Streets of Ravetham

As the jet’s doors opened, the fading light of the setting sun cast an orange glow over the jagged landscape. Valerian’s coffin, a sleek, obsidian case engraved with intricate runes, was carried down the ramp by the necromancer and two attendants—maids and butlers dressed in dark, formal attire.

The necromancer, a thin figure shrouded in tattered black robes, moved silently beside them. His bony hands were covered in arcane symbols, fingers twitching occasionally as if the magic within him sought to escape. His face was hidden beneath a hood, though Kaelen could feel his gaze even without seeing his eyes.

As they made their way closer to the mountain of destroyed machinery, Kaelen’s steps faltered. Before them, sprawled across the ruins, lay Zagoth.

Zagoth was massive, far beyond anything Kaelen had ever imagined. The inky purple of his scales shimmered in the light, catching the last remnants of sunlight and casting an eerie glow across the wreckage. His body was the size of their jet—twice over—with wings that extended even further, leathery and torn in places, draped like a blanket of night over the broken machines. His horns curled backward, black as void and jagged like obsidian spikes, with faint glimmers of electric-blue energy coursing through them. Each breath Zagoth took shook the ground slightly, and his eyes—deep, glowing pools of violet—seemed to pierce through Kaelen’s very soul.

Hovering near Zagoth was another, much smaller dragon. Her peach-colored scales gleamed faintly as she flitted around restlessly, her movements sharp and erratic.

It took them twenty minutes of tense, silent walking to finally approach Zagoth. Kaelen’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, every step toward the dragon making him feel smaller and more insignificant. The necromancer, butlers, and maids laid Valerian’s coffin gently on the ground and, in perfect synchrony, dropped to one knee and bowed deeply to Zagoth. Kaelen stood still, unsure of what was expected. Confusion gnawed at him, but before he could react, Zagoth’s booming voice filled the air.

“Little sister, land so I may get this over with.”

The smaller dragon, previously soaring above, plummeted to the ground with reckless abandon. Her landing shook the earth, creating a crater around her, sending debris flying in all directions. The impact nearly knocked Kaelen off his feet, and he struggled to keep his balance. Up close, he could see her more clearly—the scales were a soft peach, but beneath them, powerful muscles rippled, barely contained by her small frame. Her eyes were wild, red slits that burned with untamed fury.

Zagoth’s gaze shifted to his little sister before his deep voice resonated once more, each word carrying immense weight. “My little sister is still feral, without a name, without speech, bound to her primal instincts. This is why I called you here today, Kaelen."

At that moment, a kobold scurried out from beneath a pile of wreckage near Zagoth. Small and scaly, with bronze skin and beady yellow eyes, the creature wore a lab coat and protective goggles. It pulled a briefcase from the debris and stood beside Kaelen. Kaelen barely managed to hide his shock; he should have anticipated Zagoth had minions hidden nearby, but seeing one so close unnerved him.

“A dragon can only gain true sentience by consuming another dragon’s heart… or forming a pact with someone they value, someone they need." Zagoth’s massive head lowered, eyes locking onto Kaelen. "I want you to help my sister. Force a pact with her, and I promise you will be rewarded.”

Before Kaelen could respond, Valerian’s coffin began to shift. The atmosphere grew heavy, as a dense red fog spilled from the edges of the coffin, wrapping around them like a living mist. Despite the thick fog, Zagoth and his sister were still clearly visible. The coffin lid slowly lifted, revealing Valerian as he rose from the depths within.

The butlers and maids moved quickly, dressing him in layers of dark velvet and leather. As they finished, Valerian spread his arms, his voice low and measured, but with an edge of warning.

“I foresaw such a situation, Zagoth. I know you seek a sacrifice for this plan of yours. But have you told my son how many have tried and failed to form a pact with her? Does he even know what it means to give a dragon its true name, to grant sentience where there is none?”

Zagoth remained silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly before he finally spoke. “The risk is worth the reward, Valerian. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t believe in your son’s potential. You, too, see the possibility of his success.”

Valerian gave a slight, knowing smile, gesturing toward one of the maids holding a briefcase. She stepped forward, opening it to reveal a contract—ancient and glowing faintly. The kobold opened its own briefcase, and another contract floated out. The two contracts collided in mid-air, fusing together before a swirling, black inky pit opened on the ground.

From the pit, a succubus emerged, nearly nude, her skin a deep crimson. Kaelen felt his body react involuntarily, his eyes lingering on her before he quickly averted his gaze, fighting against the surge of arousal. The succubus sauntered forward, plucking the glowing contract from the air with a wicked smile.

“This is a tricky one,” she purred. “But for two thousand souls, I can make the success rate… seventy-three percent.”

The necromancer didn’t hesitate, producing a jar filled with what looked like fine white sand. He handed it to her, and she inspected it before smiling wider. “Now, I’ll need blood from both the contractees.”

Kaelen, still battling the whirlwind of emotions—fear of Zagoth, lust for the succubus, and the utter confusion at the situation—could barely think straight. Valerian’s voice cut through the haze.

“What do you say, son? Want to tame a dragon?”

Before Kaelen could stop himself, the words slipped out of his mouth. “Who wouldn’t?”

In that instant, something sharp pierced his chest, stabbing into his heart. The pain was unbearable, and his vision blurred as blood flowed freely from the wound. He felt his strength fading fast, and then everything went black.

The succubus marked the contract with his blood before moving to the dragon. Zagoth, with a swift motion, jabbed one of his massive claws into his sister’s chest, drawing blood. Unlike Kaelen, she did not falter, her eyes burning brighter as the contract absorbed both of their blood. The letters on the contract floated off the page, searing themselves onto the wounds of both Kaelen and the dragon. The burning sensation closed the injuries instantly, leaving behind intricate marks on their skin.

Kaelen had survived the blow to the heart, something few before him had managed. Zagoth’s sister, meanwhile, began to change. Her feral, wild eyes softened, and her body, though still draconic, started to take on a more humanoid form. This ritual, one that had ended in failure so many times before, had succeeded—Kaelen’s survival was the proof.

Zagoth, though he had once sworn never to allow his kin to pact with lesser beings, had no choice. His sister’s clutch had been destroyed, leaving her without rivals. Zagoth himself had long ago formed a pact with his mate, but she had left him, taking their children when Zagoth refused to surrender in his war with Delphinus.

Now, his sister would forever bear the form of a two-legged primitive, cursed but sentient. She could finally communicate and live knowing her true name.

When Kaelen awoke, he found himself lying on a bed aboard the jet. His chest was sore, and as he gingerly inspected the wound, he saw a tattoo in the shape of an ouroboros etched over his heart, the ink so fine it looked almost like a whisper on his skin. As he glanced up, he realized he wasn’t alone.

Sitting beside him, staring with intense, red-slit eyes, was a girl. Her wild, frizzled pink hair framed her face like a chaotic halo, falling past her shoulders in untamed waves. Her skin had the faint shimmer of scales beneath its surface, and her body was lean, muscular, yet graceful. She wore tattered, draconic armor, pieces of what seemed like her former scales fashioned into jagged shoulder guards and gauntlets. Her claws still extended from her fingers, faintly glowing in the dim light.

Her eyes met his, and for the first time, she spoke.

"My true name... is Seraphis."