•••|PROLOGUE|•••
Once upon a time, the land of Valdareth was united and peaceful with four great kingdoms living in balance: Draventhall, the proud kingdom of the Drakalons.
Drakalons were beings born from dragons and mountain lions. They possessed both the fire and strength of each powerful creature and could take the form of a mountain lion, making them the most dominant beings.
But despite their nature, they were not dangerous or cruel. They were peaceful and never used their powers to make others feel weak or inferior. Instead, they worked hard to create a safe place for everyone. They welcomed other factions and tried to bring them together in peace and unity, not war.
Next was Eldvaron, the home of the werewolves,
Nightvale, the realm of the vampires,
And finally, Virethane, the ancient dominion of witches and wizards.
These kingdoms each had their own strengths—wisdom, power, and deep magic. They stood together when danger came. But peace doesn't last forever.
It all started when many began to fear the strength of the Drakalons and saw them as a threat. To overpower them, the vampires began using forbidden magic to grow stronger, threatening the balance. The blood of the innocents was continually drained to the point where the other kingdoms joined forces to stop them.
The war was long and brutal and in the end, the vampires were nearly wiped out. But just when the Drakalons thought the battle was over, the werewolf king, Alpha Maximus of Eldvaron, betrayed them.
He turned on them with the help of the witches and destroyed them. Their cities were burned, their temples were ruined, and their people were wiped out. The werewolves took over their kingdom afterward, thinking it was all over.
But the truth is, that was just the beginning.
*****
DRAVENTHALL~PYROS' EMBER
•••HOME OF THE DRAKALONS•••
The battlefield was soaked in blood and fire as the once-proud lands of the Drakalons were now reduced to ruin. Kieran, their King, stood in the midst of it all with his body ravaged and covered in deep wounds.
His dragon scales gleamed under the moonlight, stained with the blood of his enemies and his fallen kin. His cougar form had already taken down dozens, and his dragon fire had incinerated countless foes, but it wasn't enough. The war had turned against them and his people now lay dead around him. Drakalons, warriors, brothers, sisters—all gone.
Kieran panted heavily as his vision blurred from blood loss. His legs began to buckle beneath him, but he refused to fall. He couldn't. Not yet. The enemy forces—werewolves, witches, and wizards, had encircled him with their eyes filled with triumph. They knew he was the last one standing and the most powerful.
Maximus, their Alpha, stepped forward, his massive figure outlined by the burning flames behind him. His fangs were bared, and his claws were coated with the blood of the Drakalons he had killed.
He had a spear in his hands and its tip pulsed with dark magic. It had been designed to weaken Kieran, and its powerful energy only made Kieran's body feel heavier with every passing second. With a howl, Maximus nudged forward and drove the spear deep into his chest.
Pain coursed through Kieran as he grabbed the spear with both hands. His cougar snarled, and his dragon roared inside him, desperate to get out as he yanked the spear from his body. With a roar of agony, he released dragonfire from his palms, burning everything in his path.
The screams of witches and wizards surrounded him as the fire consumed them. The Dragonfire was one of a kind, and no one ever wished for it. Even Maximus, who had barely managed to leap away, was also caught in the inferno, his armor melting against his burned flesh.
Kieran fell to his knees, his strength fading. His hands trembled as he clawed at the dirt, dragging himself forward. He looked around, hoping to find even a single survivor from his kind, but all he saw were lifeless bodies. His people, his home, his legacy—all gone.
Just then, a sharp pain struck him. Not from his wounds, but from deep within. His heart clenched, and his breath caught in his throat the moment he realized something was missing. Something was wrong.
His mate, Lysandra.
He could feel the soul-bound connection with her slowly fading away.
"No…" Kieran gasped, his voice hoarse and broken. His cougar growled in agony, and his dragon writhed within him, desperate to release its fury, to burn everything to ash. "No, please..."
The pain was unbearable, raw, and consuming. He had lost her—his mate, his love, the mother of their unborn child... Fueled by rage, he tried to rise, but his body refused to follow.
Just then, Maximus spoke to the witches who were yet to recover from the inferno. "Do it. Do it now!"
"He is already a dead man. There is no need to go further, you have won."
Maximus bared his fangs, glaring hard at them. "We had an agreement. Bind him or watch the downfall of your kind."
"It's just the two of us, it will take more to reach him."
"I do not care. DO.IT!"
Before Kieran could gather his strength, the two powerful witches staggered forward. They had merely survived his fire. Their robes were scorched and their bodies were marked with burns. Lifting their trembling hands, they twisted their bloodied fingers through the air as they chanted a strong and ancient spell.
Sensing the danger, Kieran's dragon roared within him. It fought against the magic with flames licking at its lips, but the spell wrapped around it like invisible chains and stopped the fire from erupting.
The pain was unlike anything Kieran had felt before—his dragon clawing at his soul, desperate to break free, but the witches were relentless. The magic tightened and his body convulsed as they bound his dragon within him, and locked it away.
Kieran's scream was filled with rage and anguish. Before he could understand what they had done to him, his fire flickered and died. The heat that had always burned in his veins was gone, and he could no longer feel the beast within him.
He didn't get to recover from the loss when they turned to his cougar.
The magic came like a barrage, slamming into him with unrelenting force. His cougar fought, snarling, lashing out, and refusing to be caged. But Kieran was too weak. His body was barely holding on as the witches chanted louder.
Once again, soul-wrenching pain tore through him as his cougar was finally silenced, and sealed away, just like his dragon.
With their powers drained, the witches collapsed from exhaustion. They had just carried out one of the most deadly rituals and had lost their powers in the process.
Now stripped of everything that made him who he was, Kieran lay motionless. His body trembled with the effort to keep breathing and his vision darkened. But then, he saw her.
Lysandra.
She lay ahead, motionless.
Her body was covered in dirt and blood and her once-bright hazel eyes were dimming. But when she saw him, she stretched out a trembling hand and parted her lips to whisper his name.
"K... Kieran..."
She still breathes!
Kieran gasped and tried to move. He had to reach her. Even if death claimed him in the next moment, it didn't matter. He just had to be by her side, to look into her eyes and feel her warmth for one last time.
Each movement was a battle against the weakness engulfing him. He kept dragging himself through the dirt, hoping to get to her faster, but then, something struck his back.
Pain flared again, raw and brutal as he choked on his own blood. But he didn't stop. He kept clawing forward, his fingers sinking into the blood-soaked ground as his hand reached for hers. Despite his blurred vision, he could still see the shadow hovering over him.
Maximus.
He was barely recognizable.
His face and part of his body were disfigured from the dragon fire. But still, his red eyes glowed with hatred. His breath came out in low, animalistic growls as he slowly circled Kieran like a predator, circling its prey.
"I waited so long for this, Drakhaal," He growled as pain consumed him with every movement he made. "Your kind was never meant to exist."
Kieran ignored him, and Maximus tilted his head, watching as he struggled to claw forward. "Look at you now, The mighty Drakhaal, the last of your cursed kind. And yet, here you are, broken, defeated… dying."
"I wonder," He continued, tilting his head towards Lysandra. "Do you feel it? The emptiness? The pain of losing everything? Your people are gone. Your mate, your Drakhaales, is dying. There is nothing left for you."
Kieran still ignored him and kept trying to move. Despite his pain, he refused to take his eyes off Lysandra. If she could only hold on a little longer, he prayed as tears rolled down from his eyes.
"I should thank you," Maximus said and stood again, towering over him. "You made this too easy by joining forces to get rid of the vampires. If only you had surrendered from the start, perhaps your people would have died with less pain."
"But don't worry, Drakhaal." He said and raised a poisoned dagger infused with dark magic. "Soon, you'll join them."
With his last strength, he drove it into Kieran's back. Again. And again. And again.
Kieran coughed and blood spilled from his lips. His vision blurred, but he forced his eyes to stay on Lysandra, who was now crying. She whispered his name one last time.
And then, she was gone.
Kieran let out a broken sound—part sob and part roar.
Tears streaked his bloodied face as his outstretched hand trembled and fell to the ground. She was gone, and he could feel it within him. The soul-bound connection had died down.
It didn't take long before his breath grew shallow. His heart slowed, and the world around him dimmed. Lysandra was gone along with their unborn child. He had lost everything. Thunder rumbled in the sky, and lightning split the heavens.
Then there was silence.
Drakhaal Kierantheos Ignisraith Pyro'thar, the last of his kind, the mountain lion-dragon hybrid, known as the Drakalons, was dead.