Page 23 of Beneath Scales and Shadows
“That’s not how the castle staff described it,” Sora admitted, remembering hushed conversations about omegas being claimed like property. “I’ve heard whispers that they have to be controlled, that only alphas can tame them—otherwise, they’ll rise up and take over with the unique abilities the Moon Goddess gifted them.”
“Humans perverted the bond.” Zalaya’s feathers ruffled with indignation. “What should be sacred partnership became ownership. Is it any wonder the Moon Goddess withdrew her blessing from their kingdoms? Their deltas lost their magic… and their alphas have been losing their power—their control.”
“Which is why I’m seen as a threat—I’m the symbol of change.” Sora frowned, hating how her life was now pre-determined for her. How this world had politics much different than she could even fathom from her life on Earth. “I’m not only an omega, but a dragon-blood Luna.”
“Preciously.”
They moved deeper into the library, where Zalaya revealed texts documenting dragon metalworking traditions—techniques mixing their magic fire breath with ancient craftsmanship, learned from the elves to help protect their vulnerable betas and deltas when full-scale armor proved impractical.
“This metal,” Sora said, examining a blade displayed in a glass case. “It looks like the dagger I was studying on Earth.”
Zalaya stilled, her head tilting with sudden interest. “What dagger?”
“In the museum where I worked. It had symbols that seemed to move when I traced them.” Sora closed her eyes, recalling the artifact that had fascinated her in her final hours on Earth. The collection that would’ve changed her life with its discovery… and in another way, it had. “Obsidian blade, symbols along the spine. It felt... alive under my touch.”
The harpy approached a sealed cabinet at the far wall, talons inputting a complex sequence that caused the glass doors to slide open. From within, she withdrew an object wrapped in midnight silk, carrying it with extreme care to where Sora waited.
“Like this?” Zalaya asked, unwrapping the bundle to reveal a ceremonial dagger nearly identical to the one Sora had studied.
“Yes!” She reached toward it on impulse, then hesitated. “May I?”
Zalaya nodded, extending the silk-wrapped handle.
The moment Sora’s fingers closed around it, warmth pulsed through her arm—not the shocking jolt she’d experienced on Earth, but a gentle recognition, like greeting an old friend. The symbols along the blade seemed to glow faintly, though they remained fixed in place.
“It was crafted from the talon of the first dragon patriarch,” Zalaya explained. “One of thirteen sacred blades, each possessing ancient power that blesses its wielder—if they are worthy of its gifts.”
“There was one exactly like this on Earth,” Sora whispered, twisting the dagger in her hand, watching her reflection in its blade. “How is that possible?”
“The barriers between worlds thin during certain celestial alignments. Objects of power sometimes cross over.” Zalaya tilted her head, her feathered brow furrowing slightly as her expression turned thoughtful. “If you encountered its twin before your death, it may have recognized your destiny—who you are. The moving symbols would be your mind attempting to read ancient draconic language before your soul was ready.”
Sora snapped her head toward Zalaya, eyes wide with sudden realization, then jerked her gaze back to the blade, shaking her head. “But I can’t read draconic.”
“Are you certain?” Zalaya gestured toward the symbols. “What do you see?”
Sora studied the intricate script, expecting the same incomprehensible patterns she’d observed on Earth. Instead, meaning flowed into her mind, instantly translating effortlessly:
“When twice-born blood awakens, fire returns to frozen stone.”
“I can read it,” she breathed, shock rippling through her as her gaze snapped to the avian healer. “How is that possible?”
“Knowledge lives in blood, not merely mind,” Zalaya replied, echoing Ignis’s earlier words. “Your soul remembers what your conscious thoughts cannot yet accept.”
The harpy guided her to a dense tome displayed on a central pedestal, its pages covered in the same flowing foreign script. “Read this as well.”
Sora bent over the ancient text, expecting confusion. Instead, words formed in her mind as clearly as if they were written in English:
“The Thirteen shall return when the world falters under tyranny’s weight. Death shall be their passage, rebirth their awakening. From worlds apart they come, bearing knowledge to unite what hatred has divided. First among them, the fire-bringer, mate to the last pure king, whose union shall awaken dormant magic in all worthy bloodlines.”
She stumbled back from the pedestal, her heart racing. “This can’t be about me.”
Zalaya’s smile carried ancient wisdom, her wings fluttering gently as her eyes shone with quiet warmth. “You stand in a world not your own, reading a language you never learned, with scales emerging from flesh that once was fully human. Yet you still deny what is written in stars older than either world?”
“I’m not special,” Sora insisted. “Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Or precisely where you were always meant to be,” Zalaya countered gently. “The Moon Goddess chooses carefully. Your arrival is no accident, but the fulfillment of a design centuries in the making.”
They continued through the archives, Sora absorbing information with professional hunger despite her personal reservations. Hours passed unnoticed as she explored dragon culture—their poetry, their science, their complex family structures that balanced individuality with communal responsibility.
