The dawn over Serendahl was not painted with the soft hues of a new day, but with the grim, swirling dust of a village consumed by the Blight. Princess Lyra Valen, her pristine white wedding gown already smudged with the fine, grey powder, stood amidst the smoldering ruins. The scent of burnt wood and something far fouler—the lingering stench of the transformed—clung to the air. Her gaze, usually sharp and regal, was clouded with a grief too fresh to be contained.
She watched as the royal guard, grim-faced and weary, dug shallow graves for what remained of the villagers. Among them, a familiar, tattered cloak. Elara. Her childhood friend, now just another victim of the creeping madness that turned human flesh into monstrous, feral beasts. Lyra's fingers tightened on the delicate lace of her veil, a stark contrast to the brutal reality unfolding around her. Today was her wedding day. A mockery. A sacrifice.
"Your Highness," a voice, stiff with protocol, broke through her haze. It was Lord Valerius, her father's most trusted advisor, his face etched with a mix of pity and urgency. "The Prince Drakhar's retinue has arrived. They await you in the Grand Hall."
Lyra's jaw clenched. Rhydian Drakhar. The name itself tasted like ash. The barbaric Prince of the Firelands, whose people were rumored to be descendants of ancient dragons, immune to the Blight that ravaged her kingdom. Her only hope. Her greatest humiliation. She was being traded, a royal pawn, for an alliance with a man she despised, a creature of myth and fire.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Lyra turned from the devastation, forcing her shoulders back, her spine rigid. She was Princess Lyra Valen, heir to the throne of Serendahl, and she would not break. Not yet.
The Grand Hall of the Valen Palace, usually a beacon of light and celebration, felt like a tomb. The air was thick with hushed whispers and the nervous rustle of silks as the remaining nobility gathered, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. They knew why this marriage was happening. They knew the cost.
A sudden hush fell, heavy and expectant. Lyra's gaze snapped to the massive oak doors at the far end of the hall. They swung inward with a low groan, revealing him.
Prince Rhydian Drakhar.
He moved with a predatory grace, his tall, lean frame cloaked in dark, unadorned leather and steel that seemed to absorb the light. His black hair, long and untamed, framed a face carved from harsh angles and shadowed planes. He was not conventionally handsome, not in the soft, refined way of Serendahl's courtiers. He was raw power, contained. His presence alone seemed to suck the air from the room, leaving only the scent of smoke and something wild.
As he strode down the aisle, his gaze swept over the assembled nobles, dismissing them with an almost imperceptible curl of his lip. Then, his eyes, the color of molten gold, found hers. They burned with an intensity that made her breath catch, a flicker of ancient fire that seemed to pierce through her very soul.
He stopped before the altar, his height towering over her. The High Priest began the ancient vows, his voice trembling slightly. Lyra repeated the words, each one a bitter pill. When it was Rhydian's turn, his voice was a low rumble, devoid of emotion, a mere formality.
Just as the Priest prepared to bind their hands, a guttural roar ripped through the air, shaking the very foundations of the palace. It was the sound of the Blighted, too close, too many. A collective gasp rose from the crowd, quickly followed by screams as the first monstrous forms crashed through the stained-glass windows, their distorted limbs flailing, their eyes glowing with malevolent hunger.
Chaos erupted. Nobles scattered, guards drew swords, but the Blighted were fast, relentless. One, larger and more grotesque than the others, lunged towards the altar, its claws extended for the High Priest.
Before Lyra could even react, Rhydian moved. A blur of dark cloth and steel. He met the beast mid-air, not with a sword, but with a primal roar that vibrated through Lyra's bones, a sound that was less human and more... dragon. He slammed the creature to the ground, his raw strength astonishing.
Lyra, snatching a ceremonial dagger from a fallen guard, joined the fray. She moved with surprising agility, her movements honed by years of secret training. She parried a clawed swipe, her blade finding purchase in the creature's tough hide.
Rhydian, meanwhile, held the larger beast pinned. His golden eyes blazed, and for a terrifying, exhilarating moment, Lyra saw a flicker of something ancient, something sorrowful, in their depths. A raw, almost human regret.
Then, the beast let out a shriek, not of pain, but of a new, terrifying fury. Its form began to ripple, growing larger, more grotesque, its skin thickening, its claws elongating. It was evolving, becoming something far more dangerous than anything they had faced before.
Lyra's eyes widened in horror. This wasn't just a Blighted. This was something else. Something worse.
Just before the monstrous form lunged again, a chilling, guttural growl escaped Rhydian's lips, a sound that promised not just defense, but utter annihilation.