The descent into the Abyssal Caverns lasted nearly an hour.

No one spoke anymore.

The deeper the initiates traveled beneath Dragon Rite Citadel, the more the mountain itself seemed to swallow sound. Torchlight flickered weakly along colossal stone passageways carved through black volcanic rock while cold mist drifted across the stairways beneath their feet.

Far below, dragons were waking.

Lyra could feel it.

Not hear.

Feel.

The sensation moved through the stone like distant thunder, vibrating faintly beneath every step as though something ancient stirred deep within the mountain’s heart.

The initiates descended in silence between lines of black-robed priests carrying dragonfire lanterns.

Some students whispered prayers beneath their breath.

Others stared straight ahead, pale with dread.

No one looked at Lyra.

Not directly.

After the previous weeks, even standing near her had begun feeling dangerous.

Every dragon inside the Citadel reacted differently whenever she approached.

Some became violent.

Others fled.

A few simply froze in unnatural silence.

And now the Rite itself had begun beneath storm-dark skies while the dragons beneath the mountain grew increasingly restless.

Everyone understood what that meant.

Something was wrong.

The final stairway opened at last into the Dragon Bridge.

The cavern stretched beyond comprehension.

Even the oldest cathedrals above the mountain felt small compared to this place.

Massive stone bridges crossed an endless abyss where dragonfire burned far below in rivers of molten gold. Ancient pillars vanished upward into darkness while colossal chains hung between cliffs carved directly into the mountain’s interior.

And everywhere—

dragons.

Hundreds of them.

Some rested upon enormous stone platforms carved into the cavern walls. Others slept half-submerged within volcanic pools glowing dimly beneath the darkness. Vast wings shifted slowly in the shadows while golden eyes opened one by one as the initiates entered the sanctum.

The sound of breathing alone filled the cavern like distant storms.

Ancient.

Heavy.

Alive.

The Dragon Bridge Rite had existed longer than the kingdom itself.

This was where dragons chose riders.

Or refused them.

High Priest Malachar stepped onto the central bridge overlooking the abyss while silver-armored dragon knights lined the surrounding platforms above.

“Tonight,” his voice echoed across the cavern, “dragonkind shall judge the souls of mankind once more.”

The dragons watched silently.

“Walk the bridge without fear,” Malachar continued, “and perhaps the skies themselves will remember your names.”

Several initiates visibly trembled.

Because every student knew the truth hidden beneath the ceremony.

Sometimes dragons killed those they rejected.

Not often.

But often enough.

The Rite began immediately afterward.

One by one, initiates crossed the massive stone bridge suspended above the abyss while elder dragons observed from the darkness surrounding them.

Some students were ignored completely.

Others received acknowledgment.

A bronze drake lowered its head before one initiate from the western kingdoms, earning cheers from the surrounding knights.

Another student nearly collapsed crying after a crimson-scaled wyvern touched its forehead briefly against his chest.

Cassian crossed near the middle of the ceremony.

The reaction was immediate.

Silvermoon descended from the upper sanctum like moonlight given form.

The enormous silver dragon landed gracefully upon the far side of the bridge while students and priests alike lowered their heads in reverence.

Silvermoon was beautiful in the terrible way avalanches were beautiful.

Ancient silver scales reflected dragonfire across the cavern while pale eyes studied Cassian with unmistakable recognition.

The bond between them radiated through the sanctum like sacred light.

The perfect rider.

The perfect dragon.

Exactly what Dragon Rite Citadel believed the world should be.

Silvermoon lowered its head.

Cassian placed one gloved hand against the dragon’s snout.

The surrounding initiates watched with awe.

Even Lyra.

Because despite everything, part of her understood why entire kingdoms worshipped dragon riders.

For one fleeting moment, dragon and human looked equal.

Then Silvermoon lifted its head suddenly.

Its eyes snapped toward Lyra.

Everything changed instantly.

The silver dragon recoiled violently.

A deep growl thundered through the sanctum.

Students screamed as Silvermoon’s wings exploded outward across the bridge while chains along the surrounding cliffs rattled violently from the force.

Cassian stepped backward in shock.

“Silvermoon—”

The dragon ignored him completely.

Its gaze remained locked on Lyra.

Fear.

Not rage.

Fear.

A sound unlike anything Lyra had ever heard escaped the ancient creature’s throat—low, broken, almost warning-like.

Then dragons throughout the cavern began waking all at once.

The atmosphere shifted violently.

One massive drake tore free from sleep near the eastern cliffs with an enraged roar that shook the entire mountain. Another slammed against stone restraints deep below the bridge while volcanic fire erupted upward from the abyss beneath them.

Panic spread instantly.

“Control the sanctum!”

“Seal the lower gates!”

“Move the initiates!”

Priests shouted over the chaos while dragons throughout the cavern began roaring into the darkness.

Not one.

All of them.

The sound shattered through the sanctum like the beginning of war.

Massive wings unfolded across the darkness overhead.

Ancient beasts rose from volcanic pits.

Chains snapped somewhere beneath the mountain.

Students fled screaming toward the upper bridges while dragon knights rushed to contain the panic spreading through the cavern.

But nothing could stop it.

Because every dragon inside the sanctum had turned toward Lyra.

Every single one.

The air itself seemed to shake around her.

A bronze wyvern lunged against its restraints trying to reach the central bridge. Another drake slammed its skull repeatedly against stone while ancient roars echoed endlessly through the abyss below.

Flames erupted across the cavern walls.

The mountain trembled.

Lyra stood frozen at the center of the bridge while chaos exploded around her.

This was it.

This was how she died.

She had always known it would end like this.

Cassian reached her first.

He seized her arm hard enough to bruise.

“We have to move.”

Another roar shook the bridge beneath them.

Students were already fleeing upward toward the stairways while dragon knights struggled desperately to control the sanctum.

But the dragons were not attacking the others.

Only her.

“Cassian—”

“Don’t speak.”

Silvermoon remained crouched near the far bridge platform, trembling visibly now. The silver dragon’s eyes remained fixed somewhere beyond Lyra.

Not on her.

Behind her.

Cassian saw it too.

Slowly, the color drained from his face.

Because suddenly—

every dragon in the sanctum fell silent.

Completely silent.

The transformation happened instantly.

One moment the cavern thundered with chaos.

The next—

nothing.

No roaring.

No chains.

No movement.

Only silence vast enough to crush breath itself.

Even the volcanic fires below dimmed.

The dragons had stopped moving entirely.

Every head within the sanctum slowly lowered toward the abyss beneath the bridge.

Submission.

Lyra felt the change deep inside her bones before she saw it.

Something ancient had awakened.

The darkness below the bridge shifted.

Then the mountain breathed.

A single exhale rolled upward from the abyss beneath Dragon Rite Citadel—deep enough to vibrate through the stone foundations themselves.

Students froze.

Priests backed away in horror.

One elderly dragon knight whispered something trembling beneath his breath.

“No…”

Cassian stared downward into the darkness below the bridge.

For the first time since Lyra had known him—

he looked afraid.

Not uncertain.

Not uneasy.

Afraid.

Then two golden eyes opened beneath the abyss.

Ancient light flooded the cavern.

Not ordinary dragonfire.

Something older.

The darkness itself seemed to recoil as an enormous shape slowly emerged upward from beneath the mountain.

The Crowned Dragon.

Vaelthor.

The oldest living dragon beneath Dragon Rite Citadel.

Three hundred years had passed since anyone last claimed to see him.

Most believed he no longer existed.

Others believed he had abandoned mankind entirely after the final Dragon Wars.

But now the mountain itself trembled beneath his awakening.

Massive black-gold scales emerged slowly through the darkness while enormous crowned horns unfolded upward like living blades forged from ancient sunlight and obsidian. His body dwarfed every dragon within the sanctum.

Even Silvermoon lowered its head completely.

Vaelthor climbed upward from the abyss with terrifying calm.

Not like an animal.

Like a king entering his throne room.

The entire cavern bowed before him.

Every dragon lowered itself against the stone.

Every rider fell silent.

Lyra could not move.

Vaelthor’s golden eyes settled upon her.

Recognition passed through the ancient creature immediately.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

The enormous dragon approached the central bridge slowly while volcanic mist curled around his scales like smoke around a god descending from myth.

No chains bound him.

No rider commanded him.

And no human in the history of Dragon Rite Citadel had ever stood this close to him and survived.

Cassian stepped instinctively in front of Lyra.

Vaelthor growled once.

The sound alone nearly drove several initiates to their knees.

Cassian froze.

Silvermoon lowered itself further in submission behind him.

Vaelthor’s gaze never left Lyra.

Then slowly—

the Crowned Dragon lowered his head before her.

The entire sanctum stopped breathing.

Ancient crowned horns bowed beneath the mountain.

The oldest dragon in the world knelt before the girl every dragon was supposed to hate.

Shock shattered through the cavern.

One priest collapsed outright.

Another whispered prayers in terror.

Dragon knights stared in complete disbelief while every dragon within the sanctum remained bowed toward the bridge.

Cassian looked at Lyra like he no longer understood the world around him.

And somewhere deep beneath the mountain—

the whispers finally became words.

Not in her mind.

Not in dreams.

Spoken aloud in a voice older than kingdoms.

“Vareth ashkara.”

Vaelthor’s golden eyes burned like living fire.

Then the Crowned Dragon bowed lower.