Chapter 2

Eileen's POV

They shackled all of us—everyone—iron chains biting into wrists and ankles. Servants, family members, everyone herded like cattle into prison wagons. I found myself pressed against the wooden slats, staring out as we rolled toward the city center. Crowds had gathered, pointing and whispering, faces mixing curiosity with cruel satisfaction.

The wagon jerked to a stop. Sanctum Square spread before us, dominated by the massive silver dragon statue at its heart. I'd seen it from a distance my whole life, but never this close. It was enormous—ten meters of coiled metal muscle, wings spread wide enough to shadow half the square. The dragon's eyes were sapphires the size of my fist, glinting with almost living intensity in the sunlight.

Below the statue, they'd built a pyre. Wood stacked high, soaked in oil, ready to burn.

The execution platform. The judgment throne on its raised dais. The man sitting on that throne.

Silver-white hair falling past his shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. Features perfect in a way that didn't feel human, like someone had carved the ideal face and forgotten to add flaws.

His eyes. Ice-blue, cold and distant as a winter sky, but when light hit them right, I could see it—vertical pupils, ancient and utterly inhuman.

Vespera was tied to a post before him, makeup smeared, screaming herself hoarse. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't know what it was! Please, please, I made a mistake, I'll make amends, just don't—"

The only one not in chains was Celia.

She stood beside the silver-haired man, wearing pure white robes marking her as some kind of acolyte. In her hands, she held a velvet cushion. On that cushion sat a crystal pulsing with silver light, so bright it hurt to look at.

My brain stuttered. How is that silver crystal there?

An archbishop in white-gold robes stepped forward, unfurling a scroll. His voice boomed across the square, magically amplified. "Vespera Thorne, eldest daughter of House Thorne, you stand accused of stealing the Dragonheart, defiling the Dragon's Chosen, and committing the highest heresy against the Silver Dragon. The sentence is death by dragonfire. By ancient law, House Thorne shares your guilt."

The crowd erupted. Some screamed in shock, others in approval. Someone threw a rock. It hit the platform near Vespera's feet.

She thrashed against her bonds, iron cutting into her wrists until blood ran down her arms. "No! It was just a magic stone! I didn't know! I DIDN'T KNOW!"

The Dragonheart. The words finally penetrated my panic. That legendary artifact containing actual dragon essence.

Vespera stole it?

I wanted to scream that I was innocent, but my throat had closed. Smoke was already rising from the pyre's base, acrid and choking.

The silver-haired man rose from his throne. The movement was graceful, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. When he spoke, his voice carried no emotion, just flat, terrible certainty.

"Human greed always devours itself."

He raised one hand. His pupils fully shifted—vertical slits in rings of molten gold, flames dancing in their depths.

The dragon statue's sapphire eyes blazed with silver light.

A pillar of fire erupted from the heavens.

Heat hit me like a physical wall, so intense I felt my skin start to crack before the flames even touched me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel blood beginning to boil in my veins.

Vespera screamed at Celia. You. You took it.

Celia looked down, tears sliding down her cheeks. I couldn't tell if it was guilt or grief or something else.

Lady Thorne's screams cut off abruptly, consumed by fire.

My vision went white with agony. I don't want to die. Not like this. Not for Vespera's sins. It's not fair.

My consciousness began to blur, vision darkening at the edges. This was the end. I was going to die.

But just as I thought I'd completely dissolve, become a wisp of smoke in the void—

That silver void appeared before my eyes again.

The Silver Dragon was right in front of me.

The dragon's eyes fixed on me, pupils flickering with complex emotions—confusion? Anger? Or... mercy?

I heard a voice.

Not language, not sound, but a thought resonating directly in my soul's depths, ancient and heavy, like the universe itself speaking:

"You should not die here."

I wanted to speak, to ask why, to ask what this meant, but I couldn't make a sound. I was just a dying soul, floating under a god's gaze.

The dragon raised his massive claw.

He touched my soul gently, the movement surprisingly tender, like touching a fragile treasure.

At the moment of contact, I felt an irresistible force surge into my being. Not violent, not painful, but something deeper, more fundamental—a change.

The next second—

I felt myself dragged by an irresistible force, falling backward, plunging through endless darkness. Everything around me accelerated in reverse, like someone had pressed rewind.

The flames retreated.

The screams retreated.

Time was flowing backward.

I saw the silver fire pillar withdraw into the sky, saw Vespera's ash reconstitute into human form, saw the prison wagon retreat from the square. Everything reversed, faster and faster, until I couldn't tell direction.

Then—

Blinding sunlight.

Soft bedding.

The scent of rose perfume.

I woke gasping, tangled in silk sheets that were far too soft, far too expensive. Rose perfume flooded my nose. My hands flew to my throat, expecting charred flesh, but found only smooth, unblemished skin.

What the hell?

I sat up too fast, head spinning. The room around me was painfully familiar: baroque ceiling with carved cherubs, velvet curtains filtering golden afternoon light, the vanity covered in jewelry I'd polished a thousand times.

Vespera's room.

My heart started racing. I looked down at my hands—these weren't my hands. No calluses from years of scrubbing floors, no burn scars from the kitchen, no ragged nails. These hands were pale and perfect, nails neatly manicured, painted a delicate pink.

I stumbled out of bed, barely registering the silk nightgown, and lurched toward the full-length mirror.

The face staring back made my knees buckle.

Silver-gold hair tumbling in waves past my shoulders. Ice-blue eyes, the color of frozen lakes. Pale, aristocratic features I'd hated and envied in equal measure for years.

Vespera's face.

"No. No no no, this can't be—why did this happen?"

I reached out to touch the mirror, as if that would prove it was an illusion. My reflection reached back. Our fingers met on the cold glass, and the moment they touched—

Pain exploded through my skull.

I collapsed, hands clutching my head as foreign memories flooded in like a broken dam. Images, sensations, thoughts that weren't mine crashed through my consciousness in chaotic torrents.