Your dragon banked left, a smooth, rolling motion that pressed you deeper into the saddle. You'd ridden her long enough to read her moods—every twitch of a wing, every rumble in her chest. Right now, that rumble was low and questioning.

She pulled at the reins, just slightly. Not a command, but a suggestion. A nudge that said look up.

You did.

The clouds above were thick, heavy with the gray of an oncoming storm. But through a gap, a tear in the fabric of the sky, something moved.

A shadow. Massive. So vast it blotted out the sun for a moment, sending a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Your dragon's wings stuttered. A sound escaped her—a low, wary keen that you'd never heard her make before. She was afraid.

The shadow shifted. It was too large to be a bird. Too deliberate to be a cloud. And as it turned, catching the pale light, scales gleamed—dark as obsidian, edged with the faint shimmer of embers.

The shadow was a dragon. And it was circling.