Chapter 1 - Whispers on the Tide
The coastal cliffs of Oakhaven had always tasted of salt and wild wind, but this morning the breeze carried the acrid stench of burned sulfur. Seven-year-old Rowan sat barefoot on the precipice, his knees drawn to his chest, listening to the rhythmic rumble vibrating inside Sylva’s chest. The mother dragon’s pearlescent scales shimmered in the dawn light like polished sea glass, her majestic feathered wings forming a protective canopy over the nest where three hatchlings—Lumi, Zephyr, and Ash—tumbled playfully across Rowan’s lap. To the world beyond the jagged bluffs, dragons were terrifying scourges of myth. To Rowan, who had known neither family nor shelter before tumbling into their sea cave three winters ago, Sylva’s warm snout resting against his collarbone was the only home he had ever known.
Suddenly, the ocean fell dead calm. The rhythmic crashing of surf died down to an eerie hiss as the thick ocean fog parted before the sun could burn it away. Ash let out a tiny, frightened chirp, burrowing beneath Rowan’s linen tunic. Sylva’s head snapped upward, the golden slits of her eyes narrowing into points of molten fire. Her feathers flared along the ridge of her spine, vibrating with a low warning drone that made the stones beneath Rowan’s feet shiver.
Peering through the mist, Rowan’s breath caught in his throat. Emerging from the grey expanse was not a merchant vessel, but a armada of iron-plated dreadnoughts flying the black Kraken banner of the Sunken Citadel. High on the prow of the flagship, massive steam-driven ballistas groaned as their iron winches turned, locked onto the cliffside nest. Rowan scrambled to his feet, crying out to Sylva just as the first iron harpoon whistled through the morning air, tearing toward the mother dragon’s chest.
