DRAGON'S RISE

CHAPTER I.

"Rielle Damaris fought the creatures in the Forbidden Mountains with no restraint. She fought exactly like how she was taught by General Caran. She fought like a dragon."

୨⎯ CLEO LUNARIS ⎯୧ 
20 YEARS LATER

The icy wind swept through the dense pine forest, carrying with it the distant calls of snow owls and the muffled crackle of frost beneath boots. The woods surrounding Asteria were a shimmering wonderland, cloaked in endless snow that sparkled like diamonds under the weak winter sun.

Cleo Dianne Lunaris stood ankle-deep in the powdery white, adjusting the bow in her gloved hands. Her starlight-colored hair cascaded down her back, its silvery hue catching the faint sunlight, almost blending with the snow around her. The pale skin of her face flushed slightly pink from the cold, but her deep blue eyes—vivid and piercing—were unwavering, locked on the distant stag grazing between the trees. Cleo carried herself with a natural grace, her tall frame lending her an air of quiet confidence.

Her fingers tingled with cold despite the thick leather of her gloves, but she barely noticed. The thrill of the hunt, the promise of a perfect shot, kept her blood humming and her focus sharp. She shifted her weight slightly, the snow crunching softly beneath her boots, her gaze never straying from the stag.

"Are you going to shoot, or are we just going to freeze out here?" Dominic Maris teased from a few paces behind her. His voice was light, carrying the lilt of easy confidence that made him both charming and infuriating. 

Cleo shot him a glare over her shoulder. "You think you can do better? Be my guest." 

Dominic grinned, his breath misting in the frigid air as he readied his bow. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair tucked beneath a fur-lined hood. The son of Chief Killian Maris, he was as much at home in the forest as Cleo was in the temple libraries. And yet, he never missed a chance to remind her that he was the better shot. 

"I'll show you how it's done," he said, nocking an arrow. He raised his bow, the string creaking as he drew it back, and exhaled slowly, the world narrowing to just him and the stag. 

Cleo rolled her eyes. "Show-off." 

The stag lifted its head, ears twitching, its silver-gray fur blending seamlessly with the snowy backdrop. For a moment, everything stilled—the wind, the forest, even Cleo's breath. 

Dominic released the arrow, and it sailed through the air with a sharp whizz, striking the tree trunk just a hairbreadth from the stag's flank. The animal bolted, leaping gracefully over the snowdrifts and disappearing into the trees. 

"Well done," Cleo said dryly. "You almost hit it." 

Dominic groaned, lowering his bow. "It moved at the last second!" 

"Excuses, excuses." She stepped forward, drawing her own arrow. Her bow was a simpler design than Dominic's, but she knew it well, every curve and notch a part of her since she was old enough to draw a string. 

She scanned the forest, catching sight of the stag as it slowed, pausing in a clearing a few dozen paces away. With practiced ease, Cleo raised her bow, the leather grip fitting snugly in her palm. She inhaled deeply, steadying her aim. 

"Let's see how it's done," she muttered. 

Her arrow flew true, striking the stag cleanly in the side. It staggered, its proud antlers dipping low before it crumpled into the snow. 

Dominic let out a low whistle. "I stand corrected. Remind me never to bet against you." 

Cleo smirked, slinging her bow over her shoulder as she trudged toward the downed stag. "You'd think you'd have learned that by now."