Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - The Ceremony of Making

Night devoured the poppy field. Shandar ran, each breath burning in her lungs, the weight of darkness pressing against her spine like a physical force. Ahead, a golden light pulsed between the distant trees, salvation, if she could reach it. The light retreated as she advanced. Always the same distance away, no matter how she strained. Behind her, laughter rippled through the darkness, low, patient, amused. The sound of a predator toying with its prey. Shandar's foot caught. The ground rushed up to meet her, and she landed hard, palms and knees scraping against… Not dirt. Not poppies. Amber wheat stalks swayed around her, bathed in sudden, impossible sunlight. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the tranquility more terrifying than any darkness. This peaceful field didn't belong in her nightmare. Something was wrong. Fire bloomed across her neck. She slapped at it, finding nothing. A lone bird wheeled overhead against a brilliant blue sky. Its cry pierced the silence, a single note of warning. "Soon," whispered the laughter, now at her ear. Darkness flooded back like ink in water. Shandar scrambled upright, clawing at the air, trying to escape what she couldn't see. When she turned, the sound slammed into her skull. She clapped hands over her ears. And saw it. The dragon's face materialized from shadows, scales like blackened armor, eyes burning with ancient knowledge. It regarded her with the patient malice of a creature that had watched empires crumble. "The Mistress will fail," it said, each word grating like stone against stone. Shandar dropped to all fours, memory of her mother's stories flashing through her mind, dragons meant death, always death. She crawled over sharp rocks that bit into her palms. Ash filled her nostrils, the scent of destruction already accomplished. The dragon's prophecy followed her: The Mistress…