Prologue

D RAGONS LIVE.

Everyone believes they are gone, the last of them annihilated in the Threshing. Lost to the annals of time, to the fade of memory, to be recalled only by the bards. It is the arrogance of man that holds to this—the wish for it to be so.

Wishing does not make it true, though.

Years ago, the kingdoms of man came together and ventured into the Crags. Legions of soldiers joined forces for the greater good, to see an end to the pestilent dragons. With their scale-tipped arrows and swords of dragon bone and droves of wolves, nursed since they were pups on the blood of dragons, humankind hunted dragons through the mists, deep into the ancient caves and winding tunnels of the mountains. For years, for decades, for centuries, they hunted, ridding the sky of dragon fire and claiming their caches of treasure for themselves.

No corner of the Crags was overlooked. Not a hollow or gully or wood left unexplored. No resource untapped. Soldiers ferreted out and slew every pride until the last winged creature was erased from land and sky. Until their fire was snuffed out for good. Until none remained.

Except one.