crown of flames

Chapter 22– Scarlet's POV

Some people wake up to birds.

I wake up to a dragon whispering in my skull like an unhinged ASMR podcast.

---

I didn't sleep.

I didn't even close my eyes.

Not really.

The moment my head touched the pillow, the world tilted — and the silence wasn't silent anymore. It pulsed. Like something alive crawling under my skin.

Then came the voice.

"You hear me now."

My lungs locked. "Syraen?"

"Names are for chains." The tone slid sharp through my veins, deep and resonant, carrying weight no human throat could hold. "Do you know why you are blind?"

"Uh—because I stared at a magical throne until it burned the retinas out of my head?"

The ground shook under my feet. Except there was no ground — just endless black, veined with molten light.

"You jest because you fear."

"Congratulations," I snapped, "you figured out how humans work."

"You are not human."

My throat tightened.

Syraen didn't roar. Didn't shout. She didn't need to. Her words coiled like chains, and every loop pulled tighter.

"Your blindness is no punishment," she continued, "but a passage. You seek with eyes what must be heard in blood. Sight is not flesh. Sight is soul. And you—" The hum sharpened into a growl. "—you have forgotten how to listen."

I curled my fists. "Then teach me."

"Listen deeper."

"I am listening—"

"No." Her voice cracked the dark like thunder. "You hear echoes. You chase noise. You must follow the hum beneath the heart. Do not doubt it. Do not question. Doubt is death."

"Yeah, super comforting."

"Silence."

The air thickened, folding in on itself, and suddenly I wasn't floating anymore.

The void bent, reshaping, blooming into something bigger — something alive.

And then I saw her.

Or maybe I didn't see. Maybe I felt her shape burn into the marrow of my bones.

Syraen rose like a storm given skin — about 20 feet tall on hind legs, her body a silhouette of scales made of wind and mist, molten veins running under a surface that refused to stay solid. Her wings unfurled like shattered constellations, slicing the black with veins of molten gold.

She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't terrifying. She was both, braided into a form my mind could barely contain.

Her head lowered toward me, eyes blazing like fractured suns.

And for the first time, I understood why ancient people prayed to dragons like gods.

Because if she wanted to, Syraen could unmake me with a breath.

"You are mine," she said. "And you will rise."

"I'm trying," I whispered, and for once, the sarcasm didn't come.

"Not enough." Her voice rolled like thunder breaking mountains. "The moon turns soon. When it is full, the seal shifts. Your time ends. Claim your sight by then, or lose it forever."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"You have weeks, little storm. A moon's cycle to awaken what slumbers. Fail, and the dark will claim you. Blindness will root. You will fall."

"No pressure."

"You jest again." Her teeth flashed like blades of bone and fire. "Perhaps you do not understand the weight. So I will speak plain: no dragon blind may live. When your sight dies, your fire dies. When your fire dies…"

Her pause was a blade sliding slow.

"…you will not survive the dawn."

I swallowed hard. "So… no pressure."

She ignored me this time. "To awaken, you must bind blood to origin. The first scale. Mine."

"Great. So where do I pick that up? Amazon?"

The temperature spiked, and for a second, I felt heat like a forge against my skin.

"The scale is hidden where the dead whisper and shadows keep watch. The catacombs beneath your den of stone."

"You mean the school?"

"You call it a school. It is a graveyard of secrets. A labyrinth of ghosts and teeth. Your first breath waits there. One scale, tucked deep where fear feeds."

"Okay," I said slowly, "so I just… waltz into a haunted underground maze, grab a magic scale, and what—pop it in my pocket? Sounds super doable for a blind girl."

Her growl rolled like an earthquake.

"No one can walk this path but you. The bond cannot bear another hand. Take no guide. Speak no word. When you descend, you descend alone."

My chest tightened. "Alone? Are you kidding me? Have you met this place? It eats people for breakfast."

"And if you fail, it will eat you too."

The darkness behind her shimmered, flickering with flashes — visions, maybe.

Me, crawling through stone tunnels slick with blood.

Eyes glowing faint blue in the dark.

Hands reaching for something jagged, burning.

And then—

Teeth.

Snapping shut.

The image sliced out as fast as it came.

I forced my voice steady. "And if I don't do it?"

"Then die blind."

---

The void cracked.

Heat roared.

And Syraen lunged — not to strike, but to swallow the world whole. Her maw opened wide, and the black folded inward like fire sucking air, dragging me down, down—

---

I gasped awake.

Sheets twisted around my legs. Sweat slicked my skin. My heart slammed like war drums inside my chest.

The room was dark, quiet — except for a voice behind me.

"Wow," Dexter drawled from the doorway, crunching on something. "Judging by the way you nearly launched yourself into another dimension, I'm guessing Dragon Hotline had some important updates?"

I dragged a shaky hand down my face. "Go away."

"Nope," he said cheerfully. "Not until you tell me why you look like someone just threatened to eat your soul and floss with your spine."

I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the words burned in my mind like a brand:

One scale. Full moon. Or blind forever.

And worse?

Alone.

I clenched the sheets, pulse still stuttering.

Catacombs. Haunted, flesh-eating catacombs.

Totally fine. Totally casual.

Nothing like a light stroll through a death maze to spice up my academic life.

I forced a laugh that sounded nothing like laughter. "You ever get the feeling the universe hates you?"

Dexter popped another bite of whatever he was eating and grinned. "Constantly. Welcome to the club, Princess."

But as he left, humming some ridiculous tune, I whispered the words Syraen branded into my bones:

"One scale. One moon. No doubt."

And deep inside, I heard her hum again.

Waiting. Watching.

Ready to burn the world if I falter.