Chapter 3: Blood, Bone, and Fire
Victor didn't sleep.
Even in the soft, warm chamber they gave him—lit by amber crystals and guarded by wards he couldn't see—his mind refused to rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the three women's faces. Heard the words again: vampire, werewolf, dragon… tribrid…
He had never believed in monsters. Now he was one.
When the first pale streaks of dawn filtered through the chamber ceiling, Kaelira was already waiting for him outside his door.
"Come," she said. No greeting. No smile. Just that unshakable regal tone that told him refusing was not an option.
Victor followed her into a cavernous courtyard carved into the side of a mountain. Mist coiled over the stones like restless spirits, and statues of dragons loomed over them—fanged and fierce, wings unfurled in eternal flight. In the center of the courtyard, a circle of obsidian tiles glowed faintly beneath his feet.
"This is the Trial Ring," Kaelira said. "Every dragon born to royalty has bled here. Now it's your turn."
Victor swallowed hard. "What exactly are we doing?"
She looked at him like a smith sizing up raw metal. "We begin with fire."
Before he could react, Kaelira raised her palm, and a sphere of golden flame burst into existence above it—roaring and alive. The heat hit him like a wave, and the air shimmered with its intensity.
"You carry dragon blood," she said. "It sleeps inside you. But like all dragons, it must be awakened by pain. Fire is our crucible. It will not kill you. But it will burn away your limits."
Victor took a step back. "You want to set me on fire?"
"I want to see if you survive it," she said.
She flung the flame forward.
Instinct screamed at Victor to run—but something deeper held him still. The fire struck his chest and engulfed him, and for a heartbeat, there was only agony. Blinding, skin-peeling heat. He screamed—and then…
He didn't.
The pain dulled. Something inside him pulsed—once, twice—and the fire didn't consume him. It melted into him. His veins lit with gold. His breath steamed. And when the flames finally vanished, Victor stood—alive.
Smoke curled off his skin, but he wasn't burned. His shirt had disintegrated. His eyes glowed faintly amber.
Kaelira looked satisfied. "You are stronger than I expected."
Victor panted. "I think I'm going to pass out."
"You won't." She turned. "Follow me. You've survived the fire. Now the beast must be tested."
Victor barely had time to catch his breath before he was dragged—figuratively and literally—into a forest clearing behind the sanctuary. There, Lyra was waiting, barefoot in the grass, her toned arms folded. She gave him a sharp grin.
"Time for phase two," she said. "Hope you like bruises."
Victor blinked. "Please tell me we're not fighting."
She dropped into a low stance. "You want to control your inner wolf? You have to earn it."
He barely saw the punch coming.
Lyra struck him square in the ribs, sending him flying into a tree. He groaned, rolling over, coughing.
"What the hell was that?!"
"That," she said, crouching beside him, "was mercy."
He pushed himself to his feet, limbs shaking. "I'm not a fighter."
"You will be. Your wolf will wake up when you're pushed to the edge. I'm just helping speed that along."
The next thirty minutes were chaos.
Lyra didn't hold back. She hit fast and hard, moving like a blur, her strikes precise and powerful. Victor tried to dodge, block, swing—anything—but he was outmatched. Every strike sent stars exploding behind his eyes. And yet, something was changing. Every blow stirred a growl in his throat. A hunger. A pressure under his skin like claws trying to break free.
Then she landed a final, brutal kick that threw him flat on his back.
He gasped, spitting blood.
And then—it happened.
His vision sharpened. The wind stilled. A sound deep inside, like a drumbeat. His hands curled, and claws erupted from his fingertips. His spine arched, cracking. His heart thundered like a war drum.
Victor stood.
Lyra grinned. "There he is."
He snarled—and charged.
By the time the moon rose, he was exhausted, his muscles screaming, his body scraped and battered. But he was alive. Stronger than he had ever felt.
Back in the hall of shadows, Seraphina waited beside a pool of still water, dressed in a flowing gown of crimson silk. The light from a dozen floating candles bathed the chamber in a soft glow.
"You've endured fire," she said. "You've tasted the wolf's rage. Now comes the most dangerous trial—blood."
Victor collapsed beside her. "I can barely breathe."
"You'll want to, for this."
She gestured to the pool. "This water has been blessed with vampire essence. If you drink it, you'll taste the hunger."
Victor frowned. "What happens if I can't control it?"
Her smile was bittersweet. "Then you'll drink until there's nothing left. Even if that means me."
He stared at the water. It shimmered silver and red.
"I don't want to hurt you."
She stepped closer. "Then don't."
He hesitated. Then drank.
It hit him like lightning—sweet and metallic and ancient. His throat burned with need. His body trembled. And then he saw Seraphina—not as a woman, but as a pulse. A living vein. A heartbeat.
He wanted to sink his teeth in.
He wanted blood.
She stepped forward, tilting her neck. "Prove you're more than the hunger."
Victor's fangs slid out.
He fought it—every instinct screamed to bite, to drink, to feed. But he forced himself back, shaking, clawing at the stone until the urge began to fade.
He looked up at her, terrified.
She was smiling.
"You passed."
Later that night, in the privacy of his chamber, Victor stood before a mirror. His eyes glowed faint gold. His veins shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Scars already healed. Breath like smoke.
He wasn't human anymore.
But he wasn't a monster either.
He was something new.
Something legendary.
To be continued...