Romans & histoires Curse Of The Shadow Dragon

I readied myself to fight, eyes traveling back over to the dragonstone. I needed to get to that dragonstone right away. If I were able to reach it, I might be able to harness enough of the power inside it to reach the other dragons. By convincing them, I was hopeful I’d be able to make them see reason. Convince them to stand down. Dragon magic was ancient and something I couldn’t fully understand, but what I believed it was sending at us were these shadow dragons. Literal dragons made of shadows. The group of us was ready to fight, lashing out at the shadows as the dragon tried to gain as much power as it could.

Not from any wolf. Not from the First Beast. Something far older. Something far larger. The stained-glass ceiling shattered. Dark clouds swirled overhead. Through the opening, I saw an enormous shadow moving across the sky. Two crimson eyes opened within the darkness. The Shadow Dragon. Its body stretched beyond the clouds, so immense that it blocked the moon itself. Even from miles away, its presence made the earth tremble. Seluna looked at me with urgency. "The Veil has weakened faster than I feared."

The hooded figures began to chant, their voices rising in a dissonant, haunting harmony: “Born of the shadow, the flowers shall rise. Through the vessel’s pain, the old world dies.” The Vhalir watched the carnage with a look of serene boredom. He watched as the blood reached the center of the sigil, where a single, black flower made of obsidian and shadow began to sprout from the stone. He stood up, his golden hair catching the dim light of the torches. He looked toward the ceiling, as if his gaze could pierce through the miles of earth and stone to find a small apartment where a boy was waking up from a nightmare.

​It all points to a traitor’s hand. ​I pace the room, my boots thudding softly on the woven rug. The blood moon looms in less than two weeks, its crimson hunger a relentless drumbeat echoing in my veins. The Shadow Curse is a blade resting directly against Liora’s throat. Without the medallion, the ritual is shattered.

Thunder rumbled, but the sound was distorted, almost sentient. On a vast open field stood a creature of pure nightmare. Shadow Scale. The massive dragon towered above them, its body covered in black scales that absorbed light. Each scale shimmered like shifting shadows, alive and breathing. Its eyes glowed a deep, hellish red—radiant, intelligent, and hungry. Its wings stretched across the field like a living eclipse, blotting out what little light dared to exist in the Demon Realm. Shadow Scale snorted, releasing a cloud of red mist that corroded the grass instantly.

“You are the Commander, but you cannot command destiny. You cannot touch her because your aura will crush her. You cannot reject her because the bond will kill you both. You are trapped, Draven. We are looking at a living nightmare.” I closed my eyes, forcing Karl’s furious roars into a corner of my mind. We've heard stories of dragons tearing themselves apart because they could not survive the loss. True mates were rare precisely because the bond was merciless. It gave everything or destroyed everything. “Then she stays ignorant. I stay away and pray to the Creator that the world never finds out what she is to me.”