The Lastborn: A Middle Earth Story(Book 1)(EDITING)

Chapter 17: The Wrath of the Dragon

The chaos unfolded as Gerithor assisted Sarina in scrambling into the dense cover of the trees. The dragon, however, roared and swerved, its massive form adjusting its course to pursue them relentlessly. Its belly glowed with an ominous, flaming orange, signaling an imminent attack. The once serene forest now echoed with the cacophony of fleeing creatures, disturbed by the impending menace.

As they darted through the woods, the dragon unleashed a torrent of fire, bathing the sky in a fiery inferno. The air grew thick with heat and tension, and the once lush foliage ignited, transforming the serene woods into a blazing nightmare. Gerithor and Sarina found themselves ensnared by encroaching flames, their escape route rapidly closing.

In a desperate attempt to shield Sarina, Gerithor pushed her out of harm's way just as a massive branch crashed down. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, pinned beneath the fallen timber. Flames licked at the surroundings, creating an infernal circle around them.

"Sarina, run!" Gerithor's urgent plea rang out as he strained against the weight of the colossal branch. Sarina, refusing to abandon him, rushed to his side, joining the struggle to free him from the entanglement. Fear etched Gerithor's face as he glimpsed the approaching peril.

"No! Get out of here! Now!" His voice conveyed a mix of desperation and concern as he reached for Sarina's arm, attempting to steer her away from the impending danger.

"I'm not leaving you here to die!" Sarina's resolute cry echoed through the fiery chaos as she persisted in her attempts to alleviate Gerithor's predicament.

The ground quivered beneath the colossal creature's descent as the dragon landed, fixating its hungry gaze on the trapped pair. Sarina pivoted to confront the monstrous adversary, her eyes widening at the sheer magnitude of the behemoth. A row of spikes adorned its spine, and fearsome horns framed its head, casting an aura of terror that surpassed anything Gerithor and Sarina had ever witnessed. The dragon stood as a formidable embodiment of destruction, poised to unleash its wrath upon the beleaguered duo.

Gerithor, struggling under the oppressive weight of the fallen branch, met the dragon's gaze with defiance despite the dire situation. The dragon's deep, mellow voice reverberated through the air, filled with disappointment as it addressed them.

"What have we here? Spies?" The dragon's massive grey-scaled head tilted to the side as it studied the trapped duo.

"We are no spies!" Gerithor retorted, his voice strained as he grappled with the diminishing air supply caused by the branch's weight.

"Oh? Then why were you watching my friends from the shadows?" The dragon raised a scaly brow, casting doubt on Gerithor's protestations.

"Well, a huge army raises a certain amount of attention, you know," Gerithor replied with a touch of sarcasm, wincing as the branch pressed harder against him.

"You make a good point for a liar," the dragon mused. "Tell me your names... I wish to know who you are before I devour you." Its long, sharp claw raised, inspecting it intently.

"I am Gerithor, son of Gerimond, and this is Sarina." Gerithor blurted out the information, immediately regretting revealing their identities to the dragon. A sudden realization struck him: he was under the influence of the dragon's spell. Dragon spell, a magical compulsion dragons used when conversing with mortals, induced an unusual desire to answer truthfully. Now aware of the enchantment, Gerithor struggled to break free, glaring defiantly at the dragon.

"Ah! Son of Gerimond, you said? That name I know." The dragon's long serpentine tongue licked its lips, and its eyes glowed like fire. "I've heard stories about him. To defeat him would be quite an achievement... And what better way to draw him out than to kill his son?" The dragon's ominous words hung in the air, its serpentine eyes glowing with an inner fire.