Red.
The sky was red as they came closer to the Dragon’s Pass, yet Kylan didn’t slow his speed as he carried Amalia across the sky.
Amalia’s heart still raced as they escaped the first danger of this land. The golems tossed lava high into the air and across the black land until they were too far away to see their prey. Now, they were even closer to the gates that stood at the end of the valley.
She tried to calm her breathing, and prepare herself for what lay ahead, but anxiety surged through her veins and within her throat, making it almost impossible to catch a breath.
This was finally what they’d come for. They’d won the battle of gathering their people, and now would reap the benefit.
To fly was a dream, and under different circumstances, Amalia would have beamed with joy, and relished in the absolute fun of riding astride a dragon.
But, not today.
Today, they faced dangers unlike anything they could have dreamed. The Brotherhood was defeated, crippled by the loss of their leader—their God.
If Einar returned, they would be ready for him.
“Behold, the Dragon’s Pass,” Jora said, outstretching her staff to the statues of stone dragons that lined the valley.
She sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut as Kylan dodged a ball of fire. Her heart thumped in her chest, her face hot and covered with sweat, blood, and the tears of those they’d lost.
The fire ball sizzled and soared, blazing with orange and red, heating the air around them. Charred black earth and molten lava encircled it, and the volcanic mountains in the distance only catapulted more of the vicious weapons.
This was what they had been destined to reclaim.
This was the Erani Empire.
And, Drako the Defiler was all that stood between them and reclaiming it. He was massive, with large, golden eyes that looked directly at her. His wings were the color of blood, and had holes throughout that reminded her of a tattered rag hung to dry. Then, there were his minions, small imps that surrounded him like an army of nightmarish creatures.
She stood tall, ready to fight—ready to lead—when the red sky went dark and the air went cold, and Drako’s voice filled her head.
Everyone went still, as the air grew thick and hot.
“Welcome home,” he said, and a low chuckle rumbled through the valley as Amalia was ripped away from Kylan’s side, and trapped within Drako’s talons.
She fought, her scream caught in her lungs as the wound she’d suffered at the hands of the golems throbbed. Eyes growing heavy, all Amalia saw was smoke and wings, and darkness.
Drako flew away with her, and a hot, feverish sleep overcame her.
There would be no returning home.
Not without the heir.
Not without the dragon master.