The ground was hotter here.
Even in a land where rivers of fire ran like veins through stone, this place was different. Beneath Vezdaryon's claws, the black rock shimmered not from the light above, but from some deeper force below. The mountain he stood upon hissed like a breathing beast, each exhale coming with a low rumble that wasn't sound so much as sensation like the very world groaning in its sleep.
Vezdaryon stood still, wings tucked close to his body, golden eyes scanning the land before him. The entrance yawned open before him, a wound in the mountain's skin, wide, jagged, and pulsing with a sick red glow. It wasn't lava. The light moved wrong. It flickered in patterns, like it was thinking.
He hesitated.
And he hated that.
He wasn't a hatchling. He had soared over the Stepstones and burned the bones of wyverns. He had conquered the skies of Essos, faced fire, fang, and storm. And yet, here at the edge of this gaping maw, his limbs felt heavy, stiff with warning. Something deep in his chest some sliver of memory from the boy he once was-was screaming.
Don't go in.
But he moved.
Down into the mountain.
The path twisted sharply. Heat rolled over him like waves, but not the open, honest heat of the sun or lava it was close, suffocating, hungry. The walls narrowed at points, forcing him to crouch low, and the air was thick with the scent of scorched metal and something fouler… something rotten.
Crystals jutted from the walls, sharp and jagged, humming faintly with a frequency that made his teeth ache. Faint glyphs glowed beneath ash, symbols lost to time and tongues long dead.
The tunnel opened abruptly and without warning.
It was a cavern, larger than any he'd ever seen, so vast the ceiling was swallowed by shadow. A circular chasm yawned at the center, its edges jagged and charred. Lava poured from cracks in the walls, spiraling downward in thin, elegant streams. But even that spectacle faded into nothing against it.
It was coiled around the pit.
At first, he thought it was just another ridge of stone massive, twisted, and blackened. But then it moved. Just slightly. A twitch. A breath.
It was alive.
Vezdaryon froze.
The thing had no wings. Its body stretched endlessly, thicker than any ship he'd seen, covered in obsidian scales that shimmered like oil. Long, overlapping plates lined its back, and spines arched from its body like broken spears. Its tail disappeared into the far shadows. Its face if it could be called that was narrow, too long, horned, with a maw stitched closed by time or intent. No lips. No nostrils. Only a faint steam curling from between the cracked bones of its jaw.
Then it opened its eyes.
All four of them.
They were not dragon eyes.
They were voids filled with flame.
Vezdaryon stepped back. Instinct took over. His wings flared, his throat ignited with flame, but he didn't breathe it not yet. His heart pounded against his ribs, harder than any battle. The world felt smaller. He felt smaller. He had seen skeletons bigger the ships and houses one even bigger than a castle, the wyverns of Valyria, even the glowing fire-worms.
But this thing?
It reduced him.
The creature didn't rise.
It didn't roar.
It watched.
And Vezdaryon panicked.
He turned and bolted muscles snapping, wings slamming against the cavern walls as he forced himself backward through the narrow pass. The crystal-covered rocks sliced at his sides, but he didn't care. He pushed through, crashing into the tunnel, sparks and molten stone scattering in his wake.
Behind him, the thing shifted again. Not fast. Not violent.
Just… aware.
A sound rumbled through the stone—not a roar, not a growl, but something worse.
A low vibration that made Vezdaryon's head ache, his vision blur. It was like language—but older than words. Older than dragons. A presence, speaking through stone, through pressure, through fear.
By the time he burst into open air, Vezdaryon was gasping his wings wild and uneven as he scrambled skyward, rising in dizzy, spiraling loops. The cold air of dawn hit his scales, searing like ice, but he didn't stop. He climbed higher, higher, until the ground was a blur, the mountains a distant dream.
Only then did he stop.
He hovered there, wings stretched, chest heaving. The sun had just begun to rise. The sea glistened on the horizon. Birds circled far below, too small to matter.
And yet…
He trembled.
Not from cold. Not from pain.
But from a fear so deep it clawed at the last shreds of who he'd once been.
That thing.
It was ancient.
It was wrong.
He had no name for it. No understanding. It wasn't a dragon. It wasn't a fire-worm. It wasn't natural. It was like the mountain had grown a soul and filled it with hatred and patience.
And yet… as he floated in the sky, shaking from a fear he hadn't felt since he was barely more than a hatchling.
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Hope you enjoyed the chapter