"...elp me!"

The world inverted.

Fru's lips parted in surprise, as she landed forward on the air, her leg flexed backward and upward, her hands extended forward as her screams were snatched from her lips. A gasp she didn't recognize slipped out her mouth at the bizarre event unfolding before her eyes.

"I need to wake up"  She muttered to herself "right now". 

Slapping hard on her cheek, her vision hazed before coming back to focus on her environment; green fire and black smoke swirled around the sky cleft in two. And at the center of it all, standing against a horde of faceless dragons, was a woman. Her features stunningly similar to the female lead's descriptions in the book she had just read.

Valia.

She turned gently as if feeling another presence there with her. Her ocean eyes locked onto Fru, as a soft smile danced on her face as if expecting her. 

" Fru " 

Her black hair spilled like a storm, its green edges flickering like venomous flames.

More beautiful, more terrible than words could hold. 

Time stopped.

And then Fru hit the ground, gasping, the taste of ash and iron thick in her mouth. The book was gone. Only the Valia remained, her gaze sharp enough to pierce through skin and bone.

“Welcome,” Valia said, her voice laced with both familiarity and threat. It caressed Fru’s ear, yet set her blood thrumming with fear. “You’ve crossed into my fate.”

The world around them roared alive. Phoenix fire streaked the heavens, wolves howled in distant woods, the hiss of serpents slithered beneath the soil. A realm of untamed myths. Raw and dangerous.

Fru staggered to her feet, sword no longer in hand. Her head whipped from side to side, confirming she was no longer in her world.

She watched as Valia walked towards her, each step a move with practiced grace. Her hand rose. Elegant and deadly. Long claws glimmered faintly at the tips of her fingers. She reached as if to touch Fru’s face. Fru flinched back, her hand lifting like a blade in reflex, but Valia only tilted her head, studying the defiance in her eyes.

“Good,” Valia whispered with a thick dragonian accent. “You have steel. You will need it here.”

“Where am I?” Fru demanded, voice low but firm, staring into those ocean eyes.

Valia’s smile was razor-thin. “In the story you chose. In the tragedy you could not resist. Welcome to the end of the world where gods made monsters…and then abandoned them.”

“Huh?” Fru arched her brows. “What has that to do with me? I only read your tale, but I definitely didn't remember volunteering to fall into it.”

Silence fell, sharp as a sword’s edge. Valia blinked once, twice. Clearly unaccustomed to mortals with opinions.

“I heard your struggles. Felt them,” She said at last. “I am going to die here, but I will sacrifice my powers to turn back time and destroy my enemies. The price is my soul." She paused, a sad look briefly crossing her features beferoe she continued 

"I have decided to send you back in my stead, to carry out vengeance in my place. I will not abandon you, of course, my powers will be with you and I will watch over your actions.”

It was Fru’s turn to blink...slowly. “Let me see if I'm understanding this right. So, you mean to die... and trouble the living...who is infact me. A stranger. With your unfinished quarrels?.”

Valia’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“And where is my say in all of this?” Fru pressed, folding her arms with the ease of a soldier questioning orders she’d rather not obey.

“Oh." Valia's hand moved with elegance to briefly cover her lips as if surprised "I had forgotten to mention. You have none,” She said simply, her gaze focused and unblinking as her hand lowered to her side.

Fru let out a dry laugh. “Ha! Of course I don’t. Why am I not surprised.”

Valia ignored her. “You wished for another life. I answered,” her voice soft but cold continued. “Now you are who I once was." She tilted her head at Fru as if taken aback at her lack of understanding.

Well, news flash dragon woman. I understand you very well, I'm just waiting for you to take back those words of insanity, not repeat them to my face. Fru thought flatly.

"I’ll send you back to my childhood, since my powers can reach no farther in this form and you would live a life you've never been privileged to have.” she concluded in that regal pitch that spoke more audacity than her words.

Fru forehead crinkled in agitation as she took a step closer. “Okay, let me voice out this ridiculous proposal once more, your royal highness" she stated dryly as she continued "your world burns, you perish, so I must wear your face and finish your vengeance?" Fru’s voice jumped a tone, exasperation darkening her features, as she slammed the edge of her right hand against her open left palm. "A fine bargain indeed. Truly generous of you.”

“You mock what you do not understand,” Valia replied coolly.

“I mock what threatens to ruin my peace,” Fru retorted. “I’ve battled bandits, faced plague, and once outran an ogre, but never did I imagine being punished for reading out of curiosity or for thinking, “Hey, I’m fatigued, I need a change.” Everyone does that! It doesn't mean they are ready to give up!" Fru could feel her blood pressure spike as her pulse thrummed hard against her throat.

Valia’s lips curved faintly, her eyes melting softly, a sight Fru definitely didn't enjoy seeing. “We are of the same frequency dear Fru. Your courage mirrors mine, I can feel it and fate can too.”

“Dear? Courage?” Fru gave a grim chuckle. “You would certainly not do something like this to whom you love and if courage means standing before a mad disowned dragon and pretending not to tremble, then yes, I am overflowing with it.”

“Time is up,” Valia stated, glancing upwards, as the sky began to crack. The ground rumbling strongly, threatening to tear apart. “You must go now.” Emerald light began to glow at her fingertip.

“Wait!” Fru’s voice sharpened. “I know nothing of this world. It's laws or its beasts! I had not even finished your tale. How do you expect me to survive, let alone avenge you? What about my friend? The family I made??” Fru beat her chest in frustration as her eyes roamed Valia's determined face.

She was not listening. She didn't care about the woes of a mortal whose everyday life seemed pathetic. Fru's chest tightened at the thought. 

“Be who you are, not who I was,” Valia said softly. “You’re stronger than anything, my dear Fru. Stronger than anyone. I discovered that too late. That’s why I fell. I’m sorry. Please forgive me…and help me.”

Oh by the gods. This crazy dragoness!

Her plea faded as the emerald light engulfed Fru. The last thing she saw was Valia’s face, twisted in pain, burned into memory as she was hurled into the past.

"They wouldn't dare defy me" the Alpha growled, his gaze on his subordinate as he declared his stance.

His name was Ligon Tiv.

Among wolves, the name carried weight like metal striking against thunder claps. To friend and foe alike, it meant power, wealth, and a lineage no rival had ever broken. He was the Alpha of Tungsten Pack, the only son of his parents.

Ligon’s gaze drifted past his commanders, unfocused. The crackle of the nearby fire seemed to pull something from deep within him.

The night of his nightmares. 

The night he became an orphan. Another crackle of the nearby fire pulled the sounds he had chosen to forget, from his memory. The screams that still echoed in his head. The smoke from that night, thick and acrid with the stench of burning flesh, clung to his memory like it had never left.

He blinked hard, jaw tightening. The image of two fallen figures flickered and died behind his eyes. 

His parents.

"Ligon! Run!" His mother had screamed "I love you son. Do not dwell on this. Rebuild and find yourself." her dying voice, though frail was firm as she watched her only son disappear into an unknown future. 

They had fallen prey to vicious werewolf banshees who raided their pack then, and there’d been no time to mourn. The shock was too heavy for a little wolf but Ligon had known then as he knew now, that he must go on. He must rise to a certain strength that no one dares see him as prey, and that was how he came to meet them.

His commanders.

Ligon sat nearest to the flames, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on the dancing embers. The others kept their distance, not from fear, but respect. None of them dared speak first.

Finally, Gromelia Sin broke it. “They took our goods and thought they’d get away with it.” Her sharp eyes gleamed as she jabbed a twig into the dirt to mark a rough map. “Small pack or not, they’ve made themselves bait.”

“You’ll get your chance soon enough,” Ligon said, his tone even.

Avail Bruce chuckled, the sound deep and dangerous. “We could crush them before dawn if you’d give the word, Alpha.” He leaned back, polishing the edge of his axe, his loyalty plain in every movement.

“Too easy,” River Drew murmured from where he lounged on a fallen log, hands folded behind his head. “Let them see us coming. Let them regret their actions before it ends.” His calm voice carried a strange amusement that made a few of the others glance his way.

Mangolia Paul grunted, tossing a bone into the fire. “I don’t care how we do it, so long as I get to throw someone.” The huge warrior stretched, his joints cracking like tree trunks snapping. “Been too long since we broke anything worth breaking.”

Roloveria Hace, crouched by the firelight’s edge, glanced up from her blades. “And that,” she said softly, her eyes flashing like cold knives, “is why we plan before we strike. Not after.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Ligon, and though her tone was sharp, it softened when she added, “Your call, Alpha.”

Ligon didn’t move, but his eyes shifted toward her, a silent acknowledgment that made even her voice go still.

Dessy Trail spoke next, her tone airy, almost distracted, as she watched the smoke spiral upward. “The gods whisper unrest,” she said, her eyes glassy with far-off knowing. “Blood will answer insult soon enough.”

“Blood answers everything,” Deuce Grace said from the shadows, his voice quiet as a knife sliding from its sheath. No one had seen him move closer to the fire, but he was there now.

Glacy Vitro snorted, shaking her head. “Always so grim, Deuce. You’d think you actually enjoy silence, and not the pain and screams of your victims.” She leaned forward, grinning at the others. “Anyways, I say we make them announce their surrender before we burn their borders.” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes flicked toward Ligon like she was testing how far she could push.

Wyverge Spence set down the piece of metal he’d been shaping by the fire. “If it comes to burning,” he said, his voice rough, “I’ll make sure Obsidian sings first.” The faintest pride touched his words, and for a heartbeat, even the flames seemed to glow brighter. A collective 'Ugh' and look of disgust followed his joke.

Ligon finally lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over them in the other they had spoken. His strategist and negotiator, his blade, his brute strength incarnate, his calm rogue, his fearless huntress, his seer, his silent assassin, his ever-knowing informant, and his smith. His family.

The back bone of his new pack. Tungsten.

“They defied me,” he said, each word slow, deliberate. “They stole from us and tomorrow is the day I make them know why the whispers of my name make great kings lock their gates.”

No one answered. No one dared. But they all had the same thoughts.

Only the fire before them found a voice, it's flames crackling and roaring its approval as if the night itself bent to Ligon’s will.

Together, they had carved out an empire in the forested mountains where other packs still scrabbled for scraps.

Ligon bore the extraordinary brute strength of his father and had inherited the power of darkness. The gift had revealed itself in boyhood when an enemy's ancient Alpha lunged at him. The darkness erupted from Ligon’s hands like a living beast, swallowing him whole.

Since that day, it had answered his every call, shifting, bending and obeying his every whim as if it were part of his very breath.

When the wars came, he became the silver wolf. A titan of light and slaughter. But when rage consumed him, his half-beast form, grey and merciless, rose in its place. He became notorious as the Hybrid of Doom, and none who saw it ever forgot.

Ligon’s pack thrived as though blessed by the gods of prosperity. His forest lands were rich. The trees bore fruit sweeter than any other, the soil fat with promise, the rivers alive with silver-scaled fish as sumptuous as deer. The Tungsten Pack’s true wealth, though, came from their mountains: Obsidian.

A black, glassy stone, sharp enough to cut tree branches. In Ligon’s lands, it was mined and forged into armor or jewelry; it pulsed faintly with magic while absorbing moonlight. It shielded its bearer from harm and struck back at enemies. When gathered in fives, it was capable of mending wounds and healing minor sicknesses. When embedded in walls, it sliced any attacker who dared to climb and shattered their weapons. A secret known only to the Tungsten Pack.

Ligon kept the trade of obsidian on a tight leash, each buyer paying heavily in coineries. This limited the stone’s reach, kept rivals weak, and left Tungsten untouchable. Outsiders came from every corner. Sirens, phoenixes, healers, assassins, seeking to trade. And by Ligon’s decree, his land remained a neutral ground. Any hand that drew a blade within his market would never trade there again.

But even wealth and might could not ease the weight on his shoulders.

He stood on the balcony, the night wind cool against his jaw, moonlight catching the silver in his hair as he gazed down. His pack trained below, running drills, their bodies blurs of speed and ferocity as they struck and shifted, disciplined and precise.

And still, Ligon felt the familiar ache in his chest.

"I need something... more"

He had everything an Alpha could want. Strength, loyalty, riches, legacy and yet, in the solitude between breaths, he felt the hollow echo of something missing.

The darkness he commanded whispered of an unknown future, and he knew he could not carry it alone forever. Yes, he had assistance, but he needed someone who would rule with him, someone to lighten his responsibilities.

Gromelia’s voice drifted from below.

 “You look restless again, my Alpha.”

Ligon didn’t answer. He just stared at her and walked back into his room. He had learned long ago that kings who confessed their weariness didn’t stay kings for long.

For an Alpha, weakness was unthinkable. But for a man, loneliness was a weight even the strongest could not shed.

Somewhere in his marrow, he knew destiny moved toward him. Dessy had recently spoken a prophecy:

“Destiny tapers with wild hair and danger 

screaming for comfort.

The fur will embrace and dampen.”

And she had said it was soon to pass. Not to mention the erotic dreams he had been having of late, and though he couldn’t see her face, he knew he had never felt happier.

He turned his gaze skyward, where moonlight spilled over the mountains. His green eyes glinted with hunger.

She is coming.

"Dragon Flesh" a gruff voice spoke, the sound carrying through the night

At the edge of the Centaur border, a young woman lay crumpled in the dirt, her black and green hair tangled, her body curled as though even the earth had cast her aside. Green scales shimmered faintly at her throat and shoulders. Betrayal of the truth she tried to hide.

Valia. Daughter of dragons. Huthra’vor.

"This one was found in our lands. A gift from the gods I say" a collective guffaw of greedy laughter followed the declaration. She could hear the slap of their tongues against their lips.

On her twentieth year, she had been driven from her kind, banished with chains and cruelty, her wings bound until they bled. 

“I will ruin you the way you ruined my house” Valia remembered her mother's whisper as clear as day. “Try your best not to survive and if some cruel mercy lets you live, beg the gods you never cross my path again.”

She had been thrown at the edge of the Centaur's border, so she staggered further into the Centaur lands before collapsing, her body half-shifted, her dragon-self exposed in a bid to escape. She had hoped for help

But those miserable fools had ganged up against her. Fru glared at the sky from the ground. She has been Valia for some years now and try as she might , she couldn't break free from the bullying the original Valia had endured. She still couldn't believe how evil dragonian children were, if she didn't know better she would have called them witches. 

"And I'm still breathing." Her eyes shuttered close "just plain good ol' depressing wow" she muttered "I'm so tenacious at the most useless things"

If not for her training as a warrior in her past life, she would have been pythons' food by now. Although the Centaurs were another set of unruly, inhumane horses, but she was honestly glad to be thrown out of her clan.

The Centaurs had found her. And Centaurs never wasted good flesh. Especially Dragon flesh.

"Get the potion! " yelled one with voice deeper than the other one who had spoken "we don't want our little gift, running out on us now, do we?" Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his disgusting greedy gaze.

They poisoned her with Veldras. A cruel potion of dragonbane and basilisk venom, crafted for one purpose: to bring even the fiercest dragon to its knees. Weak, half-conscious, Valia could do nothing as they dragged her through the dirt, already calculating how many coineries her scaled hide would fetch.

"We feed her to the mermaids on the morrow." Another spoke, his voice rumbled with authority. Valia guessed that was the leader

"They would pay handsomely. After all they love dragon flesh, roasted or raw." a ripple of cackles rose in the air.

"But wouldn't we giving them much power? Remember that once they eat dragon flesh, they claim its power fivefolds" a more timid voice spoke up. "meaning they would have the power to destroy us"

The leader laughed loudly "That is none of our business" his voice dropped low and dangerous as he tapped the boy's shoulder heavily. "We drop the goods, get coineries and we are off. Also I doubt the mermaids would be stupid enough to kill those who brought them power. We are basically their legs on land." a bout of mocking laughter followed his statement. 

To them, Valia wasn’t a woman. She was profit.

But fate had other plans.

The night was ripped apart by howls.

"Aahhh"

It happened like a blur. The Tungsten wolves howled, looking like they were waiting for a command. 

Eyes burning, claws like knives. At the fore front was a giant wolf, larger than any Centaur had ever seen. His fur was sliver, streaked with moonlight, his eyes, green as emerald flame, stood out across the forest. 

"Dra-dra-dragon fangs!" A centaur shouted in horror. Valiant could understand why. She was seeing the legendary fangs and claws the Centaurs had talked about in person.

His fangs glimmered with the pale gleam of dragon bone. Legend had it that his claws and fangs were a concoction of tungsten and dragon bones smelted into his bloodline. Weapons no ordinary wolf could claim and with them, he could tear through armor, stone, and even dragon hides.

"It's Ligon Tiv!" Another yelled, his horror intensifying.

So this was the Ligon, the centaurs were obsessed with the night before. At twenty-five, he was already legend. Tonight, he exuded the ferocity of a wolf, ready to unleash new nightmares on the centaurs' soil.

The Centaurs never stood a chance. Ligon’s pack fell upon them with ruthless fury, ripping through flesh and armor alike. The wolves’ claws shredded through pikes and the Alpha himself tore one Centaur in half with one rip, blood spraying in arcs across the grass.

Among the captives was a young werewolf, shackled and sobbing. The sight alone caused the wolves to run rogue at their enemies. 

By the time the moon reached its peak, the traffickers’ camp was a graveyard. Their tents burned, their bodies littered the dirt. The wolves prowled through the ruins, snapping chains and cutting bindings, freeing every hostage they could find.

It was then that Valia stirred.

The Veldras fog still clung to her veins, but she forced her body to rise. Scales glimmered faintly in the firelight as she staggered forward, her legs trembling. She had not survived exile and poison only to be left behind again.

Her eyes found him.

And in that instant, the world shifted.

Ligon stood only a few paces away, his chest rising and falling with the aftermath of battle. He shifted effortlessly into his human form. Tall, broad shoulders, green eyes blazing like emerald gem. Blood streaked his arms, his jawline sharp as beautifully carved stone. Arms that looked as sturdy as a horse grabbed his clothes as he made way to the victims. He paused midway as his eyes locked onto hers.

Valia’s breath caught. Heat surged low in her belly, raw and unbidden. Every part of her screamed to step closer, to press against him, to bare her throat in instinct she refused to name.

Ligon felt it too.

His chest tightened painfully. Desire erupting in his groin after years of silence.

Liberating? 

It had been so long since a woman had touched him. Too long. But this—this was madness. She is a stranger. A victim. 

You might be an animal, but you’re a sane one Ligon, he hissed inwardly, dragging both hands down his face as if to scrape the hunger off his skin.

Was he truly that starved for touch? That desperate that even a dragon could stir him?

He wanted to leave her. Needed to. For his sanity. He averted his gaze.

But at the same time, she spoke. And her voice firm, hoarse but clear.

“Please,” Valia rasped, her lips dry, her body swaying but her eyes sharp as fire. “Don’t leave me here. Take me with you.”

Several of the pack bristled at once.

“She’s a dragon,” Avail growled. “who is to say she didn't plan this with them.”

“Better to end her now,” Mangolia muttered, “before she becomes a problem.”

Valia’s jaw tightened. She could have begged. Instead, she smiled. More like a pained smirk.

“Half-dragon,” she said smoothly. “Barely useful. My wings are broken, my powers weak. I couldn’t burn your forests even if I tried.” Her gaze swept the wolves, fearless despite her trembling knees. “But I can still fight. And I promise you this, if you throw me out, I’ll come back to kick your asses anyway. So why not keep me close instead? I will be useful.”

There was a silence. The kind that stretched like a drawn bowstring.

Ligon’s mouth curved into the faintest of smiles.

The pack was restless. But their Alpha’s word was law.

“She comes with us,” Ligon said at last. His voice was iron, deep and final.

The wolves growled their protest, but none dared defy him.

Valia exhaled shakily, relief flickering through her chest. She wanted to collapse, but pride kept her spine straight. She had won herself a place. A chance.

But when she dared glance at Ligon again, the air between them thickened. Their eyes locked yet again, and heat resumed their duties, harder this time. His jaw clenched as though in pain. Her lips parted despite herself.

It was dangerous, this pull. Raw. Ferocious. Neither of them could afford it.

So Valia forced herself to look away, feigning indifference. All she needed now was survival. Shelter. The rest, she told herself firmly, was nothing but distraction.

And yet, as the wolves led her back through the night, her pulse refused to calm.

And Ligon, for all his discipline, found himself replaying the memory of her ocean eyes, her raspy voice that fed his gut pleasure and the unbearable truth of how much he already wanted her.

The mission was a success. The captives were freed. The Centaurs destroyed.

But the journey to betrayal had just began.