On the ninth moon, Iron-Reach, the air was a toxic soup of rust and coal. Deep within the forbidden sector of the mines, a seventeen-year-old boy named Zane knelt in the dirt. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from exhaustion, but from the terrifying heat radiating from the object in his hands.
The Dragon Egg.
In his dreams, a golden voice had told him this egg would bring liberation. It was supposed to hatch into a creature of light. But as the shell began to crack, the golden warmth vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory chill that made the obsidian walls frost over.
CRACK.
A jagged, obsidian claw pierced the shell. There was no majestic roar, only a low, vibrating hum that resonated with the void. The creature that crawled out was a dragon, but its scales were matte black, swallowing the light of Zane's lantern. Its eyes were two slits of Indigo fire.
Zane reached out, expecting a bond of soul and fire. Instead, the moment he touched the hatchling, he felt a sharp, agonizing drain. It wasn't just his energy; it was his very "luck." The small successes he had enjoyed all his life—the near-misses with falling rocks, the extra scraps of food he always found—began to wither.
The dragon wasn't a companion. It was a parasite of fate. And Zane, the boy who would be king, felt the first shadow of a destiny that had gone horribly wrong.