After the classes ended, Renee didn’t return home.

Her residence—Arcadia’s royal estate—stood quiet behind her, the wrought-iron gates glowing faintly with protective enchantments. Guards had nodded as she passed. No one questioned the princess walking alone in the cold. Not when her steps were this certain. Not when her magic still clung to the wind like heat after lightning.

She hadn’t changed out of her Academy uniform. There wasn’t enough time. Or maybe there wasn’t a reason. Her mind was still caught in that moment during the Dragon Possession, when her magic surged, when her voice wasn’t only hers.

When Varkhaz’thar spoke inside her head.

“We need to talk.”

And when a dragon tells you that, you listen.

She made her way through the lower city, then beneath it. Past the old stations, the long-forgotten tunnels, down through layers of stone that only she and a handful of others knew how to open. One barrier seal. Then another. Then, a blood-locked gate.

Beyond it, silence.

Then breath.

The catacombs opened before her like a cathedral carved into the world's bones. The space was enormous, dimly lit by runes that glowed only when her footsteps touched the stone.

Seven figures shifted in the dark.

Seven dragons.

Varkhaz’thar moved first—obsidian-black scales gleaming like molten rock hardened into glass. His eyes burned green, deep, and old.

“You came,” he said, voice as steady as the earth.

Renee stepped forward. “You called.”

“You used the bond. You called on my fire again.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she replied. “A dragonshifter student lost control. I had to stop him.”

“You did. And the others saw.”

The other dragons began to move—massive, elegant, regal.

Seravexa, red-scaled and sinewy, her jet-black eyes sharp as obsidian knives. Aetherion, shimmering in blue like starlight on water. Tharionel, green as the deepest forest. Zephyros, cloaked in silver light. Aurindrel, a radiant titan of gold. And Caladros, ghost-white, silent, still.

“They felt the call,” Varkhaz’thar said. “They remember the power that saved them.”

Renee looked up at him. “Is that why I’m here? Because they’re scared?”

“No,” he answered. “Because we’re tired of being hunted.”

Renee folded her arms, not out of defiance but of readiness. “Say what you need to say, Varkhaz’thar.”

He lowered his head slightly so his eyes met hers. “You freed us once. You gave us a choice. But freedom is fragile, and loyalty without bond is a weakness the world will exploit.”

“You want me to bind you,” she said quietly. “All of you.”

“Yes.”

She glanced around the circle of giants. “You know what that means. Once the bond is done, your power is mine to wield. Your lives, tied to mine.”

“We know,” he said.

“I could command you.”

“You won’t,” Varkhaz’thar said simply.

Renee took a breath. “You used to serve the dragon king.”

His gaze narrowed. “We did until he fell silent. Until we were captured while he looked elsewhere.”

She frowned. “You think he abandoned you?”

“I think he became two things,” Varkhaz’thar said. “The dragon spirit that still burns in the king’s vessel is worthy. Noble. Loyal.”

He paused, then added, “The human who shares that body… I do not trust.”

Renee nodded once. She didn’t press. She didn’t need to. She already knew who he meant.

“Why me?” she asked. “Why now?”

Varkhaz’thar’s voice lowered. “Because I tested you. I watched. I waited. You never asked for our power. You bled for us without demand. And when you finally called my name, it was to save a life—not to destroy one.”

She looked around the circle again. Each dragon now stood watching her, unmoving but not indifferent.

“They’re ready,” Varkhaz’thar said. “If you are.”

She turned back to him. “And if I say no?”

“Then we will wait again,” he said. “But you know the world is shifting. There are whispers already. Enemies preparing. The chains we escaped may one day return—and not everyone will ask nicely.”

Renee’s hand rose unconsciously to her right shoulder—the mark of her first bond, where Varkhaz’thar had left his seal.

“You want to ensure no one else can ever bind you.”

“No one but you,” he said. “If we are yours, no one else can claim us.”

Renee exhaled slowly.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it. I’ll prepare the ritual. Give me twenty-four hours.”

One by one, the dragons dipped their heads.

“You will not regret this,” Varkhaz’thar said.

Renee met his gaze. “Let’s hope not.”

Then she turned and walked past the ancient stone, through spellbound gates, and into the city night that no longer felt quite so silent.

Friday came cloaked in cold wind and overcast skies as if the world held its breath.

Renee walked through the catacomb gates again, but she wasn’t alone this time.

Damien walked at her side, silent, steady. He hadn’t asked questions. Not when she told him what she planned. Not when he saw the calm in her face, the fire in her eyes.

“I don’t like this,” he said finally as they reached the ritual chamber.

“You’re not supposed to,” she replied.

Torches lit on their own as they stepped into the wide stone circle carved into the floor—a dragon-forged sanctum no human had stood in for centuries. At its edges, the sovereigns waited.

Varkhaz’thar stood to the north, massive and quiet. The other six formed a ring around the ritual space: Seravexa, Aetherion, Tharionel, Zephyros, Aurindrel, and Caladros. Each radiated power and tension as if they understood what this would cost.

Renee stepped to the center. The dragons didn’t need instruction.

One by one, they moved forward. Each used a talon to slash open a vein near the forearm—letting their blood, thick and glowing, spill onto the carved channels of the circle. It hissed as it touched the stone, weaving toward her like a living fire.

When the last of them had offered their blood, Renee drew a dagger from her belt. Without hesitation, she sliced her palm, letting her blood fall into the center.

The magic ignited instantly.

Ancient runes burned white across the ground, symbols that hadn’t been spoken aloud in centuries lighting the circle like sunrise.

Renee raised her hands and began to chant—not words from any common tongue, but the language of dragons and the forgotten. It twisted the air, thickened her breath, and sent pressure pulses through the chamber.

Then she knelt.

Slowly, she turned her back to them.

“I’m ready,” she said, voice steady but quiet.

The pain came fast.

Each dragon stepped forward in turn. Each carved their mark into her back—claws slicing through her skin, burning their essence into her. Not just cuts. These were brands, living contracts etched into flesh and soul alike.

Renee didn’t scream. But her breath stuttered. Her hands curled into fists against the floor. Sweat rolled down her spine, mixing with blood as each sigil glowed.

Seravexa’s burn came sharp and vicious.

Aetherion’s was cold and deep.

Tharionel’s carved, warm, golden lines pulsed as if alive.

Zephyros’s mark chilled her bones.

Aurindrel’s scorched like light itself.

Caladros felt like an eternity dragged across the skin—silent, slow, and final.

When the last mark was set, the ritual seal closed with a flash of gold and shadow. Renee collapsed forward, arms giving out, her face pale, and her chest heaving.

Damien didn’t wait.

He stepped into the circle and scooped her up as gently as possible—though his method wasn’t exactly graceful. She lay limp over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Apologies, your highness,” he muttered. “Can’t let your back touch anything, so this is what we’ve got.”

One of the dragons chuckled—Zephyros, she thought—but her consciousness was slipping.