Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Power ignited—and kept igniting. This wasn't the polite whisper of her ice magic or the tame frost that once kissed her fingertips. This was something older. Hungrier. It tasted like the heart of a glacier, like the silence before an avalanche, like the first killing frost of winter. It flooded her cells until she couldn't tell where she ended and the cold began.
She was not human.
She had never been human.
She was a dragon.
The realization struck her with the force of a physical blow. All those years of hiding and believing she was broken, wrong, Lowly. . .
She had been a goddess in chains.
And now the chains had shattered.
Her massive back exploded with sensation as something massive tore free from her shoulder blades. Not pain—not exactly—but pressure, release, expansion.
Wings!
Her wings burst outward with a thunderous crack, ripping through the atmosphere like divine blades. They tore open, vast beyond comprehension—translucent membranes of ice-blue stretched taut between jagged white bones that could puncture mountains. Frost erupted along their edges in violent crystalline bursts, not merely shimmering but blazing with cold fire.
The wings began to flap and didn't just catch the air—they seized it, dominated it, commanded the very heavens to bend to her will.
And Sol didn't just stop falling.
She conquered gravity itself.
The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced. One moment she was plummeting toward death, and the next. . .she was floating.
Sideways.
Ohhhhhh!!!
Her massive new body hung in the air at an awkward angle, wings beating unevenly, tail thrashing for balance she didn't know how to find. She wasn't flying so much as. . .flailing.
Marvelously.
What. . .how do I. . .get control?
Her wings flapped again—too hard on the left, too soft on the right—and she spun in a dizzy circle, the world wheeling around her in a blur of blue, white, and gold.
This is impossible. This is insane. This is. . .glorious.
The thought came unbidden, rising from somewhere deep in her new dragon heart. Because it was glorious. The power thrumming through her veins. The strength coiled in her muscles. The way the wind bent around her wings like a lover's caress. She understood now. Why Korin called himself a god.
From above, Pyrran's voice split the sky. "She really is a dragon!"
No mockery now.
No laughter.
Just hunger.
But, Sol didn't care.
She was too busy trying not to tumble out of the sky.
Her wings beat frantically, each stroke sending her lurching in a different direction.
Left.
Right.
Up.
Down.
She had no idea how to control this body. It was too big, too powerful, too everything. Every movement felt exaggerated. Every twitch of a muscle sent her careening through the air.
How do dragons do this?!
She tried to straighten out, to level her wings the way she had seen Korin do. But her body refused to cooperate. Instead of gliding forward, she pitched backward, her tail whipping over her head as she somersaulted through the clouds.
No! No! Wrong direction!
She roared in frustration—and sound didn’t come. Instead it was a massive symphony of ice and fury. A stream of frost shot out from her jaws in a glittering spray, crystallizing the clouds around her into delicate frozen sculptures that shattered in her wake.
Beautiful. Terrifying. Mine.
Something was changing inside her. Not just her body—her mind. Her thoughts were sharper now. Clearer. More focused. The terror was still there, but it was being swallowed by instinct.
Spread your wings. Feel the current. Let the wind carry you.
Sol listened.
She stopped fighting her body and started feeling it instead. The way the air moved beneath her wings. The way her tail could shift to change her direction. The way her claws could tuck or extend to affect her speed.
And slowly—painfully, awkwardly, gloriously—she began to fly.
Not well.
Not gracefully.
She wobbled, dipped, and nearly crashed into a passing cloud. But she was moving forward. She was staying in the air.
And then—for one perfect moment—the wind stopped fighting her. It cradled her instead. Slid beneath her wings like silk. Cool and sweet against her scales, a pleasure she had no human word for.
I'm flying. I'm actually flying!
A sound escaped her—half monstrous roar, half animalistic laugh—and more frost burst from her jaws, painting the sky with ice crystals that sparkled like diamonds.
She was power.
She was. . .
escaping.
The thought hit her as she glanced over her shoulder and saw them coming.
The two dragons in the distance. One from the south—gold and black, wings beating furiously, golden eyes blazing with desperation.
Korin.
And one from the north—black and silver, larger than the other, those terrible moon-bright eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her scales prickle.
Pyrran.
They were coming for her.
Both of them.
And they looked like they wanted to eat every inch of her.
And then her body betrayed her. Heat bloomed low in her belly—sudden, unwanted, entirely wrong. It spread through her scales like wildfire licking through dry grass, pooling in places she refused to name.