The night air was cold, and the low-burning fire had long died out in the hearth. The water was freezing as he splashed it onto his face, scrubbing away the last vestiges of the recurring nightmare that besieged his mind.
The warrior paid no heed to these discomforts as he braced one arm against the wall to center himself, his head bowed as he took long, methodical, deep breaths.
Everything he dreamed was true.
The monsters he and his men had fought—it had all come to pass.
Sometimes the place was different. Sometimes the men and monsters were different. He’d been protecting the realm with his hunters-for-hire since he’d been old enough to wield a sword. Hundreds had died already in these quests, if not thousands. Only a few good men survived the trials.
But only up to this point. In the dream, they all perished.
Perhaps he would too. He never got to the end of the dream, though he knew it would come.
It was real.
He did not fear it. He yearned for it. Everything he’d fought for would culminate in this final battle.
But first, he had to find the fucking beast.
There was no dragon safe from him until he did.