Chapter 1 Chapter One: The Offering

The temple of forgotten gods was quiet beneath the moon. Its crumbling pillars leaned like weary sentinels, its broken roof opened to the night sky where silver light poured over the altar. Time had stolen its sanctity; dust clung to broken statues, ivy crept across its walls, and prayers had long gone unanswered.

Serenity stood barefoot on the cracked stone, her white gown whispering against her ankles. The air was sharp, biting at her skin, yet she did not shiver. She had been taught to walk with grace even when her knees weakened. She had been raised knowing this night might come.

But knowing did not make it easier.

Her people gathered in the shadows beyond the temple steps, their faces hidden in the gloom. She could feel their eyes on her—some weeping, some whispering, all afraid. None would speak her name aloud. To do so was to risk breaking, and they could not afford to break.

The high priest stepped forward, his robes trailing dust as he carried the silken cords. His voice echoed hollow against the temple walls.

“Serenity of Eryndor,” he intoned, “you are chosen. By your sacrifice, our land will be spared. By your offering, the harvest will be blessed. May the gods receive you, and may their silence end.”

The words rang false. The gods had not answered in generations. Even now, as she knelt before the altar, Serenity felt only emptiness pressing in from above. The night sky was vast, the stars glittering cold, and no divine presence stirred.

The priest wrapped the cords around her wrists. They were soft, almost tender, but they might as well have been chains of iron. She lowered her head, forcing her breath to steady, forcing her body not to tremble.

If this is the price, then I will pay it.

The chant began. Voices rose in low unison, carrying promises of devotion into the night. Smoke from the last incense sticks curled upward, gray and fragile, vanishing before it reached the stars.

And then—something shifted.

The air thickened, warm and heavy. Serenity lifted her head, frowning. A strange scent drifted through the ruined temple—smoke, but not from incense. It was sharp, alive, threaded with the heat of embers.

Her heart quickened.

A sound followed: a low vibration, deep and resonant, as though the earth itself had taken a breath. The priests faltered in their chants. One dropped his censer; the metal clattered against stone.

The shadows between the pillars stirred.

Serenity’s eyes widened as something vast moved in the darkness. A figure stepped forward, tall and terrible, outlined by moonlight. His presence filled the ruined temple, each step ringing like thunder though his boots made no sound.

His hair was black as midnight, flowing like smoke. His eyes—gold, molten, alive—burned brighter than the torches. Power rippled off him in waves, thick enough to make the air vibrate.

Serenity’s lips parted in a silent gasp. This was no priest. No god. No mortal.

The priests fell to their knees. One cried out in terror. Another fled, robes billowing as he vanished into the night. The crowd beyond the steps broke into chaos—mothers clutching children, men shouting in fear, all scrambling to escape.

But Serenity could not move.

The stranger’s gaze fixed on her, and the temple seemed to shrink until only the two of them remained.

“You are offered,” he said, his voice low and edged with smoke. The sound rolled through the temple like a storm. “But not to gods who have long abandoned you. You are offered to me.”

The silken cords on her wrists seemed to tighten. Serenity’s throat worked as she forced words past her fear. “Who… who are you?”

He stepped closer, shadows bowing away from him. “Lucian,” he said simply, as though the name itself was enough to unmake the night. “Lord of flame. Dragon of the forgotten age. And from this night forth… your fate.”

A chill raced down her spine, though heat radiated from him with every step. She remembered the stories whispered around dying fires: of the dragon lord who had devoured kingdoms, who vanished when the gods fell silent, who could scorch the stars themselves.

“This is not what I agreed to,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I was promised to the gods.”

“The gods are gone,” Lucian said, his tone absolute. “Their temple belongs to me now. And so do you.”

He reached for her, fingers brushing the cords. At his touch, silk smoldered into ash, drifting away on the night breeze. She gasped, jerking back, but the altar held her fast.

“I do not choose this,” she said, louder this time, her voice sharp with a defiance born of desperation.

Lucian’s mouth curved, not in amusement, but in something darker—almost sorrowful. “Nor did I. Yet here we are. Here you kneel, and here I stand. The fates bound us long before your first breath.”

The golden fire in his eyes deepened. His voice dropped to a whisper, yet it carried through the temple, reaching her ears as if spoken inside her mind.

“Every kingdom, every soul, every star… I would burn them all just to keep you.”

Serenity’s breath broke, her chest tightening painfully. The words were not promise, not threat. They were a vow, certain and final.

The ruined temple groaned, its ancient stones trembling as if the world itself remembered the gods it had lost. Dust rained from the cracked ceiling. Outside, the crowd screamed and scattered, their fear filling the night.

But Serenity could not look away. She was caught, bound not by silk but by the weight of his gaze, by the fire in his words.

Terror coursed through her veins, yet beneath it flickered something more dangerous—something that whispered of inevitability, of surrender, of a bond she did not choose but could not escape.

Her knees pressed harder into the stone, the altar cold against her skin. Lucian stood above her, a shadow crowned in firelight, and she knew with dreadful clarity:

She had not been sacrificed to the gods. She had been claimed by a dragon.

And this night was not her ending. It was the beginning of something far worse.

Something that would consume everything.