Page 36 of Ashfall

A dragon.

Her scales shimmer like sunrise and copper, a cascade of fire-forged beauty that stuns me silent. Something ancient and possessive coils inside me, fierce and unrelenting. She is radiant, untouchable—and mine. Her form is smaller than mine but fierce, every movement purposeful, every line of her body speaking in the language of dragons. Elegant. Lethal. Divine. Every inch of her speaks of fire and purpose, as if the world had waited just for her to wear this shape.

She trembles, unused to the weight and power of this new body, legs moving awkwardly as her talons dig into the earth for balance. Her wings twitch with uncertain tension, and her tail sweeps low, stirring the ash at her feet. Every movement is hesitant but instinctive, like a song she’s heard before but never sung aloud.

"I don’t know how," she says—her voice raw in my head, the bond already forming.

"Then let me show you."

I shift in a blaze of fire; the world falling away as my form changes—skin giving way to scales, limbs stretching into talons, heat roaring in my chest like a second heart.

When I open my wings, I feel her pulse in mine—like warm electricity crackling through a shared current, an echo of her breath against mine in perfect rhythm. It’s more than heat. It’s ancient, instinctual, a tether of flame and soul that tightens with every wingbeat, every inhale we share through the bond.

I move beside her, wings brushing hers gently.

"Follow me. Bend your knees. Push with your hind legs and beat your wings once, hard."

She copies me, clumsy at first, wings flailing in uneven bursts and her hind legs scrabbling against the earth. She wobbles, falters—but refuses to stop. Her determination burns through the uncertainty.

And then... with a sharp beat of her wings and a final push, she lifts. The ground slips away beneath her, and for the first time, she’s weightless. Free. Her form steadies midair, a shiver of triumph crackling down our bond.

Wind tears through the canyon as she rises, and something primal stirs in my chest. Pride, fierce and full, swells in my heart. She’s clumsy but determined and watching her take the sky for the first time nearly drops me to my knees.

My fated, fireborn mate. My equal. Her wings catch the thermals, her body sways until she finds her rhythm. A shriek leaves her throat, surprised and exultant, echoing through the sky like joy wrapped in wildfire.

I take to the sky beside her, wings catching the updraft just as hers do, our movements syncing like muscle memory passed through the bond. I fly slightly ahead, angling my body to shield her from a sharp gust, guiding her through the thermals and unpredictable winds. Every wingbeat from her sends a surge of pride through me—she’s learning, adapting, rising.

My place is beside her now. Leading. Commanding. Not just as her alpha, but as her mate. Just flying with her, flame to flame.

We rise together above the clouds. The world is nothing but firelight and sky, painted in streaks of orange and molten gold. The air is crisp and thin, carrying the scent of ozone and ash, stinging our nostrils with the memory of fire. Wind ripples along my wings, cool at the edges, sharp with altitude, and I glance sideways to watch her—Ember—soaring beside me.

Her movements are uncertain but graceful, like instinct dancing with discovery. This high, everything below disappears—there’s just her, me, and the endless stretch of sky burning with dawn. Her eyes are wide, her thoughts blazing through the bond. Wonder. Awe. Power. And something else—acceptance. The kind that doesn’t need words, just wings.

She is not afraid. Not anymore. Her fire isn’t just power—it’s freedom. I feel it in the beat of her wings, the way her roar echoes with purpose. The girl who stood trembling in the flame is gone. What rises now is something forged, not broken. Something fierce. Something unstoppable.

And the world just became a lot more dangerous because of it. I feel it in my bones—pride like molten steel, a fierce joy that makes my chest ache, and a low thrum of fear humming beneath it like embers that won’t die. She’s not just fireborn. She’s the prophecy made flesh. The one the world will either worship—or try to destroy. And that makes her powerful... and a target. My target to guard. My fire to shield. My mate to defend with flame and fang until my last breath.

CHAPTER 17

EMBER

Power hums beneath my skin like a living current. And yeah, it’s kind of badass, but it also scares the crap out of me. What if I lose control? What if I can't go back? Confidence and panic chase each other around in circles, neither quite winning—but for now, I ride the high. Which, frankly, is both awe-inspiring and a little annoying—like my body installed an invisible espresso machine without asking. I feel like a walking caffeine overdose with wings and attitude.

I swear I could vibrate my way through granite. It hasn’t stopped since the shift. Since I became... more. Not just Ember Vale, Fire Investigator. Now I’m Ember Vale, newly made dragon-shifter. I haven’t found the words yet, but my body knows. The fire knows. It moves with me, inside me, through every breath and heartbeat. It’s terrifying. And exhilarating. And okay, more than just a little badass.

I stretch my wings testing the feel of air, weight, and balance. The ghost of flight still lingers in my bones, a memory my muscles haven’t fully shaken—an ache and a thrill that lingers like an aftershock. Just thinking about being airborne again sends a flutter of anticipation through me. There’s freedom in the sky—limitless and wild—that I’ve never felt anywhere else.

No expectations. No ground to tie me down. Just wind, fire, and the sheer wonder of what I’ve become. It clings to me like wind in my lungs, a silent rhythm beneath my skin that whispers of sky and freedom. I remember the weightless rush, the raw joy of breaking gravity’s hold. Nothing else compares.

I’m back in human form now, wrapped in one of Dax’s oversized thermal shirts, perched on a rocky outcrop near the canyon's edge. The sunrise paints the sky in shades of molten copper, setting the cliffs ablaze in light that mirrors the fire still simmering under my skin. And for the first time in days, I feel... alive. Not just breathing. Not just surviving. Burning.

Behind me, Dax clears his throat. "How’s the afterburn?"

"Like tequila and bad decisions," I say, rubbing my shoulder where the dragon mark still glows faintly under my skin. "Only hotter."

He chuckles, but there’s a reverent edge to his gaze. "You handled it better than anyone I’ve seen." He rubs the back of his neck, like he's not sure if he’s impressed or a little unnerved. "Most would’ve melted down. Literally."

"You mean I didn’t incinerate myself?"

---