142,849 Words

The first thing I smell is ash. A resurrected dragon-lich bent on vengeance. A half-dragon druid racing against her own monstrous transformation. An orc warlord whose greatest victory may have unleashed his deadliest enemy. The Great Dying delivers epic fantasy stakes, dark magic, high-intensity action, political intrigue, and a slow-burn romantasy twist. Perfect for fans of morally gray heroes, resurrection magic, and battles where survival is only the opening move. Not the faint woodsmoke that clings to cloaks after a campfire. This is the thick, choking stench of something that should never burn: bone, scales, blood. The kind of smoke that whispers you are next. The orcs think they killed Crimson Ruby. I wish they had. Instead, I stand in the same grove where I swore he would never return, and the shadows here know my name. The wind shifts. Cold threads through my copper scales, raising the ridges along my spine. Beneath my skin, something ancient stirs, impatient and hungry. It has been weeks since that shadow creature tore into me, and the wounds are gone, but the changes are not. My wings still ache to unfurl. My voice still catches on a growl that is not mine alone. Somewhere beyond these trees, Roar’Z rallies what is left of his clans. He does not know the dragon-lich is hunting again. He does not know the Puppet Master is pulling more than Ruby’s strings. And if I do not reach him before the next moonrise, he never will. Balance is my duty. Redemption is my hope. But tonight, as the forest bends under the weight of something unnatural, I wonder which will break first: my oath or me.