Lightning cracked, illuminating the sky as the sounds of war echoed through the night. Imogen tossed and turned, feeling a heavy unease in her chest.

  Imogen despised war. As an herbalist, it was her duty to help and heal anyone in need, regardless of who they were. But this feeling was different, like a part of her own soul was slipping away. Something deep inside tugged at her, pulling her toward an unknown fate.

  The sound of rain thudding against the window shattered the silence, jerking Imogen awake. A sharp pain pierced her chest, making her gasp for breath. Sweat beaded on her forehead as her hand instinctively pressed against her heart, as though that alone might ease the ache.

  Just as she began to regain her bearings, a deafening roar shattered the night, vibrating through her bones.

  Imogen bolted upright, her long black hair tumbling down her back. She threw on a clean white tunic, cinching a worn leather corset tightly around her waist. Her hands moved fast tugging on the only pair of pants she owned, lacing up her boots, snatching her cloak from its hook. She grabbed her medical satchel and flung open the door.

  Without hesitation, she ran heart pounding, feet flying chasing the invisible pull tugging deep inside her, guiding her without question.

  The forest loomed, dark and wet, thunder rumbling overhead. Lightning flickered through the trees, casting brief glimpses of her path in ghostly flashes. She was still shaking off sleep when voices drifted through the trees low, male, and far too close.

  She crouched into the underbrush, lungs burning as she tried to still her breath. If the soldiers saw her alone, unarmed it wouldn’t end with warnings. Her village was tightly bound in rules, and the men who bore the crown’s crest didn’t hesitate. To them, women weren’t people. Just property. The thought curled in her gut like rot.

  Imogen had dealt with men like that before. Men who laughed off her protests. Who thought no meant try harder. She shuddered at the memory.

  She had no one left to protect her.

  Elanor had told her the truth when she was old enough to understand not some tale of abandonment, but a quiet, painful confession spoken by firelight. Imogen’s mother hadn’t left her to be forgotten. She had placed her in Elanor’s arms with trembling hands and tearful eyes, whispering that she would return once it was safe. But she never did.

  And still, Elanor never spoke of Cordelia with bitterness.

  “She loved you, Immy,” she’d say softly, brushing back her hair. “Fiercely. Enough to walk away, if it meant you'd live.”

  Imogen had clung to that love, even if it came secondhand. And over the years, Elanor became her whole world, the only voice that ever made her feel safe, the only hands that ever made her feel held.

  She wasn’t just a guardian. She was home and now... she was gone…

  As the voices drew closer, Imogen could finally make out their words.

  “Where the hell did that damn thing fly off to?” one voice growled.

  Another, gruffer and more authoritative, responded, “We need to find that creature. The captain won’t be thrilled if we don’t bring back its head.”

  Then, a deeper voice bellowed through the night, carrying an air of command.

  “DRAGON!”

  Imogen’s heart skipped a beat.

  Without a second thought

  The soldiers took off in the direction of the shout.

  Once the sound of their footsteps faded, Imogen cautiously poked her head out from the bushes, scanning the area.

  The pull she felt was still strong but, to her relief, it was in the opposite direction of where the soldiers had gone. There was no way in hell she wanted to cross paths with a dragon. And yet… a small part of her hoped the creature had escaped safely.

  She knew all too well how close dragons were to extinction. News of another one being slain reached her village far too often.

  Though she wasn’t naive she understood the danger dragons posed to humans it was hard to stomach the knights’ relentless pursuit. It wasn’t about survival or protecting the kingdom. It was about power. Prestige. The promise of royal favor.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The dragons, in all their ancient majesty, had become nothing more than trophies to be claimed. Their lives traded for titles and nothing more.

  Imogen moved quietly through the woods, the strange pull inside her now almost suffocatingly close. As she approached a long-abandoned mining cave, half-collapsed from years of neglect, a sharp, metallic stench filled the air.

  Her stomach twisted. Someone was inside hurt and hiding.

  But she couldn’t just walk in. Not with the war raging on. Anyone inside that cave would likely react first and ask questions later. They’d assume she was an enemy.

  How could she prove she meant no harm? How could she show she was here to help? What was she even supposed to say?

  “Hey, I felt this sudden urgency and it led me here to you”?

  She rubbed her forehead in frustration, unsure of what to do or why she was even out here in the first place.

  After a long pause, she called out softly, “Hello? Is someone there? I mean no harm, but there’s... there’s a concerning amount of blood, and I’m not even sure you’re still alive.”

  Imogen stood there in the rain, waiting for a response from the mineshaft.

  But nothing came.

  The air reeked of blood. It could’ve been the site of a battle.

  That tightness crept back into her chest, unease washing over her like a wave.

  She let out a long sigh and clutched her medical bag.

  “I really hope you’re alive. I’m coming in, so you better not be dead, damnit.”

  She crawled through the narrow opening, questioning her own sanity.

  Why the hell did she choose tonight of all nights to be crazy?

  A bad storm. A war. And a damn dragon on the loose.

  And here she was, crawling into an abandoned mineshaft in the middle of the night...

  All for a hunch.

  Hoping that someone was in there.

  Hoping that they were still alive, and that she was willing to risk everything.

  Imogen crawled into the cave, mildly relieved to be out of the rain but now, without the light from outside, she was swallowed by darkness.

  She reached into her bag, pulling out one of her large candles and setting it in front of her. With practiced ease, she grabbed her flint and steel. Working in the dark was nothing new. She knew this bag like the back of her hand. Every bandage, every vial, every tool had its place.

  There was no one left in the world she could rely on. Not since her last family member had passed less than two months ago.. It was just her now. Her and this storm.

  And maybe… someone bleeding out in a damn cave.

  Her hands stayed steady as the candle finally flared to life. She held it aloft, letting the flickering light illuminate the space ahead.

  Blood.

  Still more blood.

  Too much.

  Whoever was in this cave… if they were still alive, they were either unbelievably lucky and protected by some ancient god or they weren’t human.

  She followed the trail, now forming small pools along the uneven cave floor. That strange pull she’d felt earlier was stronger now, tugging at her chest, guiding her deeper.

  “Hello?” she called, her voice echoing through the tunnel. “Are you alive? I just want to help. Please be alright!”

  She stepped carefully over a jagged rock, the candlelight flickering wildly.

  “Are you a fallen soldier? An innocent bystander caught up in this awful war? There’s a dragon on the loose, we should really get out of here!”

  She paused, eyeing a particularly large smear of blood that looked far too fresh.

  “You know what? I take it back. Judging by this, I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about than some silly dragon.”

  Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Sorry. It’s just... a little unsettling, walking into an eerie cave with a trail of blood and no response from anyone.”

  She turned a corner

  And froze.

  A large figure was hunched over, slumped in on themselves and covered in blood. The faint glow of her candle barely reached them, casting long shadows that danced across the cavern walls.

  Imogen didn’t think, she ran.

  The figure wasn’t moving. They were seated in a massive pool of blood, their body still.

  Too still.

  Her instincts kicked in. She skidded to a stop beside them, eyes scanning quickly.

  It was a man… tall, broad, and dressed in an unusual set of armor that struck her as both barbaric and knightly.

  Dark steel armor covered the left side of his body. A heavy pauldron sat on his shoulder, trailing into a long gauntlet that wrapped around his arm like a second skin.

  But the right side was exposed, revealing something far stranger. Black scales. They were fused to his skin in jagged patches, crawling up his arm and disappearing beneath the pieces of armor still clinging to his body.

  Her eyes climbed higher, landing on his helmet, made of the same dark steel, but more sinister. Two jagged, dragon-like horns jutted out from either side, right where a human’s temples would be.

  Imogen swallowed hard. Her candle trembled in her grip.

  She tore her eyes from the helmet and looked down, finally spotting the source of the blood… a deep hole torn into his hip. He was slumped against it, likely unconscious from blood loss.

  She dropped to her knees beside him, staring at the armored leggings.

  “Gods,” she muttered. “How the hell am I supposed to get these off? By the gods, what did he get hit with, and how is he still alive?”