The wind at the summit of the Obsidian Hatchery didn't just howl; it screamed with the frequency of a dying world. High above the fortress, where the air was thin enough to taste of stars and ancient frost, the Great Drakes of the Obsidian Peak stirred in their stone nests. These were not the dragons of myth, but primordial, fur-clad behemoths—half-wolf, half-serpent, with wings of leathery shadow that spanned thirty feet. They were the "Shadow-Stalkers," beasts that had served the High Alphas since the First Dawn, and they only answered to the resonance of a Hallowed Command.
I stood at the edge of the stone platform, the mark on my palm itching with a cold, sapphire intensity. Every time my heart beat, a shard of ice seemed to crystallize in my veins, a remnant of the High Queen's power that refused to be purged.
