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464 pages, Paperback
Published August 19, 2025
“We’ve named the ag’drurath. Its name is known. It seems that most of the demons have a similar skin—one more suited to the reptiles and amphibians of our warm climates than that of the north. Ceneth is requesting continuity to help the people accept their existence. The demons, in theory, could be native wildlife.”
It hissed back at her, hunching its shoulders as it squatted, flaring its membranous wings behind it. Enormous horns twisted from its head, mirroring the spines of her black dragon. It opened its mouth to show matching teeth, truly her dragon in a near-human body. It slowly rose from the crouching position, and a spike of fire jolted through Ophir as it stared at her. It was so much bigger than she’d expected. Its gray-black flesh ripped with a warrior’s muscles. It flexed talons at her.
Those who had fathered Eero’s bloodline were bred for the cold. The goddess had intended their colorless skin for the snow, soaking in every ray of sunlight in dark seasons, absorbing the heat in endless winters. His pale hair and yellow irises were a mockery of the climate he possessed.
It was the sort of care a goblin might have for their gold, or a viper might have for its lair.(dragon was literally RIGHT THERE)
The goblin was a benign improvement on the other humanoid abominations she’d created, and she’d chosen to keep it. It was a perfect—albeit silent—servant. It contained the sentience necessary to listen and understand, but it could not argue, it could not fight, and it experienced nothing of longing, reflection, or anything indicative of a soul.
“Here? Outside the palace? How many dead…oh my. Yes, that is a problem. I do suppose they stood more of a chance at escape than we did. They had alleys to dodge through, guards at the ready, shelter… Oh, of course you’re wondering how I escaped. Did you encounter the winged, shadowed man—yes, you saw the one like a twisted fae as well. I heard its noise. Yes, they have noise. I spoke to it. I knew from its noise what it needed to hear, and it returned to its beast. Ag’drurath, you’re calling the beast? Winged death? That’s appropriate. Ag’imni? Fitting.”
She saw the disappointment that soaked her father like a child’s soiled pants.
Perhaps no one was truly good. And while it was immeasurably disturbing to see every sweet elderly gentleman and imagine that he’d done unspeakable things to a child, Ophir understood that Dwyn had recontextualized empathy for the sake of practicality.
