Page 98 of Lost in Fire

Two elite guards reach my daughter before I can intervene, their weapons glowing with anti-dragon runes. I prepare to lunge, but Ember doesn’t need my help. She spins between them like a dancer, one hand trailing dragon-flame, the other weaving spells I don’t recognize. Where her fire touches their enchanted armor, it doesn’t just burn—it unravels the protective magic woven into the metal.

Her magic is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. Where dragon meets witch, new possibilities emerge. Fire that doesn’t just destroy but deconstructs magical barriers. Spellwork that flows with dragon strength. She’s not just powerful—she’sevolved.

I use my massive form to clear a path through the chamber, claws ripping through metal and stone alike. Ember moves in perfect coordination with me, using my bulk as cover while she targets the mages supporting the Syndicate forces. We fight as though we’ve trained together for years—dragon power and witchcraft amplifying each other.

But the Syndicate has armed security teams with years of battle experience behind them. A squad of specialized dragon-hunters emerges from hidden chambers, wielding a huge dragon-forged net. I shriek in rage as I feel the weight of it over my wings. Another tangles around my neck, constricting me.

As I roar in pain and fury, more guards descend on Ember, whose attention is split between her own attackers and my predicament. We end up cornered against the back wall, mymassive form partially restrained, Ember’s magic flickering as fatigue sets in. For one desperate moment, I think this is how we die. Together, finally, but too late for anything else to matter.

And then suddenly, unthinkably, the eastern wall explodes inward with a crash that shakes the foundation.

Stone and mortar rain down as figures pour through the breach. Two massive males lead the charge in partial dragon form—golden scales rippling along muscled arms, claws extended, faces twisted in snarls that reveal too-sharp teeth.

I take in the smooth power, the identical features, and immediately I’m certain that I know who I’m looking at. The Craven brothers.

Holy shit! They came!

The assault hits like a tidal wave. A wolf bounds through the opening, all silver fur and flashing fangs, tearing into Syndicate guards with animal ferocity. Behind it come two dark-haired women—witches, by the emerald fire dancing between their fingers. They don’t move like military units I’ve seen before; there’s something wilder, less regimented in how they spread through the chamber, but they’re still as effective as hell.

More figures emerge from the dust and debris. Some wear insignias I don’t recognize;organized fighters moving with the confidence of people who’ve faced combat before. Others seem to operate alone, raw power compensating for any lack of tactical cohesion.

A man partially shifted into dragon form moves too fast for human limits, cutting through three guards before the first body hits the floor. Nearby, a redheaded woman flickers between forms, copper scales shimmering across her skin one moment, melting into shadow the next.

Through the center of the chaos strides a silvery figure surrounded by unnatural blue flame that parts around allies but consumes enemies without discrimination. Not dragon fire;something older, something that makes my scales tingle with recognition, though I’ve never seen its like before.

They don’t fight as a single unit—I can see at least two distinct groups with different tactics—but their sheer numbers and combined power overwhelm the Syndicate forces like a storm hitting a sandcastle.

The tide turns in seconds.

I watch Ember hold her own against three attackers simultaneously. Her hybrid nature gives her advantages none of them expect. Dragon strength combined with witch versatility, scales that turn blade edges while her magic tears through their defenses.

Vex tries to crawl away from the battle, his ceremonial robes trailing blood. Ember notices him moving and breaks away from her current opponents, pursuit written in every line of her transformed body.

“Going somewhere?” she asks, her voice carrying that same impossible harmonic resonance.

I don’t see what happens next. The crash of battle surrounds me, and I have more immediate concerns.

Hargen.

I fight my way back to the ritual platform, horror growing with each step. The man chained there barely resembles the Hargen I knew. Burns cover most of his visible skin. His hair is gone, singed away in the first seconds of flame. His clothes have fused with flesh in places I don’t want to examine too closely.

But his eyes—those beautiful brown eyes—still hold recognition when they focus on my face.

His lips part around a sound that comes out too broken to be decipherable.

But I know it’s my name.

“I’m here.” I drop to my knees beside the platform, reaching for the chain locks with trembling fingers. “I’m so sorry. I had no choice.”

His breathing comes in short, pained gasps that rattle in his ruined chest. When I finally get the chains off and gather him into my arms, the extent of the damage becomes clear. Second and third-degree burns across sixty percent of his body. Internal injuries from the heat. The scent of charred flesh that will haunt my nightmares for whatever life I have left.

“Lila!” I call out, spotting the witch near the eastern breach. “I need help!”

She appears at my side in seconds, her gray eyes taking in Hargen’s condition with clinical assessment.

“His injuries are severe. We need to get him out now.”

“Can you—?” I start to ask, but she’s already shaking her head.

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