Page 35 of Ashfall

Dax's voice is low, dark, and certain. "Agreed.”

CHAPTER 16

DAX

The fire sings differently out here. It's older, slower, and more deliberate, like listening before it speaks. Every flicker carries the weight of something primal, echoing through my bones. It doesn’t rage or consume. It remembers.

I move past the outer wards of the canyon—far from Blackstrike’s camp, past the lava-scarred cliffs and obsidian rises, into the ash-covered flatlands where no one but the truly ancient dare to go. The land here breathes with forgotten heat, the wind still tasting faintly of brimstone. The earth remembers out here. You can feel it in the heat beneath your boots, in the hush of the air so still it feels like it’s waiting for something. The silence is stretched taut like old scars that never fully healed. This place is sacred. Dangerous. Forgotten. And it knows me.

Oren waits for me there. My pulse thrums with anticipation, an edge of unease threading through the heat in my blood. It’s not fear—exactly—but something close. A deep, primal knowing that I stand in the presence of something older, wiser, and infinitely more dangerous. The kind of presence that makes the fire inside me go still—not dimmed, but waiting. Watching. Not Dennis Price or Malek, but Oren. The elder. The ancient. A beingso old even the mountains whisper when he stirs. He is not a true part of the team, and yet it would feel incomplete without him.

Today, he’s waiting for me, sitting like a statue molded from flame itself, coiled in dragon form, obsidian scales rimmed in silver, his long tail wrapped around him like a serpent guarding sacred knowledge. His breath steams in the air, each exhale radiating heat. His eyes glow with that knowing, terrible calm—the kind of stillness that comes with power too great to challenge. This is what he truly is. What he always was. And there’s no mistaking it now—this is the dragon history long forgotten, but the fire remembers.

"You come because you’re scared," he says without preamble, his voice vibrating through the air like thunder wrapped in silk.

"I came because I need answers," I growl. "About Ember."

Oren shifts fluidly, seamlessly—fire blooming around him in a quiet roar, swallowing his dragon form whole. When it clears, he stands tall in human shape, naked and steaming in the open air. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bother with modesty. Instead, he moves with deliberate grace to retrieve the robe lying folded on a nearby rock, slips it on without haste, and turns to face me, his ancient eyes and silver-threaded hair untouched by time or temperature. No pain. No transition. Full shift. Because that’s the only kind there is.

"The girl carries your fire."

"Not fully. Not yet. The mark appeared after we—" I break off, jaw tightening. "There’s a partial bond forming. But she didn’t burn."

"And that frightens you."

"It should. It means something’s changing."

Oren studies me for a long time, then nods slowly. "There was a prophecy, long before you were born, before any of us chose the sky over the sword. One human woman. Fireborn not by blood, but by bond. She would survive the flame, notbe consumed by it. She would walk the razor’s edge between creation and destruction. The fire would answer to her, not claim her. A spark between control and chaos—tempered by heart, not heritage."

"You think it’s her?"

"No, Dax," he says, stepping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. "I know it’s her."

He turns without another word, vanishing into the ash and shadow as if swallowed by the breath of the earth itself. The air ripples faintly where he stood, the scent of scorched sage lingering like a memory. For a moment, the world holds its breath—no wind, no sound, only the whisper of something old and watching. Then he’s gone, as if he had never been there at all.

I make it back to the main camp just in time to hear the roar—deep, primal, laced with fire and something that pulls at the marrow of my bones. Not just any roar. Ember’s. It rolls over the canyon like thunder dipped in flame, and for a heartbeat, everything in me goes still.

The dragon in me knows. Something ancient inside me unfurls, instinct and recognition braided together like flame and breath. She’s shifting—and my world will never be the same.

She’s outside the barracks, surrounded by the rest of the team, who stand back with cautious awe, their faces lit with firelight and wariness. No one moves, like they’re afraid a single breath might ignite her. The air is thick with heat, charged and pulsing like the second before lightning hits—raw and electric, a promise of power barely restrained.

I feel it pressing in on me, too—raw, volatile power radiating off her in waves that sing to the dragon inside me. Her eyes are wide, her pulse visible in her throat, and she’s glowing. Literally. Flame crackles around her skin, dancing along her arms, spiraling from the mark at her shoulder like a brand litfrom within. She looks terrified—caught between instinct and disbelief—but she doesn’t run. And despite the fear, she radiates something else, too: raw, unfiltered power. She’s radiant. Untamed. And she's standing in the fire like she was born for it.

"Ember," I call, stepping forward slowly, "You need to breathe. Don’t fight it. Just feel."

"I don’t… Dax; it’s burning me…"

"No," I say, voice low and steady, "It’s becoming you."

The flames swallow her whole, a rush of heat and light so bright the others have to look away, shielding their eyes as if the sun had descended to earth. But I don’t. I can’t. It’s not just fire—it’s her, taking shape, stepping into the truth that was always waiting. And I watch, transfixed, as the impossible becomes real right in front of me.

She disappears in fire—and then emerges, rising from the inferno like a phoenix reborn. For a heartbeat, all I can do is stare, stunned silent by the sheer majesty of her transformation. My chest tightens, not from fear, but from awe and something deeper—reverence.

This is my mate, claiming her power in full, blazing with purpose, unflinching in the face of the unknown. She’s not breaking. She’s becoming. And gods help me, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to protect this fire-borne fury, to stand beside her in every battle, every storm, every flame she commands.

The blaze rolls off her new form in shimmering waves, each one pulsing with heat and power that steals the breath from my lungs. The air thrums with magic, seared ozone, and the sharp tang of elemental fire, pressing against my scales like a physical force.

Her wings stretch wide, copper kissed by flame, catching the light with every slight movement as though the sky itself is bending to her. Her eyes glow with molten gold as if lit fromthe inside out. The ground shivers beneath her as if the earth recognizes what she is. It’s the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen—and it’s her.

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