Chapter 1

Black, roiling clouds spun overhead, casting the day into darkness. The constant rumble and crackle of electricity in the putrefied air should have terrified Zenon. After centuries of captivity, he recognized the storm for what it was. A cover. Something was coming. Something strong. Powerful. Dangerous. But he was at peace. What was the worst that could happen—lightning would strike the metal rod he was tied to in the middle of the field like a forgotten dog? The creature that had somehow found him would chew at his bones until there was nothing left? He’d died through it before. Pain, like everything else, was fleeting. Once your heart stopped, nothing hurt. Until you lived again. Only then was the agony unbearable once more.

The scent of decaying flesh filled his nose, burning like acid in his lungs. He wasn’t the only creature held in that mortuary of a pasture, but he was the only one to live on with each passing season. Most died within weeks. The dragons were heartier. They lasted a few years—sometimes more—but eventually, they too, went to their final rest.

His animal didn’t give him that luxury. No matter what, the phoenix lived on. When the body gave out—in a blast of flame and glory only he was there to witness—he was reborn from the fire and ash. Magically returned to his prison. Alone. Chained. Useless.

To think, prior to his captivity—before the world had succumbed to the evil that had plagued humanity—he and his kind were considered regal. A blessing to all. Heroes. Saviors. They’d been praised, revered even. The phoenixes had protected the realms and all their inhabitants without fail, never asking for anything in return but the peaceful coexistence they all deserved. But despite their best efforts, darkness had leeched into each society, bringing greed and entitlement. Leaders of great nations had set their sights on more than what they needed—wanting it all. Wars so terrible there could be no victors broke out across the world, and the reign of the mighty phoenix was no longer enough to make right the wrongs committed.

Zenon snorted, regretting it the instant he did, for the pain it brought his already laboring lungs. With a shove he could hardly muster, he sprawled onto his back, peering deeper into the clouds. Big, fat drops of rain plunked on his peeling skin, sizzling and hissing on contact. Steam rose from his naked body, creating a blanket of fog for the wind to carry away.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Too weak to turn his head all the way, Zenon peered right, then left. He tried to look above his head but couldn’t manage it. Where were they? He sniffed the air, tasted it on his dry tongue, but all he got was the rot and stench that always filled him. Nothing living, that was for damned sure. It had been weeks since the last creature had died. He shouldn’t hear anyone or anything’s life force pulsing in his wasteland—not that he’d chosen it as his own or wished it to be so—yet there it was. Thump thuuump, thump thump thump.

Perhaps it was his own heart. That sometimes happened when he was close to the rising. No, his was heavier. Duller. Steadier. This one pulsed much too quickly. And it didn’t beat quite right, as though it hadn’t found its rhythm or was losing it somehow.

A long pause had him holding his breath as he strained to hear. Thumpthumpthump thump thump…thump thumpthump. The failing organ hammered on in quick succession until even he was left dizzy from the uneven pace at which it clipped.

Directly above, in the eye of the storm, an orange glow winked to life. Zenon focused on the small point. Waiting. Whatever had conjured the ethereal storm was coming. Did the heartbeat belong to his murderer? The glow spread like a drop of blood in the water, staining the sky the further it went, leaving the center a deep, burnt orange, the outer rings paler and paler until they faded into the murky clouds.

Even as he observed, he listened for that pulse. The irregularity of it had left him reeling. It drew him. Demanded his attention. It made his sluggish heart race as though something important was coming. Yet, there he was, chained. Helpless.

An agonized screech rose from his chest and ripped from his lips, cutting through the drone of the storm, shocking him to his bones and stilling his breath.

When had his phoenix last uttered a sound? Five hundred years ago? A thousand?

The thundering of his heart all but obliterated the other. Whatever was happening, it had captured the phoenix’s attention. The beast had been silent for so long, Zenon feared he’d never hear it or feel its power running through his veins again. The rebirth only happened once his mortal heart stopped beating, and by the time it resumed, the phoenix would already be dormant again. There, yet always out of reach.

Maybe the magic-infused alloy collar that prevented his beast from emerging had weakened. Could he call upon his phoenix and free himself? Using every ounce of strength he possessed, Zenon reached for the thick metal around his neck. He slipped his fingers beneath the cursed thing and heaved with all his might, but he only depleted himself further. The instrument of his demise did not break. It did not bend.

His breath rattled in his chest. A dry wheeze whispered past his lips. And despair pounded him deeper into the dirt than any storm ever could.

“Is that you, brother?” a voice Zenon never expected to hear again whispered in his mind. The deep, gravelly tone sounded weak, and so very far away.

“Zandar?” he screamed on the mental link. “Zandar. I hear you, brother. I hear you.”

Dry sobs racked his body. If he could have produced tears, they would have mingled with the fat drops pouring down on him from above. He opened his mind further, desperate for the connection with his kin. The last time he’d spoken to one of his brothers was the day of his capture. The moment the collar had locked into place, all had gone silent. His family. His clan. Everyone disappeared in an instant.

In the days and years to follow, he’d tried repeatedly to establish the connection, but not once had he managed to bridge the distance between them.

Holding his breath, he listened. His throat, parched and raw, ached with the pent-up emotions he couldn’t release. “Zandar?” More than anything, he wished the name hadn’t come out as a frantic plea, displaying not only his physical weakness, but the failure of his heart and soul. But he couldn’t help it. Desperation filled every cell in his body, every molecule.

Worse than any death he’d suffered, the cold, hard silence that had followed ate at his soul, shredding it like a million scythes bearing down on him at once. He’d rather relive being eaten alive by wild beasts many times over than suffer through the silence of one more day.

A violent shudder coursed through him. Damn and damn again. His transition was coming. He couldn’t let go. Had to fight it. What if, after he was reborn, he couldn’t reopen the connection to his phoenix? To his brother?

He breathed past the pain—in through his nose and out between his cracked, peeling lips. Certain the orange glow in the sky was responsible for his strides in unfurling his power, even for those brief moments, Zenon refocused on it. It had grown. The bleeding color swirled around like a tornado above—but more dangerous. As it descended, the rain shoved aside. Each rotation was bigger, stronger. Dark fingers that looked like rust reached from the center, extending out to the very edges of the cloud.

“Zandar,” he called out once more on the weak telepathic link that should have been like a burning beacon to his kin. Dirt and debris bit into his paper-thin skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the anguish that devoured his soul when he got no response at all.

He didn’t yet know what creature had found him. He didn’t care. He just wanted it to be over.

Let it be quick, let it be merciful, and please, if any of the Gods remain, let it be final.