The Dragon King and His Fallen Star novel Chapter 157

Chapter 157: Shadows of the Fallen

KIERYGAN’S POV

Orryx’s voice cut through the mind link, laced with disbelief. “Are you seeing this, Kier?”

I fought the urge to roar. Below, the corpses shambled-eyes hollow, limbs jerking grotesquely. Mirael, Morwenna, and Malric stood among them like specters.

“Had I known they’d bring Malric back,” I snarled, “I’d have turned his skull to ash.”

Above me, Eirlys leaned close, her whisper laced with fire. “Let’s get them.”

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Her words ignited something deep within. I folded my wings and dove, the wind howling past us as the battlefield blurred into a sea of corpses and steel. Heat built in my chest, swelling until it begged to be unleashed:

As we closed the distance, I could see them clearly-Morwenna’s sneer, Mirael’s cruel smirk, and Malric’s corpse-like stillness. I opened my jaws, flame surging-

But before the inferno struck, all three lifted their heads. Their eyes met mine.

As if they could see me. Or maybe sense me.

The air around them warped. And then, in a breath, they were gone.

My fire roared downward, swallowing the field in a torrent of flame. The front lines of the risen army disintegrated beneath it-ash, bone, and molten earth left in their wake. They didn’t even scream as the blaze consumed them.

That was the cue.

The instant my flames struck, the warriors below surged to life. Arrows tore through the smoke. War cries split the night. Orcs charged through the fire, hammers and axes crashing down, while blade-wielding vampires blurred into motion, slicing through the undead ranks like shadows.

The battle between the dead and the living had begun.

I swept through the smoke-choked sky, wings slicing through ash and flame. Below, the dead rose from every front-hundreds, maybe thousands-snarling and shambling, drawn upward as if summoned by some dark and secret call.

I drew a deep breath and let the fire fall. It rained down in torrents, scorching through the thickest clusters and leaving molten ruin in its wake. The ground split beneath the heat, and

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the screams of the dying echoed up from below.

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Above my shoulders, Eirlys stood steady, her wings flared for balance. Every time she raised her hands, blinding bolts of light cracked through the chaos below. Each strike was precise- never missing. Every zap she cast protected a corner where our soldiers were being overwhelmed.

Together, we carved a path through death itself. Fire and light. Dragon and fae.

Through the bond, I felt the pulse of her energy-bright, fierce, unstoppable.

Then Callum’s voice broke through the mind link, dry and teasing despite the carnagé. “You two, leave some for us. You’re making us look bad here.”

“Then fight faster,” I shot back, spewing another torrent of fire that split the earth where a

mass of corpses tried to breach the eastern line.

Eirlys laughed softly behind me, her light flashing again-this time vaporizing a cluster that had nearly flanked the orcs.

Together, we moved as one. Every motion instinctive. Every strike deadly.

My fire rained where her light could not reach; her light struck where my flame could not burn. Bit by bit, the tide of corpses gave way. The ground became a patchwork of ash, blood, and smoldering ruin. Then, all at once, silence.

The screams faded. The clash of steel dulled. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Through the mind link, I spoke, my voice echoing across every fighter’s mind.

“Stay sharp. This isn’t over. The Light Reaper hasn’t come yet.”

Below, the wolves tightened their ranks. Orcs gripped their hammers. Vampires crouched low, waiting. The witches began chanting in low, rhythmic tones that stirred the air like ripples on

water.

“How’s the relic coming along?” I asked.

Evander’s voice answered, calm and measured. “It’s ready, I think. They’ll come when the time is right.”

Suddenly, the air grew heavy. Not with anticipation, but with the stench of rot. The world around us groaned and cracked. From above came a subtle sound, like dry leaves crushed underfoot. But it wasn’t just the earth:

It was everything.

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Leaves withered. Trees turned brittle, black veins crawling over their bark like a spreading infection. Light dimmed-not from clouds, but from something swallowing it whole.

And then-darkness. Alive. Moving. Devouring.

“The blight has come!” someone shouted from below.

Eirlys’ voice pierced the dark mist, fierce and unyielding. “No!”

Her glow erupted-radiant, searing. It pulsed outward, pushing the shadows back, cracking through the thick dark fog like sunlight tearing through storm clouds. For a heartbeat, the world was bathed in gold again.

When my vision cleared, I saw him.

The Light Reaper.

He stood at the center of the scorched field, where his army had just been reduced to ash. Darkness swirled around him like living smoke, his face obscured, eyes burning with unnatural fire. The earth beneath his feet blackened and shriveled with every step.

Then he looked up-not at me, but past me. His blazing gaze was fixed on Eirlys. His voice slithered across the battlefield, chilling and deliberate.

“Little Fae,” he hissed, “surrender now and spare yourself the chaos. I can make it quick… painless, if you give it to me willingly.”

The shadow in his tone coiled tighter, each syllable tasting of smoke and threat. “For them. Not for you, I’m afraid.”

Before Eirlys could respond, I unleashed my fire. Flames roared toward him, scorching the earth and twisting the air-but when the blaze cleared, he still stood, untouched, whole.

A low, echoing laugh rumbled from his shadowed form, hollow and terrifying. “So,” the Light Reaper said, his voice dripping with dark amusement, “the hard way it is.”

His voice dropped, darker, colder. “Kneel or fight makes no difference. I will have your light- one way or another.”

He raised both hands, and the sound came-a march heavy with the weight of a thousand feet. The ground quaked as a new army emerged from every direction: humans and beasts

alike.

But behind them, another, thicker wave advanced. Fae.

Once-beautiful forms now twisted and gray, their skin hollowed, drained of every trace of the

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light their kind had once carried. Their eyes burned with the same vacant glow as the dead army-souls stripped of everything but obedience.

Eirlys gasped behind me. Through the bond, I felt no horror. Only burning, searing fury.

They were her kin. It was not enough that he had snuffed them from existence-he had to defile their resting bodies, drag them from the earth, and turn them into weapons of his malice.

The rumble of the earth grew louder. Even from above, we could feel it shudder.

The ground cracked like thin glass beneath the weight of the Reaper’s presence. Below, warriors staggered-some clawing at the splitting earth to keep their footing, others bracing shields against tremors that shivered up their arms.

And then-a sound that froze my blood. Not the stomp of feet, nor the groan of the earth, but the crushing, tumbling collapse of stone and mortar. My head snapped toward the palace.

It was falling.

“Kierygan!” Eirlys cried. “Our home!”

Walls split, towers toppled, and a cloud of dust and debris erupted into the sky. I roared-not a warning, not a command, but a raw, unrestrained roar of fury and disbelief-as the source of my deepest fear revealed itself.

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