5. Keldor

I sagged backagainst the unyielding stone of the chamber door, harsh pants tearing from my lungs as I struggled for control. My heart thundered with a deafening cadence, my blood scorching through my veins like molten fire from the forges of the ancients. Every nerve ending blazed with lingering sparks from the female”s electrifying touch, her intoxicating scent still clouding my senses.

Clenching my fists until the scales lining my knuckles groaned in protest, I fought to steady my ragged breaths. What in the seven sacred rings was happening to me? Never in all my long centuries had I experienced such a visceral, all-consuming reaction to a female”s presence. The primal need to claim, to ravage, to bury myself to the hilt in her welcoming heat until she screamed my name to the heavens - it was like nothing I”d ever known.

And that terrified me more than I cared to admit.

As the Prince of Dragoria, I had been well-schooled in the ancient laws and traditions governing my kind since birth. Foremost among them was the sacred covenant regarding mates and the intrinsic bonds we formed. A Dragorian”s mate was their literal other half, the missing piece that completed their souls and allowed them to achieve their full potential as warriors, leaders, and the guardians of our celestial realm.

To find one”s mate, one”s ”anislah”, was the greatest honor that could befall a Dragorian. An event so rare and precious, it was celebrated across all the kingdoms with reverent awe. Those fortunate enough to be blessed with the divine gift of a mate were bound together for all eternity, their essences intertwined, their destinies made whole.

But the female currently ensconced in my private sanctuary? She was human. An alien species, one not even remotely connected to the mighty lineage of the draconic bloodlines. We were as disparate as the infinite planes separating our worlds, our very beings comprised of entirely different cosmic matter. There was no way she could possibly be my anislah...was there?

The notion was ludicrous, unprecedented. Archaic texts made no mention of cross-species bondings occurring. It was deemed an impossibility, a sacrilege against the natural order of existence itself. And yet, as I raked a trembling hand through my crest of tousled hair, I could not dismiss the profound sense of rightness that had welled up within me when I held the female in my arms. As if someone had specifically crafted her to fit against me in absolute perfection, we were like two long-lost pieces of a celestial puzzle finally reunited.

Perhaps I was going mad after the long isolation on this desolate, wretched planet. Maybe the solitude had eroded my grasp on reality to the point of delusional fancy. It would certainly explain the irrational impulses bombarding me, urging me to return to that chamber and make the female mine in every sense of the word. Her lost memories and vulnerable state be damned.

I growled low in my throat, the feral rumble vibrating in the confines of my broad chest. No, I could not - would not - allow myself to take advantage of her precarious situation in such a dishonorable way. She deserved better than to be rutted over and discarded like some disposable plaything, especially by one who should have had far better control over his baser instincts.

Raking a shaky claw over my face, I shoved away from the door and began pacing the corridor in an agitated prowl. I needed distance, space to clear my addled thoughts and regain my equilibrium before facing the female again. Focusing on the tangible physicality of my movements, I willed my ragged breathing to even out, the inferno raging through my body to settle into a steady simmer.

Slowly, laboriously, I untangled the chaotic tangle of emotions roiling within me and impose a modicum of order. Locking away the primal drive to claim and dominate, I erected steely barriers around the parts of myself that yearned for the female”s softness and warmth. I was Keldor Blazeclaw, heir to the mighty Dragonguard of Dragoria, scion of an ancient and noble lineage. Mere base impulses and fleeting desires of the flesh would not rule me.

No matter how divine that flesh might be.

I pivoted on my heel and strode down the shadowed passageway, my footfalls echoing like a solemn death knell. I had indulged in enough reckless dalliance this night. It was time to retreat, to lick my wounds and fortify my defenses before the female”s mere presence splintered what little restraint still tethered my control.

The shadowed stairwell descended into the bowels of my lair, the temperature rising with every step I took deeper into the subterranean depths. By the time I reached the fortified door at the bottom, tendrils of steam curled from the vents lining the corridor, the arid heat of the lower levels embracing me like a soothing balm.

This was my most closely guarded sanctuary where I could truly be myself without fear of prying eyes. Only here did I allow the rigid control over my draconic nature to relax, permitting the flames simmering within to breach the surface in subtle ripples across my scales.

Resting my palm against the heavy metal slab, I channeled a pulse of energy that thrummed through my very being. The door recognized the unique signature of my essence; the runes etched into the ancient alloy flaring to life in a blaze of arcane light. With an ominous groan of protesting gears, the barrier slid aside, permitting me entry to the hallowed chamber beyond.

My breath caught in my throat as I beheld the sprawling cavern, the sheer immensity of the space never failing to instill a sense of hushed reverence. Everywhere I turned, glittering treasures from my lost homeworld adorned every surface in a breathtaking mosaic of splendor. Towering statues carved from imperium stone, their sinewy forms captured in eternal, defiant poses. Exquisite tapestries depicting the great celestial battles that had raged across Dragoria”s skies eons ago, their vivid hues still blazing with undiminished vibrancy.

And books - tomes of priceless knowledge pillaged from the royal archives during the time of the revolt during my hasty exodus, their covers etched with the most sacred of draconic runes. As each one had come to my attention, I bartered for them, collecting the rich heritage I both loved and hated. It was said that to read the words inscribed upon those hallowed pages was to gaze into the very soul of creation itself, to unravel the mysteries that gave rise to the universe and all her wonders.

Trailing a reverent claw along the spine of one particularly ancient manuscript, I felt the familiar ache resonate within my chest. The insurrection tore my world asunder, resulting in the loss of so much of my heritage. My life, my identity, my purpose - all ripped away in a tumult of blood and betrayal, the ashes of my former existence scattered to the cosmos.

All that remained were these scattered remnants, these priceless artifacts that had become the sole anchors to my past, my only tethers to the noble legacy that was my birthright. Here, surrounded by the treasures of my people, I could almost delude myself into believing I still walked beneath Dragoria”s crimson skies.

Almost...but not quite. For as I sank onto the plush divan positioned before the immense hearth, the scorching heat of the roaring flames licking hungrily at my exposed scales, the lingering scent of the female still clung to me. Amidst the arid, smoky notes of the forge, a sweet, intoxicating fragrance reminded me that no matter how far I delved into my memories, I could never escape the harsh reality in which I was now inexplicably ensnared.

Could she be the one? My anislah, my destiny personified as a delicate, amnesiac alien from a distant world? The implications of such a possibility were nothing short of staggering, shaking the foundations upon which my entire culture and belief system were constructed.

If the archaic texts and sacred traditions were to be believed, the forging of the anislah bond was a pivotal event, one that unlocked a Dragorian”s full potential and allowed them to transcend their corporeal forms. To achieve such an ascendence was the ultimate honor, the culmination of every warrior”s quest for glory and enlightenment.

What did it mean if one”s destined mate was not of draconic descent? What unforeseen consequences might arise from the mingling of such divergent life forces and cosmic energies? The uncertainty of it all made my head spin and my hearts constrict with a bewildering tempest of emotions.

I knew the answers had to lie somewhere amidst these sacred treasures from my homeworld. Somewhere, tucked away like a whisper awaiting rediscovery, was the key to unraveling this mystery bedeviling me. With a resolute inhalation, I turned my gaze to the floor-to-ceiling shelves brimming with the collected writings and chronicles of my ancestors.

It was time to seek the wisdom of the ages and pray to the celestials that the path ahead became clear. For I feared that without the truth to guide me, I risked losing far more than my grasp on reality.

I rifled through the ancient tomes with increasing desperation, the weight of my inner turmoil growing heavier with each discarded volume. Text after text yielded no insight into the unprecedented situation unfolding between the female and myself. Everything I uncovered detailed the sacred anislah rites and bonding rituals, but all the passages clearly specified the necessity of both parties being of pure draconic lineage.

Snarling in frustration, I hurled yet another useless manuscript across the chamber, the priceless pages fluttering through the scorching air like wounded birds before clattering to the stone floor in a despondent heap. This was getting me nowhere. For every question that arose, a dozen more spawned in its wake - a cyclical torment of confusion and doubt assailing me from every angle.

I was a son of Dragoria”s most noble household, birthed into a legacy of warriors and scholars spanning back to the first cosmic dawn. Everything I had ever been taught, every tenet and belief ingrained into my very being, ran contrary to the dizzying array of impulses and foreign emotions battering my senses. None of the tried-and-true traditions provided any clarity or comfort when faced with the tantalizing, infuriatingly intoxicating human female upstairs.

Just as I was about to abandon my search in a haze of bitterness, a glint of faded gilt lettering on a dust-caked spine caught my eye. Frowning, I tugged the offending text from its lonely perch on the bottom shelf, the cracked and peeling leather cover nearly disintegrating in my grasp. This edition was ancient beyond reckoning, clearly one of the first chronicles penned in the primordial age before the great clans had settled on Dragoria and established their celestial dominion.

My curiosity piqued, I carefully cracked open the brittle pages, each turn of the fragile parchment releasing a cloud of dust mites into the sweltering air. The runes inscribed in faded, spidery ink were unlike any I”d ever encountered, suggesting a dialect so archaic it predated even the most comprehensive codices in my collection. Entire passages and chapters were obliterated by the ravages of time, the texts reduced to mere fragments of the grand epics they had once been.

I was about to discard the worthless scrap when a singular word lept from the page, its harsh, angular strokes searing into my vision as if scorched there by dragonfire.

Outrider.

The term was utterly foreign to me, yet its mere mention sparked a peculiar frisson along my scales, raising the fine ridges along my spine and nape. Something about that strange cipher resonated within the primal depths of my psyche, calling to the draconic essence burning in my veins like the eternal fires of Dragoria”s molten core.

With trembling claws, I rapidly scanned the surrounding passages, anxiety mounting as entire sections were found missing or too faded to decipher. What little remained spoke of cosmic forces beyond mortal comprehension, of celestial planes and higher orders of existence that transcended physical reality. There were vague references to ancient prophecies and the ascendance of two intertwined souls - but whether those souls arose from the same primordial forge, or from separate crucibles of creation, remained infuriatingly unclear.

What did shine through like a beacon, however, was the concept of the ”Outrider” itself. Fragmented stanzas hinted that this entity, this being of disparate origin, would be the key to unlocking a Dragorian”s full power and potential. That through the mingling of their cosmic energies, the sacred anislah bond would be forged into an unbreakable, eternal union.

The tome”s final tantalizing revelation stopped my hearts in their thunderous cadence, the scorching heat of the chamber doing nothing to abate the chill of primal trepidation lancing through me.

For it stated, in no uncertain terms, that the Outrider could only be bound to their Dragorian counterpart through the searing initiation of the drake”s eternal flame.

The implications were nothing short of catastrophic. I had seen the dragonfire”s devastating power firsthand, witnessed entire cities reduced to smoldering ash in the wake of its unholy wrath. To even consider unleashing such obliterating force upon the female”s fragile form was tantamount to subjecting her to a blasphemous execution.

And yet...if this crumbling tome spoke truly, denying the female that searing baptism would be to deny us both our destined roles in this unfathomable cosmic design.

Sinking onto the divan in a daze, I cradled my aching head in my claws as the revelations swirled through my mind in a dizzying cyclone. I had sought answers amidst the wisdom of my ancestors, but all I had uncovered was a mire of uncertainty and existential dread more suffocating than I could have ever imagined.

What was I to do? What path could I possibly take that did not obliterate either my soul”s deepest longing or the female”s existence itself? The chasm between our worlds, our beings, had never felt so vast, so unsurpassable.

I could lose the female - and with her, the missing half of my soul.