Flight Through Dragons Fire: Lost Chronicles from Circle of Stones - A Heroine's Odyssey, #7

By E.L.Marr

Chrissy's journey continues as she navigates a whirlwind of adventure and peril. Chased by a relentless psychopath across diverse realms and time, her quest transforms into a daring odyssey to reunite with her beloved younger brother. Along the way, Chrissy encounters legendary creatures, forges unexpected alliances, and discovers hidden strengths, becoming a beacon of hope amidst chaos and conflict.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.L.Marr
• Release date: Apr 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224888870

Book preview

Flight Through Dragon Fire

Lost Chronicles from Circle of Stones - A Heroine's Odyssey

By E.L. Marr

Book 7

Chapter 9- Off we go.

The Hall of the Dead – Wyvern Keep

Day 14 – Pre Dawn

Stepping into the Hall of the Dead, an ethereal ambiance enveloped every corner. The unmistakable aroma of embalming oils hung in the air, a testament to the reverent efforts to preserve earthly remains. Navigating through labyrinthine passages, the warrior encountered a tapestry of evocative scents intertwined with the essence of ancient rituals and the solemn preparations for the departed.

The timeless fragrance of myrrh and frankincense wafted through the air, their aromatic tendrils rising like offerings to spirits beyond. Distant echoes of ceremonial chants and prayers added to the otherworldly experience within the crypt. This blend of scents transcended mortal boundaries, fostering a reverent ambiance for the ancient funerary traditions that permeated the sacred space.

Soft whispers of monks engaged in rhythmic chants gently resonated through expansive chambers, infusing the surroundings with spiritual homage for the dead. The cold stone walls absorbed these sacred vibrations, resonating with the solemnity of the place.

Hammot Hrongar, a seasoned warrior, strode purposefully through dimly lit corridors, his weathered figure cloaked in the ethereal aura of the crypt. As he traversed cold, damp passages, the air carried scents of aged wood and lingering incense, each step echoing the weight of his journey. Flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows upon engraved runes, creating a mosaic of memories upon ancient stones reminiscent of spirits dancing in candle and torchlight. Hammot's journey through this sacred space was a silent pilgrimage, a warrior's walk through the corridors of memory and reflection, preparing to face the truth that awaited him at the journey's end.

Upon entering the alcove through the parted curtain, the warrior's presence commands immediate respect from the attending priests. They momentarily pause their solemn rites, hands poised delicately over the body, as they meet his unwavering gaze. Sensing his authority and reverence, they gracefully withdraw from their tasks, wordlessly acknowledging his status in this hallowed space.

Their quiet retreat speaks volumes, a silent tribute to the warrior's connection to the deceased. The ambiance within the Hall of the Dead subtly shifts the air imbued with the remnants of their ceremonial actions. Left alone with the solemn scene, the warrior contemplates the significance of the moment in the tranquil confines of the chamber.

With resolute steps, the warrior advanced toward the shrouded figure, his boots reverberating on the chilled stone surface, echoing the unspoken sorrows within. The atmosphere in the Hall of the Dead bore the weight of solemnity, intensified by the lingering metallic aroma of blood in the air.

Hammot Hrongar stood silently before the shrouded body, hesitating to uncover it as he contemplated the grim transformation that had befallen his once-jovial battle brother. He was momentarily taken aback when he finally lifted the covering, struggling to recognize the man beneath. The torchlight flickered across the pale face, now etched with sharp angles that spoke of a life marred by shadows and deceit. As the air in the Hall of the Dead grew heavy with unspoken truths, it was evident that the dead man himself had changed drastically, turning from the vibrant figure Hammot once knew into this hauntingly empty form.

Why did you return? I should have made you vow never to return. You could have had a peaceful life... Oh, battle, brother. Your hatred of my brother for something he couldn’t control blinded you. Hammot muttered, his voice carrying the weight of both weariness and regret.

Hammot’s moment of silent contemplation of the past was rudely interrupted by Octavian’s entrance. His demanding words cut through the heavy air behind Hammot, startling him in the dimly lit hall. What were you thinking?! 

Get out!  Hammot growled out.

Do you not understand the implications of what you have done?  Octavian counters.

So, I paid for him to be with his family now. Leave me be, Hammot replied, his gaze fixed on the lifeless figure before him, avoiding eye contact.

I harbor you no ill will for what you did for your friend, Octavian says but is snapped back at by the solemn warrior. "You have no idea. You call him my friend. No, he was more. He was