Curse Of The Shadow Dragon Novels & Stories

Still they came. Dozens of them. Shadow dragons given form, their scales dull and slick with darkness, their eyes burning with the mark of Vraeleth’s corruption. They circled him like flies, their wings blotting out the sun. But he surged upward, breaking through their ranks, light trailing from him like a comet’s tail. He kept attacking the dragons fatally, until the air began to twist. Something ancient stirred above him, unseen but suffocating. The sky itself seemed to warp. His flames faltered as the light dimmed, shadows spilling like ink across his wings. He felt it then.

At least a dozen of them, each radiating corrupted magic that made my skin crawl. "Shadow beasts," Drake breathed in horror. "The cult's ultimate weapon. Created by fusing souls with dark magic. They are—" "Unkillable," Malachar finished, his confidence returning. "Congratulations on breaking free, little Luna. Now watch as my pets tear you apart, and your precious rebirth magic proves useless against true darkness." The beasts charged, and our moment of victory became a desperate fight for survival.

But it did not break. The flame was still there. Curled tight. Suppressed. Alive. The Voice fell silent. The hall grew darker. Sky closed her eyes. And with lips tasting of blood she whispered, “The dragon does not bow. It only sleeps. And when it wakes… it will not ask. It will destroy.” The hall pulsed like a living heart inside something dark and hungry. She did not know how long she had been there. Time in the Shadow World had no order. Minutes felt like hours. Hours did not exist.

I grabbed its ankle with both hands and let my shadows pour into it, burrowing under the scales and tearing at whatever they could find. The dragon screamed. It kicked me off and I flew backward into one of the broken statues. Stone shattered against my spine and I dropped to my knees, vision swimming. Get up, Xahen. I forced myself to my feet. The dragon was limping now, black char pouring from the wounds my shadows had left. But it wasn’t done. It was pissed and hurt and that made it more dangerous, not less. It charged. I met it head on. My shadows wrapped around its neck and I pulled myself up onto its back, digging my fingers into the gaps between its scales. It thrashed and bucked and

Then, they blinked. I reacted instantly, moving in front of her and shoving her back toward the bed as she stumbled but didn’t protest and her eyes locked on the darkness outside. The shape emerged slowly peeling itself away from the night as though the shadows themselves had birthed it. A figure, tall and lean moving with the wrong kind of grace too fluid and too unnatural. It wasn’t a wolf and it wasn’t human but I knew the stories. Shadowborn. Whispers from my childhood clawed through my head. Creatures born of curses and hunting the bond between mates. Neither wolf nor man. Beasts that thrived on what was most sacred to us, feeding on the connection the Moon Goddess forged.

I asserted, and she chuckled as she shook her head. “There was no curse, Austin. I just fabricated one to keep you from having pups because others would kill them for their differences. I also know now that the council will take them to raise if they show signs that they are druid wolves. Don't have children,” she warned softly, and I narrowed my eyes. It certainly felt like a curse. Knowing that Eva would want pups, I pinched my mouth and reluctantly nodded. “Have you ever had premonitions or heard others' thoughts?”

Behind her: the beating hearts of her people. Within her: the beating hearts of her children. Before her: the storm she could not run from. But up in the skies, it was Drakonios who became the fury of legend. The shadowdrake Malric had summoned was no ordinary beast—it was forged from curses and chained souls. Its wings were ragged sheets of darkness stitched with barbed enchantments. Its eyes burned a sickly green, and its scales shimmered like oil over bone. Drakonios met it in mid-air, flame trailing behind him, gold and white fire spiraling off his claws. His roar echoed across the valley, shaking snow loose from distant peaks.

The library descends into an uncomfortable silence, one I'm itching to break but I don't say anything, patiently waiting for him to speak. “Did you see the rift?” I nod. “It wasn't there when I left.” “And it's just the beginning. Even before you left, the shadows in our realm had intensified but we've been able to keep them at bay and prevent things from escalating. And now we have rifts.” Leaning back on his couch, fatigue washing over his face, he sighs, “Who knows what else will come? The human realm is collapsing, so is our realm but at a more obvious level.”

Unshaped flames fired from every other side of it as if to burn anything that came closer to their circle. Cursed patterns, weird shapes, blinding lights. All these things reminded her of a ritual of some sort. And since Soyet, the brewer of such a potion that seemed to have triggered this occurrence, was a shaman, rituals probably were a domain of his. As such, he must have been the one to scheme this magnificent show. “That old man,” she whispered with a grin.

But the Wyres are dangerous. Their bite is lethal to Shifters and, if you do survive, you turn into one of them. The curse is transferred through your bloodstream, killing your spirit and replacing it with a monster. They’ve been trying to get their revenge ever since, killing us simply because of an old myth that might not even be true. But, to be fair, we kill as many of them as they kill us. If there are talks of peace, that would be…historical. Impossible. And definitely something I deserve to know about as Princess.