Chapter 23 An Animorph, a Dragon and Me
Serafina
Without hesitation, I followed Azerath into the forest. Faint afternoon light filtered through the thick canopy, revealing the tangled roots and twisting branches beneath our feet.
My hand gripped the strap of my bag, my sword resting at my side—though with him beside me, I doubted I would ever have to use it.
Suddenly, Azerath stopped, and I pulled back just in time to avoid colliding with him.
Every instinct flared, the fine hairs along my neck rising. My hand hovered over my sword as I scanned our surroundings.
“What’s wrong, Azerath? Why have we stopped?" I whispered.
He lifted two fingers to his mouth and released a sharp, piercing whistle that cut through the forest, carrying far beyond trees and shadow.
“Just wait,” he said calmly. “She will come.”
My brow furrowed. With Azerath, nothing ever followed a straight line. Nothing arrived the way you expected.
“Who will?”
The answer arrived on beating wings.
A falcon sliced through the open air above the forest, swift and smooth, her dark feathers catching the light, black as night, talons spread wide as she descended—
Straight toward us.
Azerath lifted his arm with unmistakable confidence.
The falcon ignored him completely.
She landed on my shoulder instead, light as breath, her claws careful against the fabric of my cloak.
I startled. “Oh—hi?”
Azerath slowly lowered his arm. Then he scoffed, a sound halfway between a snort and a huff, pride visibly bruised. “So this is how it will be. Girls sticking together.”
I bit back a smile and lifted my hand, brushing the falcon’s feathers with the back of my fingers. They were impossibly soft.
“Don’t listen to the big, bad dragon,” I murmured. “He’s just jealous.”
Azerath made a low, offended sound deep in his chest.
As I admired the magnificent creature perched so comfortably on me, my breath caught.
Her eyes.
Amethyst. The same vivid, unnatural violet I had seen before.
“That’s strange,” I said softly, leaning closer. “She has the same eyes as—”
The falcon launched from my shoulder.
Midair, the world seemed to blink.
Feathers became fur. Wings folded into muscle. In the space of a heartbeat, the bird hit the ground and became the sleek black wolf who had led me through the forest and into the Sanctum.
I gasped. “How is that possible?”
“She is an animorph,” Azerath said, as if explaining something simple. “She can shift into other forms. Animals. Small ones, if she wishes. Even something as insignificant as a beetle.”
“Animorph?” I turned to him, stunned. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. And you knew she’d come?”
“Yes.”
He crouched, massive frame lowering without effort, and brushed a hand over the wolf’s head. She pressed her muzzle into his palm with a soft, breathy whuff, utterly at ease.
“Blink is one of a kind,” he continued. “She was the first sign that you were the one.”
“Blink?” I repeated, incredulous. “That’s her name?”
He nodded once. “Because the world blinks when she changes.” He paused, as if a memory had drifted past, tugging a faint, warm smile across his lips—then it vanished just as quickly. He let out a quiet sigh before continuing. “She’s an old friend. She knew to lead you to me.” His gaze lifted, meeting mine with a depth that felt both ancient and unshakable. “Everything else was inevitable.”
Blink circled me, sniffed my boots, then pressed her head firmly into my palm, as if declaring I was officially acceptable. My fingers curled instinctively into her fur, a spark of delight running through me. I had never felt anything like this—this warm, intelligent presence, choosing me.
I reached into my bag and produced the steak I’d imagined earlier, holding it like a tiny offering.
Blink dropped to the ground, ears upright, tongue lolling, eyes fixed on it as if I’d presented the finest treasure in all the realms.
Azerath blew a theatrical raspberry. “I should have known. You’ve won her affection with food.” He wagged a finger at Blink. “Traitor.”
I laughed, setting the steak in front of her. She devoured it in seconds, then nudged my hand, tail wagging like she’d just won a small war.
“Aw… such a sweetheart,” I whispered, stroking her sleek fur.
Azerath’s smile tugged at his handsome features, catching the light even in the shadows, and I had to consciously remind myself he was still very much a dragon. “Blink will lead us,” he said. “She knows the Cursed Forest like the back of her hand…”
A pause.
“…I meant paw.”
I nodded and followed. The wolf padded ahead, low and silent, guiding us down the tangled forest floor.
“Your bag,” he said after a moment. “Where did you acquire it?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “An old woman gave it to me. She told me to come here. To the Forbidden Shrine. To ask you for a miracle."
One of his brows lifted, gold eyes narrowing just slightly. “An old woman,” he repeated. “Or someone wearing the shape of one?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
His hand rose. One finger brushed the frayed strap of the bag, reverent rather than curious.
“This was made from dragon scale,” he said quietly. “No mortal eye would recognize it. No mortal hand could craft it.”
My breath caught.
“The bag,” he continued, “and the animorph, were gifts I gave to my dragon rider—Elias Valyn."
The name struck me like a bell, its resonance unsettling. Too close to my own.
“Elias… Valyn?”
“Yes.” His gaze held mine, steady and unyielding. “His bloodline produced only sons for generations. Until you.”
Something in his expression softened as he glanced at me—not in weakness, but in claim.
“He swore an oath,” Azerath said. “That if his line ever bore a daughter, she would be mine. Destined as my mate. This bag was forged to protect her. It answers only to you.”
I shook my head, the world tilting. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”
“Magic knows its own blood,” he said simply. “Why do you think Blink came to you? Why she followed you without command?”
His eyes darkened, thoughtful.
“And the woman you call an ‘old lady’…” A pause. A flicker of something unreadable. “Perhaps she was not what she appeared to be.”
The wolf moved ahead with effortless grace, then paused mid-step. Blink’s ears twitched, her eyes catching the last slants of sunlight as she glanced back at us—an unspoken question, a quiet acknowledgment of the unease I couldn’t hide.
A shiver ran down my spine at the thought that everything in my life—every twist of fate, every narrow escape—might have been shaped centuries before I was even born.
“You talk as if you’ve known me for centuries,” I said, voice low, unsure why I even cared.
Azerath’s amber eyes met mine, glinting in the fading light. “Time has taught me that fate waits for no one and that it always catches up in the end.”
Blink let out a soft, almost imperceptible whuff, then turned, trotting forward again. Shadows stretched around her like a cloak, and I followed, every step heavy with the sense that the world—and everything I thought I chose—had been waiting for this very moment.