Azraeth's POV
"Your mother awaits us there."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Through the bond, I feel Mireya's shock turn to rage so hot it burns.
"My mother?" she says, her voice dangerously quiet. "The woman who sold me is in the Ashlands?"
"She has lived there for twenty-seven years," Mordaine rumbles as we soar through the night sky. "Hiding from the angels. Hiding from her shame."
Mireya's hands burst into black flames. The fire doesn't hurt Mordaine's scales, but I feel the heat. Through the bond, her emotions are a storm—betrayal, fury, desperate need for answers.
"Easy," I tell her. "Control the fire."
"I don't want to control it!" She's shaking. "She sold me before I was born. Put a binding necklace on me as a baby. Made me think I was worthless my whole life. And now she's just... hiding? Waiting?"
"There is more to the story," Mordaine says. "Much more. But she must tell it herself."
"Why should I believe anything she says?" Mireya's voice cracks.
Because you need closure, I think. Because not knowing will eat at you forever. But I don't say that. Instead, I put my hand over hers. The flames die down.
"You'll get your answers," I promise through the bond. "And if you don't like what she says, I'll let you burn her."
She almost laughs. Almost.
Below us, the city lights fade away. We're flying over wilderness now—dark forests and empty fields. In the distance, I see a red glow on the horizon.
The Ashlands.
I haven't been there in five hundred years. Not since the angels hunted my kind to near extinction and turned it into a forbidden zone. But I remember. Volcanic mountains. Rivers of lava. And magic so old and powerful it makes the air itself shimmer.
"How much farther?" Mireya asks, her voice tired.
"Not long," Mordaine answers. "But be prepared. The Ashlands are not safe, even for a Dragon-Keeper."
"What lives there?" I ask.
"Things the angels couldn't kill. Things they chose to imprison instead." The dragon's voice is grim. "Demons who escaped your fate, Azraeth. Wild magic that gained consciousness. And creatures older than both our kinds."
Perfect. Just perfect.
The red glow grows brighter. Soon I can see the Ashlands clearly—a wasteland of black stone and flowing lava. Volcanic peaks jut into the sky, spewing ash and fire. The heat hits us even from this height.
Mordaine descends toward the largest volcano. At its base, I see structures—ancient buildings carved from obsidian, protected by shimmering magical barriers.
"The Sanctuary," Mordaine says. "Where those fleeing the angels found refuge."
We land on a flat expanse of black stone. The moment my feet touch ground, I feel it—power. Raw, untamed, ancient power soaking into the earth. This place pulses with magic.
Mireya slides off Mordaine's back, her new wings folding against her. She looks exhausted. The night's events are catching up to her—the summoning, the awakening, the battles, the revelations.
Through the bond, I feel her wavering. She wants to collapse. But she forces herself to stand straight.
Strong girl.
"Where is she?" Mireya demands.
Before Mordaine can answer, a door in the nearest building opens. A woman steps out.
She's older than Mireya but I can see the resemblance—same brown eyes, same stubborn chin. She wears simple clothes and her hands are shaking.
"Mireya," she breathes.
Mireya's entire body goes rigid. "Mother."
Helena Ashcroft takes a step forward. "You came. I didn't think you would after—"
"After you sold me to a witch?" Mireya's voice could cut glass. "After you bound my magic? After you made me wear that cursed necklace for twenty-seven years?"
Helena flinches. "I can explain—"
"Explain?!" Black flames erupt from Mireya's hands. "You're going to explain why you traded your own daughter to Lilith Blackthorn before she was even born?"
"I had no choice!" Helena's voice breaks. "The angels were hunting Dragon-Keeper bloodlines. They killed your father when I was pregnant with you. They were coming for me next. Lilith offered protection in exchange for—" She can't finish.
"For me," Mireya finishes coldly. "You traded me to save yourself."
"To save you!" Helena steps closer, tears streaming down her face. "The angels would have killed you the moment you were born! At least with Lilith's contract, you lived. You grew up. You had a chance—"
"A chance?" Mireya laughs bitterly. "I grew up thinking I was worthless! Powerless! You bound my magic so tightly I didn't even know what I was!"
"Because if you'd known, you would have tried to use it. And the angels would have sensed it. They would have found you." Helena is sobbing now. "Every day I wore that necklace around your neck, it broke my heart. But it kept you hidden. It kept you alive."
Through the bond, I feel Mireya's anger wavering. She wants to hate her mother. Wants it to be simple—villain and victim. But it's not simple. It never is.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Mireya whispers. "When I was older, why didn't you explain?"
"Because I was a coward." Helena looks at her daughter with devastated eyes. "I told myself it was to protect you. But the truth is, I couldn't face what I'd done. Couldn't face your hate. So I let you think you were ordinary. Let you blame yourself for being weak." She falls to her knees. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Silence falls. Only the distant rumble of volcanoes fills the air.
Then Mireya does something I don't expect.
She walks to her mother and kneels down. Her hand, still glowing with faint black flames, reaches out. For a moment, I think she's going to burn her.
Instead, she touches Helena's face gently.
"I can't forgive you," Mireya says quietly. "Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I understand why you did it."
Helena grabs her daughter's hand, crying harder.
Through the bond, I feel Mireya's emotions—pain, anger, but also grudging understanding. She's stronger than I thought. Stronger than Morwenna ever was.
"Touching reunion," a cold voice says from the shadows. "But I'm afraid it's about to be cut short."
Everyone spins around.
A figure steps from the darkness between buildings. Male, tall, wrapped in black robes that seem to absorb light. His face is hidden by a hood, but I can see his eyes—glowing red, like hot coals.
Power radiates from him. Ancient demon power.
"Who are you?" Mordaine growls, moving protectively in front of us.
The figure laughs. "Don't you recognize me, old friend? It's been five centuries, but surely you remember." He pulls back his hood.
My blood turns to ice.
I know that face. Those scars. That cruel smile.
"Impossible," I whisper.
"Hello, brother," he says.
Brother?
Through the bond, Mireya feels my shock. My horror.
Because standing before us is someone who should be dead. Someone I watched the angels execute five hundred years ago.
My younger brother. Kael.
The demon who betrayed me to the angels in the first place.