head lowered, nostrils flaring. It moved like a serpent made of smoke and volcanic glass, elegant and monstrous. Its gaze held hers.
A whisper echoed in her mind.
Now, Sovereign.
Ravelle's knees buckled, but the voice steadied her. The silver burn across her spine flared to life, heat rippling up her back like a tidal wave. The amulet at her throat vibrated, the rune glowing white-hot. Her breath caught.
And then light.
Silver light exploded from her body.
It wasn't like the others' sigils. No singular mark. No stationary glyph.
Hers danced like stars, shifting constellations down her spine and wrapping across her arms. The moon itself seemed to pulse in the sky above her, resonating with her power. Her hair lifted in a phantom breeze, her eyes no longer silver but glowing white.
The villagers who hadn't fled turned.
They stared.
They saw her.
The sigilless girl… glowing like a goddess.
The Wyrm reared back. It felt her now. A force older than it. Power deeper than flame or fang. It hesitated.
Captain Darrow, bloodied and coughing, turned to see the light and froze. "What… What is she?"
Ravelle stepped forward, barefoot now, the sword in her hand no longer trembling. Her voice, when it came, wasn't hers alone it was laced with something ancient.
"Leave this place, Wyrm of the Hollow Flame. You are bound no longer. I release you."
The Wyrm hissed.
It charged.
Ravelle lifted her palm. Silver light exploded from her sigil, forming a barrier of moonlight that collided with the beast mid-air. The shockwave leveled nearby trees. The Wyrm screamed as its obsidian hide cracked and bled molten gold.
Gasps rippled through the villagers.
"No sigil my ass," someone muttered.
"She's she's a Lunar-born," another whispered.
But Ravelle wasn't listening. She stepped forward again, each step cracking the stone beneath her feet with silver flame.
The Wyrm hissed again, this time… in retreat.
It turned.
It fled.
Over the hills. Through the forest. Vanished into the night.
Silence reigned.
Smoke drifted upward into the stars. Fires crackled weakly. And in the center of the square stood Ravelle glowing, alive, changed.
A hush fell over the village.
She turned slowly to face them. Her eyes met Darrow's. Met the old Seer woman. Met the butcher's boy, who once spat in her direction.
They all stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.
"Ravelle…" the Seer whispered, her voice shaking. "Your sigil…"
Ravelle looked down.
Her sigil was already fading, drawing back into her skin like mist.
But they'd seen it.
All of them.
And far, far away, atop a snow-dusted cliff, a man with glowing golden eyes lowered his hood. Titan. The Alpha. His lip curled into a feral smile.
"She's awakened," he murmured.
In the forest, another figure snarled, wings twitching with tension. Azrael, the Demon Wolf, blood-red eyes flickering.
"She's ours."