The Dragons' Wolf Chapters 1-3

Kira is captured by a rival clan and expected to die at the hands of a monster in a cave

The Dragon's Wolf

Chapter One

Kira ran through the snow-choked pines, breath burning in her throat. Behind her rose the shouts and screams of battle. The Bearclaw clan had caught her people unaware—tents burning, women and children screaming in terror. Her only thoughts were to survive… and one day avenge her clan. Then a blow to the back of her skull sent the world spinning into black. When she woke, she was being dragged. Two men hauled her across the frost-bitten ground like a carcass. Her hair was crusted with blood. Their faces were painted with ash and gore—the ones who had slaughtered her people. Kira struggled to her feet, defiant. She did not beg. She did not speak. She saved her breath for standing. They threw her at the feet of their chieftain—a scar-faced brute with a wolf skull strapped to his shoulder. He looked her over as if deciding whether she was worth the trouble of killing.

“A skinny woman, not enough to even keep my bed warm,” he grunted. “But she stands brazen.” The others laughed.

“She won’t stand long,” someone said. “She wouldn’t be so cocky if she faced the beast.”

Kira lifted her chin. “If you mean to kill me, do it. Don’t waste my time.” More laughter. They liked defiance. It made the breaking sweeter.

The chieftain leaned down, breath hot with rot. “You want to live, girl? Then kill the beast in the cave. Do that, and you may join us.”

She said nothing. She knew a lie when she heard one. They dragged her to a vast cave carved into the mountain. Snow blew in drifts, piling near the entrance. The darkness within looked inviting… and menacing. They gave her an axe—crude, heavy. Kira hefted it, feeling the weight, hoping it would be enough for whatever waited inside. She doubted it would.

“Go on then,” the chieftain said. “Live, or die well.” They shoved her into the cave.

The cavern was enormous — a cathedral of stone and shadow. Bones littered the floor, cracked and blackened. The air smelt sulphurous. In the centre, chained in iron, lay a dragon. He lifted his head as she approached. Eyes like molten gold fixed on her. Not beastly but burning with intelligence beyond Kira’s comprehension. Kira froze. Every instinct screamed to run, to fight, to do something — anything — but she had seen the bones. She had seen the chains. She knew the truth: No one could kill this creature.

So she did the only thing left. She dropped the axe and stood still, waiting for death to claim her. Kira would not waste her last breath pretending she could fight it. The dragon’s nostrils flared. A low rumble shook the cavern.

Then a voice — not heard, but felt — slid into her mind like heat through ice. “You are not like the others.” Kira’s breath caught. She did not answer. She did not know how. “Free me,” the voice said. “And I will spare you.” She looked at the chains. At the raw wounds beneath them. At the intelligence burning in those golden eyes. Pity struck her like a blow. She picked up the discarded axe. The dragon watched her in utter stillness as she raised it and brought it down on the first shackle. Sparks flew. Metal groaned. Again. Her arms shook. Her breath tore at her lungs. One chain snapped. The dragon did not move. She went to the next. And the next. Until the final shackle fell away and the dragon stretched his wings for the first time in years, dust swirling around him like a storm.

He lowered himself, wings half unfurled. Climb on.

Kira hesitated—fear made her swallow hard hands shaking, but she obeyed. Her fingers gripped warm scales. Her heart hammered. The spicy scent of the dragon was overwhelming. The dragon crouched and leapt. They shot upward through a narrow chimney of stone, wings scraping rock. For a heartbeat, she thought they would die. Then they burst into the open sky. Cold air slammed into her. Light blinded her. The world spread out beneath them—the Bearclaw warriors gathered at the cave mouth, waiting for her screams, looked up. And saw the dragon with Kira on his back. The roar that followed shook the mountains. The dragon folded his wings and dove. Kira held on as fire lit the sky. The Bearclaw finally paid the price for imprisoning a dragon as flame engulfed them.

The firestorm behind them dimmed to a dull glow, but Kira’s rage only sharpened. As the dragon climbed higher, she twisted to look down — and saw them. A handful of Bearclaw warriors, running for their lives across the snow. Her breath hitched. Her vision narrowed.

“There!” she snarled. “Burn them. Burn them all!” The dragon did not answer. His wings beat steadily, carrying them in a rising arc above the fleeing men. “Do it!” she shouted, voice cracking. “They butchered my clan! They chained you like an animal! Burn them!” Still nothing. Kira slammed a fist against his scales. “Are you deaf? Kill them!”

The dragon’s voice finally slid into her mind — not angry, not cold, simply ancient. “No.”

Kira froze, stunned. “No? They’re right there! Finish them!”

“They are already finished,” the dragon murmured. “The mountains will claim them. The cold will bury them. Let the world take its due.”

“That’s not enough,” she hissed.

For you, maybe. But it is enough. Below, the Bearclaw shrank to tiny figures, swallowed by distance and snow. Kira’s fury trembled inside her, hot and helpless. The dragon angled his wings and soared toward the horizon. For a long time, only the wind could be heard. Then his voice brushed her mind again, soothing. “What do they call you, little one?”

Kira swallowed hard, still shaking. She couldn’t form thoughts the way he did, so she spoke aloud. “Kira. Kira Wolf.”

A low rumble vibrated through him — a quiet approval. “Wolf,” he repeated. “A fitting name.”

She hesitated. “And you? What should I call you?”

A long silence. His wings shifted, catching a colder current. “My true name cannot be spoken in your tongue,” he said at last. Kira wasn’t sure if he was teasing her. The wind carried them onward into the frozen distance — Kira’s rage cooling, but not yet forgotten. Snow clouds gathered on the horizon, thick and bruised, swallowing the last of the daylight. The dragon’s wings dipped as he caught the shift in the air long before Kira felt it. “A storm is coming,” his voice murmured in her mind.”

Kira’s fingers were numb against his scales. She hadn’t realised how violently she was shivering until he said it. “We need shelter,” she managed.

We do, he agreed. And you need more than those thin scraps of fur. He angled downward, gliding over a stretch of frozen fields. In the distance, half-buried in snow, stood a small farmstead — a collapsed barn, a leaning fence, and a house with its roof sagging under years of neglect. The dragon landed beside it with surprising gentleness, snow billowing around them.

Kira slid off his back, legs unsteady. The cold bit through her clothes like teeth. “This place is abandoned,” she said, though the silence already told her that.

“Long abandoned,” the dragon replied. But it will serve.

She pushed open the farmhouse door. It groaned on its hinges, spilling stale air and dust into the night. Inside, the hearth was cold, the furniture overturned, but the walls still stood. More importantly, a chest sat near the back wall, half-buried under debris. Kira knelt, pried it open, and exhaled in relief. Fur clothing. Thick, heavy, winter furs. She quickly undressed and pulled on the warm clothing. A heavy wool blanket remained for bedding. Outside, the wind began to howl. Kira stepped back to the doorway. The dragon stood in the snow, wings half-furled, watching the sky darken.

“Are you alright outside?” she asked before she could stop herself.

A low rumble — not quite amusement, but almost. “I can weather storms. Do not trouble yourself.”

She hesitated, then muttered, “Erm, okay, I guess… Goldax.”

The dragon’s head turned sharply, golden eyes narrowing with unmistakable interest Goldax, he repeated, tasting the sound. A deep, rolling vibration travelled through his chest — unmistakably amused. “A bold name to give a dragon. But,” he added, that amused rumble returning, “Goldax will do.”

“It’s just a name,” she said quickly, cheeks warming. “Until you tell me a better one.”

The wind rose, carrying the first sting of snow. “Get inside, Wolf,” he said. “The storm will break soon.”

She nodded and retreated into the farmhouse, pulling the door closed against the rising wind. Wrapped in stolen furs beside the cold hearth, she felt — for the first time since her clan’s fall — a fragile sense of safety. Outside, the storm roared. And Goldax waited.

Chapter Two

The following morning, the storm had passed, but the cold hadn’t loosened its grip. Kira stepped out of the house, boots sinking into snow that reached almost to her knees. The world was white and silent. Behind her, Goldax stretched, frost crackling off his wings. His scales steamed faintly in the early light. “Fire first,” Kira muttered, hugging her arms around herself. “Then food."

"Food first", Goldax countered, voice rumbling through their bond. “But you will insist on warmth.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Unless you want to come back to a frozen human, yes.”

He huffed, but didn’t argue.

The half-collapsed barn stood a short walk away. Its roof bowed under the weight of snow. Kira trudged toward it, breath misting in the air. Inside, the barn smelled of old hay and damp wood. One wall had caved in, letting in a spill of cold light, but there were still intact beams and planks beneath the rubble. “Perfect,” she whispered, brushing snow off a stack of old timber. She gathered as much as she could carry — awkward, heavy armfuls of wood — and staggered back toward the house. Goldax watched her, his tail flicking with amusement.

“You could help, you know,” she grumbled.

“I am helping,” he replied. “I am not stepping on you.”

“Very generous.” Inside, the hearth waited — cold, dark and empty. Kira dropped the wood in the hearth, shaking out her numb fingers. She picked up a long, sturdy piece of timber and held it out toward Goldax. “Alright. Light this for me.”

He lowered his head, opening his jaws just enough for a thin, controlled ribbon of flame to spill out. The end of the timber caught instantly, glowing orange. Kira carried the burning stick to the hearth and coaxed the flames into the waiting planks. Smoke curled upward, then fire bloomed, warm and crackling. The room brightened, shadows dancing across the walls. She sighed with relief. “That’s better.”

Goldax watched her for a moment, something thoughtful in his eyes. I admire how humans make fire.

She blinked. “Oh, is that a compliment. Go hunt before it gets weird.”

He snorted, wings rustling. Stay inside. The snow hides more than tracks today.

“Wryens?” she asked.

"Perhaps. Or something hungrier."

He stepped out into the blinding white, spreading his wings wide. Frost shook loose in a glittering cloud. With a single powerful beat, he lifted off the ground, snow swirling beneath him. Another beat, and he rose higher, cutting through the cold morning air like a dark arrow. Kira watched him climb into the sky, the fire crackling behind her. “Come back safe, Goldax,” she whispered.

Kira was tending the fire when she heard the familiar thrump of wings beating the cold air. She stepped to the doorway, shielding her eyes from the glare of the snow. Goldax swept low over the treeline, a dark shape against the pale sky. Something heavy hung from his jaws — a sabre-tooth tiger, limp and steaming in the morning cold. He landed with a thud that shook loose snow from the roof, folding his wings neatly. The tiger dropped at Kira’s feet.

“Breakfast,” he announced, voice rumbling.

Kira raised an eyebrow. “You already ate some, didn’t you?”

I tested it, he said, entirely unconvincing.

She snorted. “You mean you took a bite.” Goldax didn’t deny it.

Kira dragged the carcass inside just far enough to work on it, the doorway framing Goldax’s massive head as he watched her. He crouched outside, tail curled around his feet, steam rising from his scales. She pulled her knife free and set to work. The hide was thick, the fur heavy with frost, but she managed to peel it back and cut away strips of meat. She tossed the hide aside and carried the first strip to the fire. The meat sizzled as it hit the hot stone, fat popping, sending up a rich, savoury scent that filled the little house. Kira’s stomach growled loudly.

Goldax’s nostrils flared. It smells… different.

“Better,” she corrected. She flipped the meat, then cut off a small piece and tasted it. Warm, tender, smoky. After the storm, it tasted like life itself.

Goldax leaned closer to the doorway, eyes narrowing. Are you not eating it raw?

“No. Humans cook things.”

Why?

“Because it tastes better cooked.”

She sliced off a chunk, walked to the doorway, and tossed it out. Goldax caught it mid-air with surprising delicacy for something with fangs the size of daggers.
He chewed once, twice — then blinked. It is… softer. And… comforting.

Kira grinned. “Told you.”

Goldax huffed. "Raw meat is perfectly adequate."

“But you like it.”

A long pause.… "It is acceptable."

She laughed, tossing him another cooked piece. “You’re allowed to like things, you know.”

Goldax settled outside the doorway, watching her with an expression that was almost peaceful. "Do not expect me to become dependent on your strange human rituals," he said.

“Of course not,” she replied, handing him another piece. “This is purely practical.”

He accepted it without argument. Outside, the snow lay deep and silent. Inside, the fire crackled. And between them, a dragon and a human shared a warm meal in a cold world. The sun had only just cleared the treeline when Kira stepped out of the farmhouse. To a world covered in a thick white blanket. The air held a bone-deep chill. She stretched, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders, and turned—and stopped.

Goldax stood in the open, the early light spilling across him like molten metal. She had seen him in firelight, in shadow, in the chaos of battle… but never like this. Never simply standing, unguarded, with the world quiet around them. For the first time, she truly saw him. His scales were not the bright, polished gold she had imagined in the dark. They were darker, deeper — hammered gold edged with iron, each plate catching the sun in a muted gleam. His wings, half unfurled, glowed from within, veins lit like slow-moving embers. And his eyes… she had never noticed how warm they were. Amber, yes, but layered — patience beneath a predator’s sharpness. He looked like a creature carved from legend, but softened by the morning.

Goldax lifted his head, sensing her gaze. He turned toward her, and for a heartbeat, he did not speak. He simply regarded her — not as a wolf, not as a companion, but as something he had not taken the time to study until now. Kira stood in the light, hair loose, the ash blonde strands catching silver where the sun touched them. Her grey eyes were steady, unreadable. She was lean, built from surviving what should have killed her. A thin, narrow scar on her jawline. She looked small beside him. Fragile. But she stood with the quiet balance of a creature who had never once backed down from the world. Goldax lowered his head slightly.

“You look different in the day,” he rumbled.

Kira huffed a soft breath. “So do you.”

He blinked, slow and deliberate — a dragon’s version of amusement.

“I had not realised,” Goldax said, “how bright your eyes are.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same.”

For a moment, neither moved. The farmhouse creaked behind them. A bird called from somewhere in the hedgerow. The world felt strangely still, as if holding its breath. Goldax’s gaze travelled over her again — not with hunger, not with dominance, but with a kind of ancient curiosity. “You are… smaller than I remember,” he said.

Kira snorted. “And you’re larger.”

A low, rolling sound escaped him — not quite a laugh, but close. Then he shifted his wings, the moment settling into something comfortable, unspoken, understood.

We should go, he said.

Kira nodded. “Let’s.” The dragon and the wolf — each carrying the image of the other in the new light of day.

Chapter Three

Goldax lowered himself, wings folding tight against his sides, the great muscles along his shoulders rippling beneath dark-edged golden scales. Climb on, his voice murmured through Kira’s mind — warm, steady, impossible to ignore. Kira placed a hand against his flank. Even in the cold morning air, his scales radiated heat like sun-warmed stone. She swung herself up between the ridge of his shoulders, settling into the natural hollow where his neck met his back. She had ridden him before, but never after seeing him so clearly, never with the morning’s quiet. An understanding grew between them. Goldax rose in one smooth motion, wings unfurling with a sound like canvas catching wind. Snow swirled around them as he leapt skyward, the ruined farmhouse shrinking beneath them. Below stretched a vast, bleak landscape — rolling hills buried under a thick crust of snow, frozen rivers glinting like silver scars, skeletal trees clawing at a pale sky. The wind bit at Kira’s face, sharp and clean, but she leaned into it, eyes narrowed against the brightness. Goldax flew low enough that she could see the patterns of wind carving the drifts, high enough that the land felt endless.

You are quiet, Goldax observed, his mind voice brushing her thoughts like a warm current beneath the cold air.

“Just thinking,” she said aloud, her voice snatched by the wind.

About what?

“About how small everything looks from up here.”

A pulse of amusement echoed through her skull. It always has.

They flew for hours, the sun climbing toward its zenith. The sky brightened, the snowfields shimmering like a sea of crushed diamonds. Kira’s legs were numb, her fingers stiff, but she didn’t complain. Goldax’s warmth kept the worst of the cold at bay. It was near midday when Goldax’s head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring. Movement ahead.

Kira leaned forward, squinting. At first, she saw nothing but white and shadow — then shapes began to form. Dark figures scattered across a ridge, clustered around a line of crude banners. As Goldax angled closer, the figures reacted. They waved in greeting. Kira frowned. “They’re… happy to see you.”

Indeed, Goldax replied, not with arrogance but with the calm certainty of a creature who understood his place in the world. As they descended, the figures resolved into warriors — fur-clad, broad-shouldered, weapons slung across their backs. They dropped to their knees as Goldax’s shadow swept over them, arms raised in reverence. Kira felt the shift in the air — awe, fear, devotion all tangled together. Goldax landed in a spray of snow, wings folding with regal precision. The warriors pressed their foreheads to the ground. Kira slid from his back, boots crunching into the snow. Not a single head lifted to acknowledge her.

Goldax’s mind voice brushed her thoughts. I am like a god to them.

“Do they know what I am?” she muttered.

A ripple of dry amusement echoed through her skull. Not yet.

One of the warriors finally rose — a broad-shouldered man with a thick fur mantle and a scar running from temple to jaw. He kept his gaze fixed on Goldax’s, talons never daring to lift it higher. “Great One,” he said, voice rough with awe. “We saw your shadow upon the snow. We come to offer ourselves in service.” Goldax lowered his head slightly, the gesture slow and regal. The man trembled.

Kira folded her arms. “Are you going to talk to me, or am I invisible?”

The warrior didn’t even turn toward her. His eyes stayed locked on the dragon’s claws.

Goldax’s presence sharpened in her mind — not anger, but something more menacing They insult you by omission. How thuman of them.

Kira’s jaw tightened. “I noticed.”

Another warrior spoke, still kneeling. “We bring tribute for the Dragon Lord. Meat, fur. We ask only to walk in your shadow.”

Goldax’s wings shifted, a subtle movement that sent a shiver through the entire group. Enough, his voice thundered through their minds.

Several warriors gasped, clutching their heads as if the sheer weight of his presence pressed against their skulls. The leader froze. Breath caught in his throat.

Goldax’s gaze swept over them, then toward Kira. You will address her.

The words struck the warriors like a physical blow. A few flinched. One dropped fully onto his face, arms spread in supplication. The leader swallowed hard. “Great One… she is… a mortal.”

She is mine, Goldax said, the words resonating like distant thunder. Where I stand, she stands. Where I am honoured, she is honoured. Where I am obeyed… she is obeyed. Silence fell — stunned and absolute.

Slowly, painfully, the leader turned his head toward Kira. His eyes were wide, uncertain, as if seeing her for the first time. He bowed — not as deeply as he had to

Goldax, but with genuine fear behind it. “Forgive us,” he said. “Wolf of the Dragon.”

Kira blinked. “That’s new.”

Goldax’s mind voice curled through her thoughts, warm with quiet satisfaction. It will spread.

The warriors rose one by one, still shaken, still unsure how to look at her. Some stared openly now, trying to understand why a dragon would claim a mortal. Others avoided her gaze entirely, afraid of what they might see. The leader cleared his throat. “If it pleases the Dragon Lord… and his Wolf… we would guide you to our camp.”

Kira glanced at Goldax. “Well?”

“We will go,” he said. “For now.”

She nodded once. “Lead the way.”

The warriors obeyed instantly. And as they began to walk, Kira felt the shift — subtle but unmistakable. They no longer ignored her. They watched and feared her now.

The Dragon and his Wolf had begun to make their mark in the world.

The clan led them into the heart of the camp — a wide circle of trampled snow around a roaring fire. Warriors gathered in a loose ring, their faces lit by shifting orange light. Every gaze flicked to Goldax first, then to Kira, then away again as if afraid to be caught staring too long. The chieftain stepped forward, fur mantle brushing the ground. He bowed deeply to Goldax, then — after a painful hesitation — offered a smaller bow to Kira.

“Wolf of the Dragon,” he said, voice rough with nerves. “We… wish to honour you. Please accept these gifts.” He motioned, and two warriors hurried forward carrying a folded bundle. They laid it at Kira’s feet and stepped back as though the furs might bite them. Kira knelt and unfolded the bundle. Inside were thick winter leathers, lined with soft white fur, and a pair of sturdy boots reinforced with hide and bone. Far better than the worn gear she’d been travelling in.

She glanced at Goldax. His eyes gleamed with quiet approval.

The chieftain swallowed. “We hope they… please you.”

“They do,” Kira said. “Thank you.”

A ripple of relief passed through the gathered warriors — shoulders loosening, breaths released, as if they’d all been holding the same tension.

They fear offending you because they fear offending me.

“I noticed,” she replied.

The clan settled around the fire, sharing food and stories in low voices. Kira tried to listen, but after a while, the warmth and the murmuring voices blurred together. Restless, she rose and wandered toward the edge of the camp. A weapons rack stood near a smaller fire, blades glinting in the flickering light. One pair of daggers caught her eye — curved steel, beautifully balanced, the hilts wrapped in dark leather.

She reached out, testing the weight of one. “They’re well made,” she murmured.

The warrior tending the rack stiffened. His eyes darted to Goldax, who lounged near the main fire like a coiled storm. Even from across the camp, his presence was felt. The warrior swallowed hard. “If… if they please you, Wolf of the Dragon… then they are yours.”

Kira blinked. “Are you sure?”

He nodded nervously, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes… Yes, take them, they are yours.”

She slid the daggers into her belt. “Thank you.”

He bowed so deeply he nearly toppled over.

That night, the clan served them a hearty meal — roasted meat, thick broth, warm bread. Kira ate until her stomach ached, and the new furs wrapped around her shoulders. She sensed Goldax’s approval of the clan’s treatment of her — albeit grudgingly. Kira slept in a large tent while Goldax slept in the open.

At dawn, Goldax nudged her awake. We leave.

The clan gathered to see them off, bowing low as Kira climbed onto his back. The chieftain raised his fist in salute, though his eyes never quite met hers. As Goldax lifted into the cold morning sky, Kira looked down at the shrinking camp — the firelight fading, the warriors watching in awed silence.

They fear us, she thought.

Good. Let them be.