Chapter 1: The Curse That Devours Brides
For a thousand years, the Dragon Clan lived in harmony alongside humans. They were creatures of myth and majesty, possessing a raw, primordial power that anchored the world. But majesty breeds fear. And fear breeds treachery.
The human king, insecure in his fleeting, mortal reign, looked at the immortal dragons and saw a threat. He could not match their strength in battle, so he chose the coward’s weapon: poison. Cultivated from the dark venom of a rogue witch, the poison was disguised as a diplomatic gift of rare wine and sent deep into the dragon territories.
It didn’t kill the dragons. It did something far worse.
The poison targeted the core of their magic—their lineage. For dragons, only a specific, royal bloodline could ascend to become the Dragon King. The poison permanently altered their biology, ensuring that while the common dragon clan could still grow, the royal bloodline would never bear an heir. When the truth came to light, the sky burned with dragon fury. The dragons retaliated swiftly, descending upon the human capital and executing the treacherous king. But vengeance could not cure the poison. The remaining humans, terrified and innocent of their ruler’s sins, begged for mercy on their knees.
Amidst the ash and tears, a high human shaman stepped forward, channeling a desperate, final prophecy: “The blood of the betrayer has sealed the womb, but the blood of the innocent shall open the heart. A human bride, chosen by fate, must be taken to the dragon’s domain to break the curse.”
Desperate to appease the wrath of the beasts, the humans agreed to a grim treaty. Each year, ten bride candidates from across the human kingdoms would be sent into the dragon lands.
But prophecy is a cruel master.
The humans did not understand that the curse had turned the Dragon King’s royal magic volatile. His inner fire, meant to nurture a future heir, had become a localized sun. Because the human women sent to him were not compatible by blood, they could not withstand the cosmic heat of his presence. One by one, decade after decade, the brides met the same horrific end. The moment the Dragon King reached out to claim them, his touch ignited their flesh.
One hundred years passed. One thousand brides had been sent. One thousand brides had perished.
Hope didn’t just fade; it turned to ash. Inside the Obsidian Palace, the air was suffocatingly hot. A young woman stood trembling before the throne, her white bridal silk soaked in cold sweat. The Dragon King sat in the shadows, his eyes glowing like dying embers. He didn’t want this. He hated the humans for their ancient deceit, and he hated them even more for sending these lambs to his slaughterhouse.
Slowly, he reached out a single, clawed hand, hoping against hope that this time would be different. His fingertips brushed her cheek.
The bride screamed—then turned to ash in his hands… just like the nine hundred-ninety-nine before her.