Dragon Ascendant E-Book

Elana A. Mugdan

• Herausgeber: Shivnath Productions
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 467

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

A dragon who can't wield magic.

A human who hates dragons.

A secret so powerful it could destroy both their races.

Isidra and Syl are different as different can be. Isidra yearns to become one of the Andarae, a global peacekeeping force of mortals and dragons. Syl has a deep grudge against the Andarae because they betrayed her family.

When a magical accident binds Isidra and Syl together, they're forced to team up as a dragon-rider pair and train with the Andarae. That would be bad enough, since the two of them can't stand each other. Then bodies drained of blood start turning up, and it becomes clear that someone's hellbent on destroying the Andarae from within.

With the future of both their races at stake, Isidra and Syl must put aside their differences to solve the murders. But that puts a target on their backs, which means the next bloodless corpses might be them. They'll have to stay one step ahead on this magical murder mystery...

Because if they can't learn to work together, they'll die together.

Leseprobe

Elana A. Mugdan

Dragon Ascendant

First published by Shivnath Productions 2024

Copyright © 2024 by Elana A. Mugdan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Elana A. Mugdan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Elana A. Mugdan has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com

To Medusa, my IRL bondmate;

and to Skylo and Oreo,

who will always be part of the world of Allentria.

Contents

Map of the Andarae Territory

1. Impression Day

2. The Collapse

3. Of Blood And Bonds

4. The Eminarchs

5. The Labyrinth

6. The Bronze Demiflight

7. Training Begins

8. History Lessons

9. The Premiere

10. Magic and Mishaps

11. Remembrance

12. Discord in the Demiflight

13. Armored Answers

14. Flight Training

15. The Balance of Power

16. Dark Memories

17. Syl’s Secret

18. Digging Deeper

19. Research and Rules

20. The Heart of the Problem

21. Unsolved Crimes

22. The Target

23. Last Chance

24. Revelations

25. Politics and Perils

26. Isidra Alone

27. The Internment Isle

28. The Truth Revealed

29. Battle of Mind And Magic

30. Dragon Ascendant

31. Worthy

32. The Beginning

Glossary & Pronunciation

About the Author

Also by Elana A. Mugdan

Map of the Andarae Territory

1

Impression Day

Thirteenth Age, Year 512

The most important day of Isidra’s life was a disaster.

While preparing for the Impression Ceremony, she’d gotten distracted. Again. Her heart pounded with anticipation as she raced down a smooth stone passageway. She skidded to a stop in front of a metallic control panel fixed in the wall. Ancient halogen bulbs hummed in ceiling sconces, casting a warm glow on the gleaming, complex display.

Ignoring the screen and buttons, Isidra wedged her head into a dusty ventilation slot beside the console. Nosing aside a cobweb, she peered sideways, examining the panel’s backend. A vein of iridescent light trickled down the rocky wall beyond, flowing like a river, shimmering like an opal. Threadlike tendrils stemmed from the artery of magical energy, connecting to ports on the back of the panel.

“Hi,” she whispered, unable to suppress the toothy grin on her face. “Let’s bring up the heat and lights in the Impression Chamber. And can we be artistic with it? I was thinking we could color the lightbulbs rose and gold.”

The magic flared, brightening with purple undertones. It gave no other visible response, but that was enough for Isidra.

“Thanks!” She shot it a conspiratorial wink before wriggling free. The magic wasn’t sentient—at least, that was Isidra’s vague understanding of it—but it always heeded her words, so she always made an effort to be polite.

“What are you doing?” a voice interrupted.

With a startled squeak, Isidra jumped and whirled around. Greinan, her chores partner, stood a few paces behind her in the passage. Though the murky glow of the Utility Level’s outdated lightbulbs dimmed his form, she could still see his grouchy frown.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice rising in an embarrassing fashion as she tried—and failed—to sound innocent.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for Impression Day?” asked Greinan. Before Isidra could reply, comprehension dawned on his face. His amber eyes widened, darting between her and the vent. “You were speaking to the Neuralogue.”

“I wasn’t!”

“That’s against Sanctuary rules,” he said, puffing out his chest in a self-important manner. “It’s why we have the control panels. If Enorchus knew what you were doing—”

“It’s fine,” said Isidra. “Why should I waste time fiddling with levers and buttons when I can give the magic direct commands?”

She winced, knowing she’d said the wrong thing as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Greinan was a notorious snitch. He loved reporting mistakes to their superiors, and Isidra couldn’t afford any trouble—not on this day, the day she’d been looking forward to for fifteen years.

“Because it’s dangerous,” said Greinan. “If you misspeak, if you aren’t clear in your instructions to the Neuralogue, things could go wrong. You could blow up the whole Sanctuary, for Shivnath’s sake!”

Isidra bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else incriminating. It rankled her that Greinan, two years her junior, presumed to lecture her on this topic. She’d been speaking to the Neuralogue for close to a decade, and no ill had come of it.

Pointing that out wouldn’t help her current case.

“Sorry.” She forced the apology through a clenched jaw. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ll be careful in the future.”

“With any luck, you’ll enter Andarae training today and you won’t have a future in the Utility Level,” said Greinan. In an undertone, he added, “But I’m not holding my breath.”

Isidra’s lips wobbled, caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace. She’d dreamed of Impression Day all her life, and she wouldn’t allow his negativity to bring her down.

This was the day the mortal races—humans, elves, aphyri, and sometimes other, rarer creatures—sent their best and brightest to train with the next generation of dragons. In a few hours’ time, eligible youngsters would gather in the Impression Chamber to find the dragon who’d be their closest confidante, their greatest protector, their fiercest ally.

Isidra idolized the Andarae, those brave heroes who protected the world of Selaras. The thought of joining their close-knit ranks filled her with an aching, almost desperate hope. Like all children raised in the Sanctuary, she had no blood family. Unlike the others, she’d never had much in the way of friends, either.

That’s all about to change. Once I have a bondmate, everything will be better.

“You’ve got that dopey grin on your face again.” Greinan’s nasal voice snapped Isidra out of her reverie. She blinked, refocusing on him. He’d moved closer, straightening to his full height so he could glare down his nose at her.

“Why shouldn’t I smile?” she asked. “I’m about to meet my future bondmate.”

Greinan scoffed. “They’re not pets, you know. They’re intelligent, autonomous creatures who have their own thoughts and feelings. And they can be deadly if you get a rotten one. You wouldn’t want to end up like Nemeriath and Dazran.”

Only Greinan could manage to ruin such a momentous day. His ominous words sent an involuntary shiver down Isidra’s spine.

“I’ll choose a good partner. I’ve studied hard, and I know all there is to know about training.”

“Then you know it requires a mastery of magic,” said Greinan.

“My magic will glow soon enough,” she snapped, bristling at his snide tone. “When it does, my bondmate and I will be the best Andarae ever.”

Greinan shrugged. “Good luck finding one who’ll take you.”

The hope in her chest guttered. Cold uncertainty trickled in to replace it, twisting around her as she watched Greinan disappear into the maze of stone walls and silvery pipes.

She’d always assumed she’d join the Andarae training program—that was the expectation for Sanctuary-born children. It was supposed to be a sure thing. Yet for all the dreaming Isidra had done of becoming one of the world’s mighty defenders, she’d never considered what might happen if she didn’t find a partner.

“Impossible,” she announced to the empty hall, as if saying it aloud would make it so. “I’ve never heard of someone not being chosen on Impression Day.”

But in the darkest corner of her heart, she knew if anyone stood a chance of rejection, it was her.

Isidra shook herself, trying to banish that thought. She made sure Greinan was gone—not lurking and snooping, as he sometimes did—before shoving her head back into the ventilation slot.

“I’ve had a thought,” she told the Neuralogue as the magical river came into her line of view. “Could you please add some green hues to the Impression Chamber lighting? I think that would look nice, don’t you?”

The lighting was a self-serving choice. Isidra’s eyes—the only part of her appearance she liked—were like glittering emeralds. Other than that, she was plain as dirt. She hoped the green lighting would bring out her best feature and soften the rest of her stringy, gangling body. Surely the crop of potential bondmates would be decent enough to ignore something as unimportant as physical appearance, but the last thing she wanted was to look like an oversized ribbon snake. That was what Greinan always called her.

The Neuralogue glowed. A wispy filament broke from the main tributary of power and attached to the control panel. The magic’s graceful dance calmed Isidra’s fluttering stomach. She flashed it a grateful smile and extracted herself from the vent.

Isidra regarded the Neuralogue as the only real friend she’d ever had. A sad thing, considering it was nothing more than compressed energy. Though the Neuralogue was hailed worldwide as a marvel of magical and scientific achievement, it had no brain or personality. It was power in its purest, most rarefied form. Isidra was very fond of it . . . but it, by definition, could have no similar opinion of her.

“No self-pity,” she told herself firmly. She had a ceremony to attend, and she couldn’t afford any more distractions.

With a determined stride, Isidra made her daily rounds of the Utility Level. It was the least glamorous work one could be assigned in the Sanctuary, but her inexplicable connection to the Neuralogue allowed her to perform chores with ease. She checked her assigned control panels and double-checked Greinan’s. She wanted everything to be perfect for Impression Day. The point, after all, was to impress.

As she worked, Isidra shed the weight of Greinan’s cruel words, losing herself in the artistry of her tasks. With furtive glances along stone corridors, she whispered instructions to the Neuralogue at each of its access points. It powered the operational systems in the Sanctuary—electricity, heat, running water, even the shape and integrity of the island mountain on which Isidra’s home perched.

Together, she and the Neuralogue smoothed the floors of the entry foyer, fluffed the carpets of the grand gallery, brought the marble walls of the Atrium to a shine. Prancing past a tangle of pipes, she paused by the Commencement Hall control panel and chirped some last-minute instructions to the Neuralogue, ensuring that exultant shafts of golden sunlight would shine on her when she exited the Impression Chamber with her future bondmate.

“Isidra.”

Isidra wrenched her head free of a ventilation slot, scraping her cheeks and brows against the rock. This time when she turned, her heart skipped a beat.

“Archon Enorchus,” she squeaked through a throat that had suddenly gone dry.

Enorchus showed none of his five-hundred years. An aura of timelessness surrounded him, which was especially evident in his eyes. They were a brilliant purple hue, a relic of a past age and a mark of otherworldly power. His magical abilities were unparalleled—no surprise there, since he was the leader of the Andarae.

Unfortunately for Isidra, he was also the guardian of the Neuralogue.

Why was he here, of all places? Surely he had better things to do, more important places to be. There was no reason for him to ever enter the Utility Level.

Unless Greinan tattled on me.

“What are you doing, Isidra?” Enorchus asked, his patrician face cold and unforgiving. His deep voice sang with resonance, filling the halls and humming in Isidra’s chest.

“Just—just doing my chores, Archon.” She tried to sound calm and offhand, to no avail. It was obvious she’d been violating one of the Andarae’s foremost rules. No amount of excuses or apologies would save her. “I want to make sure everything’s perfect for the ceremony.”

Enorchus’s purple gaze narrowed, and Isidra braced herself. Disciplinary actions weren’t given lightly, but when they came, they were brutal. No child made the same mistake twice. No child, that is, except Isidra.

“You’ve spent so long cleaning everything else that you have neglected yourself,” Enorchus said at length.

Isidra glanced to the left, where her reflection glimmered on a plate of shiny metal. Two owlish green eyes peered out of her dust-smudged face. A wisp of cobweb hung from one of her ears. She was a shabby mess.

“You are not presentable in this state,” the Archon continued, “and you have less than half an hour until the Impression Ceremony begins.”

“What?!” Isidra’s heart took a nauseating nosedive. How could she have been so careless? Fifteen long years she’d waited for this day, and here she was, about to miss it!

“Clean yourself up before you join your yearmates in the Atrium,” Enorchus instructed. “We have special guests today. You wouldn’t want to miss meeting any of the humans, would you?”

“No, Archon.” Isidra dipped her neck in a perfunctory bow, her mind darting from one frenzied thought to the next. None of the other dragons were forgetful. None of them had trouble keeping appointments. Why was she always the odd egg out?

Enorchus turned with a glimmer of sapphire scales and glided away, tucking his silken wings against his sides to keep from scraping them against the walls. A line of dark silver stippled his back, emphasizing the pearly bone spikes protruding from his spine. With a flick of his muscular tail, he turned a corner and vanished.

Before dashing to the washrooms, Isidra gave herself one last look in the metal sheet. She hadn’t gotten in trouble for speaking to the Neuralogue—thank Shivnath for small miracles—but her brush with disaster had rattled her.

“Don’t be nervous,” she whispered, drawing soothing breaths through her nostrils, extending a wing to wipe the cobweb from her pointed ear. “You can do this. You have to do this.”

It didn’t matter what Greinan or even Enorchus thought of her. Her human—or elf, or maybe something else—would love her the way she was, no matter her external flaws or internal failings. She would find a mortal partner today.

Her future depended on it.

2

The Collapse

In the Sanctuary’s higher halls, where the full-fledged Andarae lived, washrooms were rumored to be luxurious beyond measure. They came equipped with in-ground heated pools and pressurized waterfalls which could scour even the most stubborn dirt from scales.

By contrast, the washroom in the Utility Level was positively dingy.

Isidra dashed to the small chamber and dove into a shallow pool, which was lukewarm at best. She writhed against the rough stone edges to remove her filth. There wasn’t time for a proper wash, not with the hour so late. She expected she looked like a ribbon snake, but at least there was no one around to judge her.

She scrabbled out of the water and galloped to the drying vent, tripping over her paws in her haste. A purple Neuralogue sensor blinked at her approach. Air blasted through an overhead vent in response, sheeting the liquid from her hide and membranous wings.

Turning to a small mirror, Isidra scowled at her scales. They were as unattractive as they’d ever been—brown mottled with even duller brown—but they were clean.

She shot the Neuralogue sensor a sheepish glance. “How do I look?”

It couldn’t reply, but she imagined it glowed brighter for a fraction of a breath. Taking heart from that, she headed for the door.

An ominous rumble—a sound so deep it was felt rather than heard—emanated through the mountain. Isidra froze in her tracks. Her ears pricked up and she squinted into the shadowed corners of the room. Had that been a cryptic response from the Neuralogue, or something else?

Long moments passed in silence. She shook her head, losing interest in the anomaly. An investigation of the sound could wait; the

ceremony couldn’t.

Nerves tingling from snout to tail, Isidra bounded into the hall. She zipped around the corner, passed the storage chambers, and set off for the elevators—conveniently located at the far end of the Utility Level.

She’d just entered the wide corridor located beneath the Impression Chamber when she heard it again: low thunder, like the growl of a massive beast. The floor trembled beneath her paws. Isidra skidded to a halt, breath catching in her throat.

The mountain’s foundation was moving.

A resounding crack cleaved the air. Isidra yelped and jumped backward. She watched, jaw hanging open in horror, as the ceiling split down the middle of the hall. Smaller fissures spiderwebbed from the main one, coating her with a snowfall of debris.

Instinct took over from mindless panic, jolting her into action. She dashed to the nearest glowing Neuralogue node. This node had no control panel—it was merely one of the myriad magical eyes that monitored the Sanctuary. Though the nodes were ever-watchful, they were unable to receive or execute commands. Even Isidra, with her Neuralogue affinity, had never been able to make them function.

“Help,” she gasped in desperation, while the ceiling groaned and splintered. “We’re under attack!”

Her scales went cold as her brain caught up to what her runaway mouth had said. Some dark, terrible power was at play here, she was sure of it. Layers of enchantments protected the Sanctuary—wards to dispel any disaster—and they weren’t the type to wear out. Someone was trying to destroy the ceiling of the Utility Level.

Or the floor of the Impression Chamber.

That dreadful thought struck Isidra just as a falling rock struck the ground. She cringed aside, pressing her body against the wall. Her ears flattened against her skull.

“Help,” she repeated through a dry mouth, slamming a paw against the node’s protective glass surface.

The node, of course, did nothing.

Isidra growled in frustration, then winced as a more insistent rumble tore through the castle’s underbelly. The ceiling buckled along its widest fissure.

“Archon Enorchus,” she shrieked, her voice embarrassingly shrill, “where are you?”

But Enorchus was sure to be long gone, attending to his special guests. He’d be welcoming envoys and ambassadors from more than fifty nations, shepherding potential mortal bondmates into the Impression Chamber—the chamber now crumbling above her.

“Greinan?” she screamed in desperation. “Someone, anyone, help!”

The ceiling looked poised to fall. Hundreds of creatures would be hurt, or worse. Spurred by a pulse of adrenaline, Isidra dashed onward. If she could reach an access point to command the Neuralogue directly, she could stop this.

The chilling sound of rock scraping against rock clawed at her sensitive ears. A giant slab of stone fell with a bone-rattling thud, blocking her path. Isidra wheeled around and tore in the opposite direction, racing the spreading cracks.

Her breath came in searing gasps. Her mind burned with frantic questions. Why hadn’t the collapse stopped? There were plenty of powerful dragons with forcemagic—including Archon Enorchus himself—who could have saved the Impression Chamber.

CRASH! Another chunk of ceiling fell before her. Unable to stop in time, she slammed into it. Stars winking across her vision, she stared around, searching for an escape route and finding none. She was trapped. She could do nothing to save the creatures above. Worse, she could do nothing to save herself.

With a growl that was half a sob, Isidra reared up on her hind legs and stretched to her fullest extent. The hall was large enough for fully grown dragons to maneuver. Though she was undersized in height for her age, her body was long. Her front talons scraped against a sagging piece of ceiling, and she pushed at it.

The stone slid lower, and biting pain lanced through her right foreleg. She gritted her fangs and placed her cheek against the rock to add another brace point. The bony knobs on her skull that would one day sprout into horns became fiery points of agony.

“HELP ME,” Isidra roared at a nearby Neuralogue node, though she knew it was no use.

“Hold on!”

Her ears twitched and she stilled. Had she imagined it, or was that a voice?

A sheet of stone nearly sheared off the tip of her tail as it fell. She yelped and rotated her hindquarters, thudding back to all-fours. Another spike of sharp pain shot through her injured foreleg.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought, terror freezing her innards. This should have been the day she met her future bondmate, the day she left the gloom of the Utility Level to begin a better, brighter life. Instead she would die alone in a cage, crushed to death.

“Where are you?”

There—a voice! Isidra had definitely heard a voice. Renewed energy thrilled through her as she bellowed, “Over here!”

“Keep speaking,” the voice called, muffled and indistinct.

“I’m in the main passageway! Follow my—” A fit of violent coughing interrupted Isidra. She’d inhaled a mouthful of dust. An ashy, acrid taste burned her tongue.

“Hello?” The voice sounded closer. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” Isidra croaked, struggling to breathe. The dust was now as thick as ocean fog in a squall. She raised her transparent inner eyelids to keep the debris from blinding her and limped forward. The voice had come from up ahead, from the direction of the elevators.

A new sound joined the incessant rumbles. Cracks appeared in the fallen stone that had first blocked Isidra’s escape, spreading outward from a central point. Her chest swelled with hope. Her mysterious savior was fighting to get through the barrier!

As quickly as hope flared, it died. Overhead bulbs flickered out as the structural integrity of the Utility Level failed. Even the soft purple glow of the node vanished, plunging Isidra into oblivion.

Wait—I can reach the Neuralogue from here!

The realization struck her like a thunderbolt. Capillaries of magic ran through the Sanctuary’s walls, connecting to lights, vents, thermostats, and a thousand other things. If the wall near the Neuralogue node would crack, she might get a direct line of sight to the vein of pure power. That would listen to her.

An agonized wail rose above the rumbling. It sounded like her savior had been injured. Isidra’s heart skipped a crucial beat. Her magic-wielding knowledge couldn’t fill an eggshell, but even she knew a bleeding wielder was a dead wielder.

“Are you okay?” she called through the stifling darkness.

“Yes,” came the voice, though it sounded strained. “I think you’re on the other side of this rock. I’ll see if I can move it.”

“Wait!” It was a long shot, but it was Isidra’s only chance. Gathering her last scraps of strength, she cried, “See if you can crumble the northern wall of the corridor, instead.”

“What? Are you crazy?!”

“Trust me,” she pleaded. “If I’m right, I can save us!”

The voice didn’t reply. For one gut-wrenching moment, Isidra feared her savior had given up on her. Then a series of sharp pops splintered above the roar of the collapse. Jagged debris spilled past her feet, clacking against her ankles and talons. Shafts of purplish light flooded through the darkness as the northern wall crumbled, revealing the Neuralogue’s reassuring glow.

Isidra sprang toward the magical light. Her injured foreleg buckled when she put weight on it, but she forced herself onward, stumbling over scattered rubble.

A groan, low and pained, made her pause. Through clouds of swirling dust, she saw some of the rubble lodged against the wall had also crumbled. A small creature lay on the far side of the broken barrier. That had to be her savior—but the creature was sprawled on the floor, right below a chunk of rock poised to come loose from the ceiling.

Time slowed for Isidra as the rock teetered precariously. Her blood sat frozen in her veins, for her heart had forgotten how to work.

Ignoring the pain in her leg, she leapt again. With her wounded paw, she grabbed the creature and pulled it to safety. At least, she tried to. Though the creature was small, Isidra’s scrawny muscles strained against its weight. The hanging rock tipped, ready to crush, to kill.

Abandoning all sense and safety, Isidra extended her left wing as far as it would go, toward the exposed vein of the Neuralogue. Without stopping to think of the consequences, she hooked her thumb into the pearly river of liquefied magic.

“Stop the collapse!” she screamed.

The Neuralogue flared blindingly bright. An electric current seared through her, emanating from the wellspring of magic. Every nerve in her body crackled, every molecule burned. For a moment, she felt as though she were expanding to blanket the Sanctuary, the world, the universe. She was a singularity, a force of nature, a conduit for the vast power flowing into her.

The moment passed in the blink of an eye. With an unsettling abruptness, all motion stopped. Quivering stones froze. Dust motes hung in place, giving the air a solid, chalky feeling. For the first time since Isidra had left the washroom, it was silent. The only sound was her ragged breathing.

She shakily unhooked her wingthumb from the Neuralogue. Chills wracked her as she disconnected from the magic, and her muscles spasmed. Those aftershocks faded, leaving her otherwise unscathed.

Her brain refused to process what she’d just done. Nor could she stand to think about what might have happened had she not done it. The implications of the attack brought bile to her gullet.

Retching, Isidra cast aside her dark thoughts and did the only thing that made sense, the only thing she could do. Moving her head closer to the exposed Neuralogue, she rasped, “Can you put everything right?”

The magic flared in compliance. Slowly, quietly, broken bits of wall sewed themselves together, fissures mending as if they’d never been. The node reconstructed itself, adding a soft purple sheen to Isidra’s surroundings. Lightbulbs flickered on. The veil of dust lifted. Every piece of rubble returned to its rightful place, and with that, the hall was seamlessly restored.

Isidra swayed as tension flowed out of her body. Pain rushed in to replace it. Her shoulders ached and her limbs hurt, particularly her right foreleg . . . the one which grasped her mysterious savior.

For the first time, she was able to examine it. It was a hominid of some sort. Isidra couldn’t tell what species, for it lay face-down. Dark hair fanned across its torso like the rays of a black sun. Isidra released the creature’s arm. The appendage thumped to the floor, lifeless.

“Oh no,” she whispered. Hominids were terribly fragile things—this one’s left hand was mangled, slick with crimson liquid. A pang of guilt shot through Isidra when she remembered how she’d manhandled the poor creature in those final, frantic moments of peril.

“Don’t be dead,” she said, crouching beside the small body.

With a soft moan, the creature began to stir. Isidra sighed in relief and nosed at it, rolling it onto its back. It was a human female. She had tan skin, but it was impossible to tell much about her face—she’d been struck on the temple, and blood coated her visage.

Isidra shuddered at the gruesome sight. She wasn’t well-versed in the science of magic, but everyone knew blood transported magicthreads through one’s body. Wielding accelerated the heart rate, and even a scratch could prove deadly if a wielder overtaxed herself. There were horror stories of Andarae who’d bled out on battlefields, of dragons and mortals who’d wielded magic while injured, and died from exsanguination.

How to staunch the bleeding? Isidra knew nothing about caring for hominids. Why, she hardly knew how to care for dragons. She looked around on instinct, seeking assistance, but the Utility Level was deserted. Their only company in the long corridor was the softly glowing node.

“We must help this human,” she informed the Neuralogue. The magic could no longer help now that it was sealed behind the protective glass, but Isidra felt an urgent need to speak, to combat the pressure building in her chest.

“Let no more harm come to her,” Isidra continued aloud. Whether it was a plea or a prayer, to the Neuralogue or to the gods of Selaras, she didn’t know. “Let her wake up.”

By coincidence, the human’s eyelids fluttered open. Isidra couldn’t help but gasp. The young woman’s eyes were a striking green—the green of ancient forests accented with lighter streaks, like blades of dewy grass on a golden dawn.

Silence stretched as the two of them stared at each other.

Then the human opened her mouth and screamed.

3

Of Blood And Bonds

It took Isidra a long time to calm the human. Though the creature resisted her advances, she was too weak to protest when Isidra pulled her upright and draped her across her scaly shoulders. The small, warm body nestled at the base of Isidra’s wings as she limped down the hall.

Eerie stillness had settled on the Utility Level in wake of the collapse. As Isidra’s numbing shock wore off, the trauma of her narrow escape took root.

“Greinan?” she called, her voice pitched high with nerves. “Are you alright?”

No response. Not a hint of movement. Did that mean the younger dragon had finished his chores and left before the attack, or was he so badly hurt that he couldn’t reply?

Anxiety crawled across Isidra’s flesh, itchy and insistent. She veered off the central corridor, making a beeline for the nearest control panel. When she reached it, she worked her shoulder blades and wing joints to dislodge the human. The mortal slid sideways, slumping to a heap on the floor beneath the panel and its corresponding Neuralogue node.

Isidra shoved her snout into the panel’s adjoining ventilation slot. Threaded within the wall beyond shone the familiar, comforting light of the magic that had saved them.

“Can you heal our injuries?” she asked the Neuralogue. “I’m not too bad—only a cut on my forepaw—but I suspect the human has some broken bones. In fact, don’t trouble yourself with me, focus on the human. And help Greinan, if he got hurt in the collapse. Please and thanks.”

She pulled her nose from the vent in time to see the human hunch over her injured appendage, baring her teeth in a pained grimace. Isidra’s stomach churned at the sickening sound of bones popping into place as the hand magically returned to its proper shape.

The gash on the human’s brow healed next. Her flesh mended without a trace of a scar, though her face remained smeared with lost blood. Isidra tilted her head and squinted, but still found it impossible to get a proper impression of the mortal’s features.

“Oh!” she gasped, wings flaring in alarm. “Impression Day! I need to get upstairs. And so do you. You have to find your future bondmate.”

The human stood slowly, examining the healed fingers on her hand. Without looking at Isidra, she said, “I’m not here to participate in the ceremony.”

“Then why are you here? Are you an Andaras?” That was a silly question, and Isidra mentally chided herself for bothering to ask. Mortal Andarae wore specialized uniforms designed for flying, wielding, and fighting. This woman wore a green velvet dress, accented with red and gold gemstones on her high collar. The collapse had wrecked it, but Isidra could tell it had once been lovely.

The human snorted—a strange reaction, Isidra thought, and rather rude.

“You must be an ambassador,” Isidra went on, trying to coax a response. “Don’t you want to make sure your delegation is safe?”

“I came alone.” The young woman’s voice rang with full-bodied vibrance—though without the competing thunder of the collapse, Isidra caught a bitter edge to her words.

“Well, I can’t leave you here,” said Isidra, “and I have to get to the ceremony because I am participating. Assuming the Sanctuary didn’t crumble and kill everyone. So, let’s go.”

The human flexed her hand. “After you,” she said in an unreasonably cold tone.

Isidra could barely believe this was her savior, but there was no time to address the ongoing discourtesy. Shaking her head, she hurried from the control room and proceeded to the elevators. The human followed at a distance. She carried herself grandly, back straight and chin tilted in a noble fashion.

“I’m sorry I frightened you when you woke up,” said Isidra, taking a stab at conversation.

“I wasn’t frightened.”

“But you screamed—”

“Yeah, well, waking up to find a big old dragon breathing in your face can come as a bit of a shock,” the human snapped.

Isidra’s shoulders hunched. She dipped her head and brought her left wing forward, blowing air against her brown, leathery skin membrane. Sniffing worriedly, she determined her breath didn’t stink. That was something, at least.

“I never thanked you,” said Isidra, trying again. When no response came, she twisted her neck to see the human’s brows narrow in confusion. “For saving me, I mean. I wouldn’t have made it out of there alive, if not for you. How did you know where to look for me?”

The human’s features contracted into a full frown. “I wasn’t looking for you. I wanted a quiet place to be alone. When I was halfway down the stairwell out of the reception hall, I heard cracking noises. Then I heard you screaming.”

“Oh.” An irrational lump of disappointment lodged in Isidra’s throat. She fought to keep her tone neutral as she said, “Thank you regardless.”

They’d reached the elevators by this time, and Isidra placed a paw on the sensor pad at the threshold of the nearest glass-enclosed shaft. The pad, made of heat-conductive silver material, shone briefly with the imprint of her foot. A stone pod descended into view behind the glass doors. It slowed to a halt and the doors swished open, retracting into the rocky walls of the mountain.

Isidra entered the pod. The human didn’t move.

“Are you well?” asked Isidra, which was as delicate a way of saying hurry up as she could manage. Perhaps the mortal had been concussed in the collapse? Perhaps Isidra had been unwise to attempt a healing, knowing nothing of mortal physiology.

“I’ll take the stairs,” said the human.

“You’re in no condition to walk on your own,” Isidra argued.

“Sure I am. You used that wretched magic on me, and now I’m all better.”

Isidra’s ears flattened against her skull. “Wretched—? The Neuralogue saved your life!” She’d always imagined humans to be kind, full of laughter, ever ready with a quick smile. That was what the human Andarae were like, anyway. While she’d only observed them from afar, she’d never seen any of them scowl the way this one did.

“And because of that, I must do as you say?” the human retorted.

“That isn’t it—oh, never mind.” Isidra stamped a foot. “We’re wasting time, and we don’t know if anyone was hurt in the collapse. If you won’t think of your own welfare, you might spare a thought for your kinsmen.”

The human pursed her lips. After a moment of deliberation she entered the elevator, standing as far away from Isidra as the space permitted.

With more force than was strictly necessary, Isidra punched her wingthumb into one of the numbered sensor strips embedded in the elevator. The polished pod shot upwards with barely a lurch to indicate they were moving.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to introduce yourself,” Isidra said, glaring sidelong at the human.

“Nope.”

The elevator stopped before Isidra could be offended by the curt reply. The doors snicked open, revealing the sparkling vastness of the Sanctuary’s main hall.

Her jaw dropped. The Atrium was as pristine as ever—and utterly deserted. The circular marble chamber rose to a rounded peak twelve dragon-sized stories above, culminating in a magnificent stained glass window. Each tier had an open corridor overlooking the hollow center, and none of them showed signs of destruction. True, Isidra had asked the Neuralogue to fix everything, but where were all the Andarae?

“Maybe the damage from the collapse didn’t reach this far,” the human suggested in a low voice. “Maybe they’ve all gone to the Impression Chamber.”

“Maybe,” said Isidra, her stomach twisting. Something about this didn’t feel right.

Tension built in her chest as they crossed the concourse. The clack of her talons on the floor sounded too loud, too rhythmic—the ticking of a clock counting down to some horrible cutoff point. Was the damage worse than she’d imagined? Would they enter the Impression Chamber to find everyone dead?

The human made a sign of respect to the statue of the dragon-god Shivnath, one of twelve towering alabaster artworks encircling the Atrium. Isidra was relieved to see she had some sense of decorum. Together, they drew level with Shivnath’s likeness and entered the shadowy corridor leading to the Impression Chamber.

Isidra had asked the Neuralogue to make it dark in here for dramatic effect, so candidates could emerge into the brightness of the room beyond. Now she decided it was far too dramatic for her liking. She broke into a trot, then a full-on sprint.

She faltered as she burst through the archway at the end of the corridor, emerging into the Impression Chamber. Its stone seats, which rose in curved tiers along the wall of the egg-shaped dome, were empty. The floating orbs of colored light, which Isidra had worked on a few hours ago, had dimmed. The layer of lush, soft moss carpeting the floor looked untouched.

“I don’t understand.” Isidra turned to face the human, who’d entered after her. “Where is everyone?”

The human remained silent, but her lips thinned to a grim line.

A pair of grand, arched doors loomed at the far end of the Impression Chamber, dark and foreboding. Dreading what she might find on the other side, Isidra approached with the young woman trailing in her wake.

The doors swung open automatically as they drew near. Dazzling brightness spilled forth, forcing Isidra to squeeze her eyes shut. A wave of sound crested and crashed on her: the chorus of a thousand cheerful voices rising and falling in idle chatter. Through her closed lids, Isidra registered a flash of purple light, brief and intense.

The chatter faded and died. Silence reigned once more, somehow louder than the conversation had been. Eyes watering, Isidra dared to squint through her protective inner lids. A motley crowd of dragons and mortals stood in the Commencement Hall, staring at her.

“Isidra.” A deep voice rang out. The crowd parted ways, allowing Enorchus to approach. Never had Isidra seen him so visibly shaken, his shrewd eyes round and his jaw slack. “What have you done?”

“T-there was a collapse in the Utility Level.” Her voice was pathetically thin compared to the regal, resonant rumble Enorchus produced. “I got trapped. This human found me and helped me escape. We didn’t know if the damage had affected the rest of the Sanctuary. We thought you were all dead.”

Mutters rippled through the crowd. Dragons conversed with their mortals. As Isidra gazed around, a growing horror clawed its way up from the pit of her gut. Her yearmates stood scattered amongst the Andarae and ambassadors, and beside each of them . . .

“It can’t be,” she breathed, swaying as her limbs weakened. Dreyla stood with a willowy elf; Tagrath murmured to a dark-furred aphyrin; Ondarian had a sprite perched on his wing. The collapse hadn’t affected the upper levels of the Sanctuary. The Impression Ceremony had gone on, as planned.

Isidra had missed it.

The light, the lovely golden light she’d designed, became unbearable. The whispers of the crowd were too loud. The scrutiny of the Andarae was too heavy, pressing upon her, making it impossible to breathe.

What would become of her if she couldn’t enter the training program? Would she be evicted, forced to fend for herself in the real world? The Sanctuary had never been a particularly happy home, but it was the only home she’d ever known. Isidra didn’t know what she’d do if she had to leave. She didn’t think she’d survive on her own.

Before she could say anything—before the awful truth of the situation could sink in—the crowd shrank apart once more. Everyone seemed to grow smaller, as if they’d subconsciously hunched into subtle bows.

A human moved through their midst. Isidra recognized the figure at once, though she’d never seen her in the flesh. It was the Savior of Selaras, Guardian of the Twelfth Magic, Liberator of Dragons: Keriya Soulstar, Founder of the Andarae.

Soulstar was a magical anomaly. She was of an age with Enorchus, and like him, her eyes were purple. But where the Archon’s orbs glittered like amethyst gems, Soulstar’s burned a luminous red-violet. Isidra’s breath hitched as she met Soulstar’s gaze. She snapped to attention, straightening her body before arching her neck in a bow.

“No need for such formality, Isidra.” Soulstar’s soft voice hummed with the same undercurrent of power that was present whenever Enorchus spoke.

Isidra peeked up, surprised Soulstar knew her name. The human wore plain, unassuming brown garments, but she was by far the most impressive creature in the room. A deadly grace limned her movements. Her snowy white hair—the only mark of her seniority—was pulled back in a tight braid, revealing an ageless face. Her pallid skin was smooth, but for a series of fine lines around her eyes and mouth.

Those lines described a history of sadness to Isidra. No surprise, since Soulstar had served in every war since the greatest one, the Shadow War, when she’d united the mortal races five-hundred years ago and saved the world.

Soulstar’s uncanny eyes flicked from Isidra to the young woman at her side.

“This door contains a special sensor,” said Soulstar, gesturing to the grand arch through which they’d entered. “It validates the blood bond between a dragon and mortal when they graduate from training to become Andarae. It reacted to the two of you when you entered. Do you have any idea why?”

Isidra’s flighty, traitorous mind abandoned her. She couldn’t concentrate on the question or its implications—she was too upset, too overstimulated.

“No,” she finally croaked.

Soulstar waited, perhaps expecting more, but Isidra’s tongue sat leaden in her mouth. In trying to do something noble and brave, something a real Andaras might have done, she’d missed her one chance to become an Andaras.

Soulstar turned to address the audience. “Gentlefolk, I beg your pardon for this interruption to one of our most sacred ceremonies.” She didn’t raise her voice, but it rang through the room, rising to the curved, crystal windows far above. “Continue as you were, and enjoy your Commencement. You will, unfortunately, have to excuse Enorchus and me.”

Turning to Isidra, she added, “You’re a forcemagic wielder?” The sudden commotion nearly drowned her question. Soulstar seemed oblivious to the fact that she’d whipped the room into a frenzy. Dragons and mortals alike craned their necks, trying to look without looking like they were looking.

The thin scales of Isidra’s cheeks heated. She stared at her front paws and shook her head. “My magic hasn’t begun to glow yet. I can’t wield.”

“Mm,” said Soulstar. “Interesting.”

It isn’t interesting, thought Isidra. It’s shameful.

At fifteen years old, Isidra was well outside the normal range of magical maturation. She could see the glow of power inside her whenever she turned her mind inward and attempted to wield, but she’d never been able to harness her magicsource as others did.

Soulstar clapped her hands together in a businesslike fashion, looking from Isidra to the bloodstained human. “There’s work to do, and it can’t be done here. You’re both familiar with the basic principles of lightmagic, I assume?”

“Yes,” Isidra said quickly, eager to move past the embarrassment of admitting she couldn’t wield.

“I’m familiar,” said the human, “but—”

“Then brace yourselves for teleportation.” Soulstar nodded to Enorchus, who nodded back.

A piercing flash lit the world. Light enveloped Isidra, and she once again felt her body expanding at an impossible rate. In a heartbeat, the light vanished and she found herself elsewhere.

A vast, dark chamber loomed around her, suffused with ethereal purple haze. Before her stood Soulstar and Enorchus. They faced Isidra and the young woman, who’d been transported side by side.

“This is the Ascension Chamber,” Soulstar announced. “We’re here because the two of you have bonded.”

4

The Eminarchs

Isidra found herself caught in a swift-moving current, pulled along by forces much more powerful than she. Every fluttering heartbeat sent a spike of anxiety through her ribs, yet a small spark of hope prevailed. If what Keriya Soulstar had said was true—if Isidra had somehow, inexplicably, bonded—maybe there was still a chance she could have a future with the Andarae.

In the ten minutes since she’d arrived in the Ascension Chamber, Soulstar had summoned the Eminarchs, the twelve dragon elders who governed the draconic race. The Eminarchs and their bondmates had assembled in a loose circle, arrayed across a great marble disc magically suspended beneath the central node of the Neuralogue.

The shining orb hung in the middle of the cavernous chamber, emitting the purple glow that illuminated the underground dome. Millions of magicthreads undulated from its massive core. They streamed into holes in the cave’s rounded ceiling, streaming off to serve the Sanctuary above. Wispy arms arced across the Neuralogue’s opalescent surface, straining for freedom before the gravity of the sphere pulled them back. It reminded Isidra of a fiery star, a life-giving force of untold power.

The generous glow barely touched the far-off walls of the cave, but it drenched Isidra. She cowered in her spotlight before the Eminarchs, huddling at the edge of the hovering disc. A fathomless drop yawned behind her. Before her loomed a glittering wall of creatures who could cement her future . . . or shatter it.

“Isidra, Sylvanna, if you’d be so kind as to step forward?” said Soulstar, beckoning them. Isidra obeyed. The human—Sylvanna, was it?—remained where she was, straight-backed and proud. She’d tried to scrub her face clean of blood and grime, but all she’d managed to do was smear the mess.

The Neuralogue flared as Isidra approached, scattering dark shadows amidst the circle of dragons. It glowed a lurid purple, then turned an ominous shade of red. Isidra froze like a rabbit beneath a hawk, and the red light vanished.

Soulstar looked to the Eminarchs. “You see the problem. There was an accident in the Utility Level—observe.”

A pattern of light danced across the Neuralogue. Colors resolved into a crisp, moving image. Isidra gasped—this was the recording from the node she’d spoken to in the Utility Level. She saw herself struggling against the slab of ceiling during the collapse. The video flickered and went dark; when it reappeared, the destruction had vanished and Isidra stood over Sylvanna’s prone form.

“Isidra was trapped, and Sylvanna came to her aid,” Soulstar explained, as the colors faded and the Neuralogue returned to its usual pearly-purple hue. “They were both injured, and in the chaos, they exchanged blood. Now they are bonded.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed the smallest Eminarch, a brown male with vivid magenta eyes. Where Isidra’s scales were the color of dirt, this dragon’s hide glittered like an agate, striated with a rainbow of earthy hues. A slew of gruesome scars marred his hide, dulling his natural beauty.

That’s Wyrdrian, Isidra thought. As one of the few dragons who dated back to the Shadow War, Wyrdrian had no bondmate. This somehow made him more otherworldly and intimidating. A deep gouge stretched from his left brow ridge to the tip of his snout, giving him a permanent scowl.

“Bonding is about more than exchanging a few drops of blood,” Wyrdrian continued. “There is powerful magic involved in the process, complex enchantments beyond the abilities of a hatchling.”

“The Neuralogue does not lie,” said Enorchus.

More Eminarchs jumped into the conversation. Their stentorian voices rebounded in the chamber, bludgeoning Isidra, making her wish she was somewhere, anywhere else.

Soulstar raised a hand and said, “Hold.”

The argument subsided, and Isidra shuddered. She’d learned about the Founder of the Andarae, of course—but it was one thing to hear a tutor drone on and on about her, and quite another to be in her presence. The fact that Soulstar could silence a host of the most powerful creatures on Selaras was nothing short of chilling.

“We have bigger problems to discuss,” Soulstar told them. “Our Sanctuary suffered a violent magical attack.”

A strange combination of fear and vindication rippled through Isidra’s ventral scales. It was an attack! I knew it.

“Only the strongest arcane magic could break the Sanctuary’s enchantments,” rasped a creaky voice. A lone dragon stepped forward on the far side of the disc. His scales were gray with age and his hide sagged from his bony sides, but his purple eyes were bright and alert.

“Quite right, Tolbrayth,” Keriya agreed in an unreadable tone. “And only the strongest of wielders could so expertly cover their tracks. I couldn’t sense the collapse as it occurred, nor can I sense any hint of the spell that might have caused it.”

The Eminarchs glanced among each other, exchanging dark looks of hidden meaning.

A large male cleared his throat. Isidra, who’d also been forced to learn about the Eminarchs in her lessons, recognized him as Vraelor—his sun-gold scales, sky-blue eyes, and dwarven bondmate made him unmistakable.

“If there is no trace of the spell,” said Vraelor, “how are we to find the criminal who wielded it?”

“Was the Neuralogue not designed for this purpose?” Wyrdrian snapped, flaring one wing toward the glowing magical centerpiece. “It sees everything in the Sanctuary and stores that information. Its processing power is unparalleled. Ask the Neuralogue.”

Enorchus cast a supercilious glare at the smaller dragon. “The Neuralogue may function like a brain, but it is not one. It is not capable of abstract thought, so you cannot ask it questions. It requires a wielder to give it a command, and it executes that command.”

“Then you should command it to show a report of whoever used its arcane power against us,” Wyrdrian retorted.

Soulstar nodded at this suggestion and turned to the Neuralogue. Colors raced across its surface again, and the Eminarchs leaned forward. Isidra, anticipating the reveal of the culprit, did the same. The image that appeared on the orb knocked the breath from her lungs.

“T-that’s me,” she said, gaping at her own green eyes, her too-thin muzzle, the floppy pointed ears she hadn’t yet grown into. She forced herself not to recoil. Recoiling would make her seem guilty—or rather, more guilty.

“I didn’t do it!” She swung her head toward Enorchus, trembling. “Archon, you have to believe me. I’d never hurt the Sanctuary. All I’ve ever wanted is to become one of the Andarae!”

Enorchus opened his jaws. Before he could utter a word, Soulstar spoke.

“Isidra.” Her voice was soft, but Isidra flinched. “Why did you use the Neuralogue?”

Isidra swallowed a lump in her throat. “I . . . I stopped the collapse. I told the Neuralogue to save us, then I asked it to put everything right. I undid whatever spell caused the damage, so it’s my fault you can’t sense any trace of it.”

“You ask why she used the Neuralogue when you should ask how,” said Wyrdrian. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, raking Isidra’s small frame.

“I might also have touched it,” she admitted in a squeak, pulling her wings and neck toward her body like a turtle trying to hide in its shell.

“And you survived?” said Tolbrayth. He was impossibly ancient, according to Isidra’s tutors, but his sunken chest expanded and he boomed a deep, strong laugh. “That’s nothing short of a miracle, hatchling.”

“It’s a disaster, is what it is,” said Wyrdrian. “She bypassed our safeguards—”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I was trying to save the Sanctuary.” Isidra wasn’t used to speaking for herself, but her future hung in the balance. In an undertone, she added, “Because of that, I missed the Impression Ceremony.”

“Yet your physical connection to the Neuralogue allowed you to forge a bond with this human,” said Vraelor, dipping his snout at Sylvanna.

Under normal circumstances, Isidra wouldn’t have bonded until she’d graduated from training. At that time, each pair of partners offered a drop of blood to the Neuralogue. The Neuralogue then connected them in mind and spirit in preparation for their ascension to the rank of full Andarae.

For a fleeting instant, Isidra allowed herself a wild fantasy: she and Sylvanna, united by destiny, would skip the six years of boring training and rise as Andarae then and there.

“We cannot let this stand,” Wyrdrian growled, shattering the warm glow of Isidra’s daydream. “They have spat on the traditions of our forebears.”

“A blood bond can’t be undone,” said Vraelor. “Like it or not, they are Andarae—if only by technicality.”

“Technicalities do not make Andarae,” said a turquoise female with yellow eyes—that had to be Sirikanth. “The years of training and relationship-building are crucial to the process. Without proper schooling, they cannot join our ranks.”

“Then train them and let them ascend as they were meant to,” said Tolbrayth, clicking his fangs in irritation. “Let us be done yapping about it.”

“No,” said Enorchus. “This pair is not worthy to train.”

Isidra felt as though Enorchus had walloped her with the broadside of his tail. Was he punishing her for tampering with the Neuralogue?

Most of the Eminarchs nodded at the Archon’s proclamation, but not Keriya Soulstar. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice deadly quiet as she turned to stare at Enorchus.

“Is it because I can’t wield?” Isidra blurted. “My magic will glow soon enough, I’m sure of it.”

“A dragon who can’t wield magic?” Vraelor lowered his brow ridges in a scowl. “I never heard of such a thing.”

Wyrdrian blew a scornful snort through his nostrils. “If she’s unable to wield, then she’s unable to participate in essential parts of training.”

Shame slithered through Isidra. Of all the damning things she’d done that day, confessing her greatest weakness to the twelve most powerful creatures on Selaras was, perhaps, the worst. She was sure she’d just ruined whatever slim chance she had of joining the Andarae.

“That does not make her unworthy to become one of us,” said Soulstar.

“Isidra is not the problem,” Enorchus said with a casual shrug of his wings. “I’m far more concerned with the human.”

In the back-and-forth chaos, Isidra had nearly forgotten Sylvanna. The young woman hadn’t spoken, nor had she moved from her spot by the edge of the disc.

Tolbrayth snaked his neck forward to squint at the human. “Who is she?”

“This is Sylvanna Ashwood,” said Enorchus. “Daughter of Dazran Ashpyre, blood of his blood.”

A rushing sound filled Isidra’s ears. Her stomach dropped as though the great marble disc had fallen away beneath her claws, sending her hurtling through nothingness.

Dazran Ashpyre—the very villain Greinan had warned her about that morning. Thirteen years ago, Dazran had gone mad. He’d turned on his bondmate, Nemeriath, murdering her and killing himself in the ensuing battle.

And Isidra had inadvertently bound herself to his daughter.

Soulstar folded her arms. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You think it wise to allow the offspring of a madman to live among us?” said Enorchus.

“Dazran Ashpyre was a stain on our history,” said Wyrdrian. “He was unworthy to hold the title of Andaras. Thus, his daughter is also unworthy.”