Welcome back to the Overworld, where things are not going Yullik's way at all...
14th Sun Month, 788 Cloud Era
THERE WAS SO much blood. Yullik stepped over the shattered remains of the door, feet crunching over charcoal, claws raking through ash. He had no words. He was hollow inside as he stared around the wreckage of what had once been his home.
Black blood covered the walls. Bodies littered the floor. Smoke still hung in the air.
His kaz-naghkt had been slaughtered.
For two hundred years he’d lived in these mountains, hiding, grieving, plotting and planning, brooding on his fate and nursing his hatred. For two hundred years he had been safe. No one had known where he was. No one had dared to look for him. He had been feared and reviled, and he’d liked it. His kaz-naghkt had terrorised the Overworld, made enemies of the mighty Rift Riders and finally brought them low.
Yullik walked through the ruins of his mountain fortress, carved straight from the rock, buried beneath tonnes of ice, snow and stone. No one had known it was here. No one except for him. No human had ever found it. No human had even tried.
Bones cracked under his feet as he turned in a slow circle, taking in the death and destruction, the unmistakable signs of fire and magic.
For two hundred years he’d fought against the Overworld. For two hundred years he’d punished them for his existence. And he’d been wrong.
It wasn’t humans who deserved his hatred; it was dragons.
Clenching his fists until his claws dug into his palms and made them bleed, Yullik closed his eyes and breathed in deep, feeling the fire of his power rise within him, filling the hollow spaces, making him burn. The old rage ignited, but this time it was the dragons who would pay.
Claws clicked as his escort landed outside. He opened his eyes to a world washed in gold and stared at the unconscious Rider lying limp in his kaz-naghkt’s arms.
Yullik smiled and lifted the woman into his own. “Come, little Wingborn,” he crooned. “We have work to do.”
~ Next Chapter ~