Gemma Draconica

Chapter 3

VERONICA

The early morning sun pierces through the dense canopy of pines, casting golden shafts of light on the narrow trail ahead. The cool air is crisp, carrying the salty tang of the sea mingled with the earthy aroma of damp soil and pine needles.

I suck in a sharp breath, the scent of pine resin biting the back of my throat as I race down the hill. The wind whips past, stinging my cheeks and blurring the edges of the world as I lean into the speed.

This is my last ride on Kalamos, the rugged Greek island that has been my haven for the past year. The rhythmic crunch of my tires against the gravel on the isolated trail grounds me while the forest blurs into a green whirlwind.

A dull ache spreads across my chest. Today is the day I've been dreading. It's time to go home to everything and everyone I've been running away from.

Home. Damn. The thought of facing my friends—seeing the shock, hurt, and anger in their eyes after a year of silence—sends a chill through me. I left without a word and ignored every text and call. And now I have to walk back into their lives as if I didn't just disappear. 

I dodge a low-hanging branch. As the trail evens out, my speed decreases.

Next week, I'll start my senior year at Pacific Valley, my last year of high school, and then it's off to college. I'd planned to go to Paris to study art after graduation... my friend Erika and I had dreamed of it for years—but that all changed when I woke up.

Erika... She and I were going to chase that dream together. I remember all of us at the carnival, laughing, clueless that things were about to change forever. I can still feel the weight of that night, the way it clung to me afterward, filling every thought, every shadow.

Coming to Greece was supposed to help me escape, to leave the nightmares behind. But some things follow you, no matter how far you run. I bury those memories deep, hidden away with everything else too painful to touch.

I turn my thoughts back to this morning. When the sun hit my face, a vibrant energy seemed to awaken, breathing life into everything around me. My grandmother, YiaYia, threw up her hands and clutched her chest when she saw me.

"Panagia mou, Veronika. Your magic is awakening," she cried.

My breath caught, and a strange shiver down my spine. I've never felt anything like it, but I couldn't ignore the peculiar pulse stirring inside me, warm and unnervingly alive, like someone else's heartbeat lodged within my chest.

The idea that I might have magic is like a spark that could burn everything I've ever known—the pulse in my chest shifts. I want to ignore it, let it fade away. But it's too persistent, daring me to acknowledge it.

My breath catches as I navigate a sharp turn.

Magic. The word claws its way around inside my brain. It's ridiculous. Me, with magic? The idea is almost laughable.

But then... why does this power feel like it's mine?

If I have magic inside me, it changes everything. Becoming a spellcaster would open up a whole other world to me. One I'm not sure I want to step into.

Spellcasters have been hunted down through the ages. My pulse quickens as memories resurface—stories of witches burned, temples guarded, covens hidden from prying eyes.

Humans think witches are in league with the devil. The supernatural world sees humans with arcane talents as a threat to the power hierarchy. They're forced to register with the Grand Mage's office at the Dragon King's palace when they enter into their powers.