Sword of the Fallen by G.J. Ogden

“Long has it been since I tasted the reek of mortal flesh in these caves…”

The voice was sensuous, like a troubadour, and eloquent like a scholar, yet Kyhrax’s words shook Selene’s chest with the immensity of a thunderstorm. Opposite, from inside the dark recess of the mountain, a shape

emerged. Talons like swords gripped and splintered the rock, sending shards of grey-black stone tumbling into the magma below. Selene drew back, her burning eyes pressed wide, but she was frozen in fear and awe. Next, a diamond-shaped head emerged, followed by a long, elegant neck. In moments, the dragon’s full form—one hundred and eighty feet from snout to tail—had been hauled from the opening by powerful limbs the breadth of great oaks.

Selene remained on her knees, head bowed, body shaking with terror and reverence, dread and admiration.

She had thought herself ready to face Kyhrax, an audience ordained in magical visions, yet all the force of her will could not compel her to meet the dragon’s incandescent gaze.

“Why disturb my solitude, mortal?” Kyhrax asked as the dragon clawed its way across the cavern walls to within striking distance of the pilgrim who had invaded his lair. “There are easier ways to die.”

The dragon’s wings expanded, blotting out the light from below and casting the cavern into near-darkness. The smell of sulfur was suddenly gone, and instead the air around Kyhrax crackled with a sharp, biting tang. It was like the sky before a storm, heavy with the promise of lightning. Selene felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and her entire body prickled as if she had been imbued with a sliver of the dragon’s magical essence.

Then Kyhrax beat his wings, knocking Selene to the ground.

“Speak, woman, lest I burn you to ash!”

The cavern shook violently as Kyhrax roared his demand. His breath, suffocating and thick with outrage, whirled around the vast chamber, forcing Selene to grip the hot stone ledge as if she were suspended from it, clinging to it for life. It was all she could do to avoid being swept up in the vortex and cast into the pit of fire. Then, the dragon’s stifling breath abated, and steadily Selene lifted her chin. The physical exertion needed to move her exhausted body paled compared to the struggle of gazing upon the Flame of Zarag-Gul.

“Great Kyhrax, I pledge myself to your cause,” Selene said, her voice little more than a whimper. She rocked back to sit on her heels, then from inside her robes, she lifted the pendant hung from the steel chain around her neck. “Through this crystal heart, I have dreamed of a world where dragons, not mortal kings and queens, rule the seven realms.”

Kyhrax narrowed his orange eyes and drew his long neck closer, peering at the crystal in the young woman’s hand. He extended a single talon, as long as Selene’s body. Then, with a deftness and delicacy belying his colossal size, the dragon hooked the chain and pulled the pendant toward him.

“These dreams… I have seen them,” the dragon replied, its rumbling voice suddenly softer. “Yes… I remember you now, Selene Morgrave, discharged scholar of the Pillar of Commerce.”

Kyhrax turned his head and peered at Selene through his other eye. Selene did not move a muscle. She dared not.

“You pledge yourself without reservation, stealer of relics and dreams,” Kyhrax added. “But this is not the crystalline heart that I seek.”