A Witch and her Dragon 002

Chapter 2

    The ebony blade had been forged in the fires of his brother’s breath. The Onyx clan was not known for making deals; yet when Zalum, the eldest son, crossed paths with a shunned demigod Gannuk, he was offered a bargain too tempting to refuse.

    Azrael still remembered the night his brother betrayed him. The mountain winds had been fierce, snowfall heavy and relentless. His wings strained against the storm as he fled— still a fledging, barely strong enough to fight back. Then came the dagger: obsidian-black and hungry for power, sinking into his side, forcing him into his more vulnerable human form. A battle between brothers followed, a clash of blood and fury, ending with young Azrael dangling off the edge of a cliff.

    Zalum had never cared for Azrael. He hadn’t marked his birthe, his first shift into humanoid form, or his first flight. Perhaps, as the eldest, he’d grown weary of the endless ritual and reverence surrounding new hatchlings. Or maybe, he had simply always seen Azrael as nothing more than ‘Mother’s favorite little lizard’.

    It was hard to really say, Zalum’s mind had already been tainted with jealousy and resentment, his heart set on claiming what he believed was rightfully his when Azrael was chosen as the next leader. That night, he earned his claws- and the godsd favored him for it. They spared his life so he could end his brother’s.

    Azrael stretched his wings, allowing the rising sun to cast a warm glow across his scales, each reflecting a brilliant orange shimmer. His slit-shaped dragon eyes opened, locking onto the small cottage across the field. The memories of his brother’s betrayal returned to the realm of forgotten dreams. His eyes took in the dilapidated state of the shack, one good shake and it would come tumbling down around.

    His little witch had lived there for a decade, alone, exposed, and unprotected.

    Why had she refused his mountain? The nagging thought at the back of his mind, as it always did. Surely a castle carved from his mountain was better than this swampland. The humans who lurked here lacked appreciation for what they had; she was beyond them in all ways.

She was a dragon’s witch. His mate’s status was above mortals. Yet here she was, living amongst them, acting as healer and oracle.

    Azrael exhaled a slow, hot breath, shifting with ease back into his human form. The transformation left lingering heat in the air, dissipating as he pulled on last night’s worn clothes. Without hesitation, he strode forward.

    

    She had stayed away long enough. He would reclaim what was his.

    Sabel had tried to fall asleep, but whispers that crept through the walls of her home interrupted every attempt. She lay awake, alone in the darkness, waiting for sleep that never came, only hearing the echoes of screams.

    The cries of countless victims resonated, souls imprisoned within the Ebony Blade, their torment woven into its cold steel, forever denied rest. Their tortured wails clawed at her mind, desperate to be heard- tales of suffering, of those who had fallen at the hand of the dagger’s cruel edge.

    At first glance, the weapon appeared unassuming - a simple dagger in a realm brimming with mages and beasts. But appearances were deceiving. The blade was more than mere steel and edge - it was corruption incarnate, dark magic fused into every tempered inch.

    She knew that she had to get rid of the dagger before its sinister aura consumed her, mind, and soul - just as it had done to Roric.

    Urgency drove her to act. The sun had barely begun its slow ascent when she fastened her cloak at her neck and slipped from her cottage to fetch her horse. Her plan to ride to the Temple at the forefront of her mind.

    She stopped in her tracks when the familiar silhouette walked her way.

    

    “Finally leaving this little backwater dump, my darling?” His eyes gave her a solicitous once-over, and despite herself, Sabel felt her cheeks warm. It was too early, and she was too weary for such banter.

    

    Ignoring him, she made her way to her horse, attaching her bags to the saddle.

    

    “I see that my little witch is back to ignoring me. It’s a shame there is no one as entertaining as you, I fear,” he chided.

    

    “And I find I cannot care, dragon,” she retorted coolly.

    Golden eyes flash, and within the blink of an eye, Azrael is standing right in front of her, his head blocking the morning sun. His golden-scaled arms grip the side of the saddle, stopping her from hopping on. 

    

    “And where are you off to so early? At least tell me your destination,” he demanded.

    Sighing, Sabel confessed, “My coven. I’m returning to the Temple.”

    “Ah, the band of little prude witches - how droll, my darling. And on horseback, too. Surely you know there are far better ways to travel these days,” he teased.

    Hiding back a snarl, “I don’t have time for this,” she thought.

    “What do you want, Azrael? You have left me alone for years, and that suited me just fine. Your presence now changes nothing.”

    “Left you alone? You refused to stay!” he blustered, unprepared for her sharp retort. “You don’t listen to your instincts at all! Do you think it has been easy for me?”

    “Ah, yes! Your very sane and stable instincts!” she snapped. “I was a respected witch—I had my own business and life before you stole me away. You think parading me around your mountain like a dragon’s prize was what I wanted?”

    Azrael’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. For once, he had no charm to cloak himself in.

    Sabel threw her satchel over the saddle and hoisted herself up in one practiced motion. “You want honesty? It wasn’t the cage. It was realizing I’d rather be alone than worshipped by someone who never once asked what I wanted.”

    He stared at her, wounded pride flickering just beneath the gold of his eyes.

“And now you’re here,” she said, tone icier than the wind off his cliffside keep. “But you’re not here for me. You’re here because I vanished. Because the Blade took me from your senses. Not because you missed me.”

    That last word hung in the air like ash.

    Sabel turned from him, jaw set, and led the horse forward with practiced ease. “I have a journey to begin. You’re not part of it.”

    She gathered the reins, prepared to ride past him. But the air shifted.

    Heat shimmered. Magic thickened.

    Behind her, Azrael exhaled a guttural breath that vibrated through the soles of her boots. And then—crack—wings burst outward with a sound like splitting stone.

    She barely had time to shout before her horse screamed beneath her.

    In seconds, the dragon towered where the man had stood—obsidian-scaled, golden-eyed, his body blocking the narrow trail that led out of the woods. He said nothing, but the warning was clear as flame.

    You will not pass me.

    The horse reared and stomped nervously, pinned by the heat radiating from his massive form.

    Sabel swore under her breath, gripping the saddle horn to steady herself. Her fingers tightened, not from fear, but fury. That familiar fire in her chest—the one he always thought meant love—sparked to life again.

    Not tonight.