Page 44 of Waking Her Dragon

Hope no longer felt fragile.

It felt inevitable.

Because Fate had never promised an easy road, only that it would never be walked alone.

Until we meet again…

You can travel the universe…

You can see the Wonders of the World…

But there is no place like home, and that is always where the heart is.

XOXO, Sydney

Epilogue

A full week had crawled past, yet the chamber still stank of his humiliation.

The heart of The Abyss, once a terrifying testament to Leviathan’s supreme authority, was a hollowed-out carcass. The heavy stone walls were deeply cracked, weeping dark fluid where the structural integrity of the mountain had failed. The silver binding pillars, forged to withstand the thrashing of lesser gods, hung in melted, twisted ribbons like frozen, metallic tears. Strips of Sydney and Kara's devastating Enchantment had left blinding white scorch marks across the obsidian floor, a permanent, blinding brand of White Dragon Magic slicing right through his sacred darkness.

At the center of the ruin lay the physical proof of his failure.

Garrett’s blood was caked thick and deep crimson and gray against the base of the broken central pillar. A few feet away, tossed carelessly onto the ash, was the heavy iron and silver spike Leviathan had personally driven through the Guardsman's shoulder to lock him to the pain. It was bent, discarded, and utterly useless.

Leviathan stared at the spike, and the volatile rage he had suppressed for seven days finally ruptured.

He screamed, the cacophonous discord shattering the remaining glass-smooth stones across the chamber floor. Spinning in complete circles, he unleashed a torrent of pure, unadulterated Hellfire from his palms. The dark crimson and ebony blast tore into the far wall, obliterating a massive archway into a cloud of choking black dust and falling boulders. He kicked the silver and iron spike, sending it whistling through the air until it embedded itself deep into the cracked stone ceiling.

Panting, his chest heaving, his claws dug into his own palms until dark, acidic blood welled. The Special One had breached his domain. She had walked into the Dark, shattered his bindings, and ripped his greatest prize straight out from under his hand.

Leviathan had been mocked. Defeated. Left behind in his own broken house.

He raised a hand to blast another pillar, desperate to bring the entire ceiling down on his own head. He longed to feel the crushing weight of it…

Then, his hand froze.

The Hellfire dying in his palms cast a faint, flickering light across the central pillar. In the sudden quiet following his outburst, something caught his attention. It wasn't the blood. It wasn't the white burn marks.

It was a microscopic glitch in the ambient energy of the room, vibrating against the back of his mind like a plucked string.

The violent echo of falling stone slowly died away, leaving only the sound of Leviathan’s ragged breathing. He stood frozen, his hand still half-raised toward the column he intended to pulverize.

The heat in his veins vanished, replaced by an abrupt, unnatural chill.

Slowly, his hand lowered to his side. The frantic heaving of his chest subsided, smoothing out into long, measured breaths. The wild, chaotic dark energy that usually danced across his skin shrank back into his flesh, extinguished completely. The sudden plummet of his temperature sent a thin wisp of vapor rising from his shoulders.

The mindless fury was gone, drained away as if someone had pulled a plug in his soul.

He didn't look at the shattered walls or the ceiling he had just ruined. His eyes were locked entirely on the base of the broken central pillar.

Leviathan moved forward. The heavy, world-shaking strides of an enraged Demon Lord were replaced by a silent, predatory glide. He closed the distance between himself and the structural stump, his gaze tracking a specific, jagged smear.

It was the almost black, dried crust of Garrett’s blood. But it wasn't pure. Sliced directly through the dark stain was a faint, iridescent smudge, the residual psychic essence left behind when Aodhan had violently blasted Leviathan out of their combined psyche.

Dropping into a low, deliberate crouch, he extended his right hand, his long claws retracting just enough to expose the pads of his fingers. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed his index and middle fingers directly into the center of the stained stone.

His eyes slowly slid shut.