The Matchmaker - The Arrax Saga Book 1 Chapter 192

The glow around Nikolas intensified.

Silver light pulsed from his body in rhythmic waves, each surge making the ground tremble beneath Saphira’s feet. The air thickened, charged with something ancient and electric. She staggered back, eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat.

“Nikolas?” she whispered, voice barely audible.

The light grew brighter, swirling around him like a storm of magic. His body arched, limbs trembling, and the threads of energy wrapped tighter, cocooning him in radiant fire.

*‘Vaelora,’* Saphira called inward, stunned. *‘What’s happening?’*

The dragon’s voice came back, warm and steady. *‘Watch.’*

Saphira did.

Behind her, the battle had stilled. Wolves, witches, vampires, dragons, friend and foe alike, had paused mid-motion, drawn to the spectacle. Even the Elders stood frozen, their expressions unreadable.

Then Nikolas shifted.

The glow exploded outward, blinding and pure. Saphira threw up her arm, shielding her eyes as the light engulfed him. The roar of magic drowned out everything, the wind, the forest, even her thoughts.

A few moments passed.

Then the light began to fade.

Saphira lowered her arm slowly, blinking through the haze.

And gasped.

Nikolas’s dragon stood tall in the clearing, wings half-unfurled, chest rising with each breath. But he was no longer the pure black beast she’d known.

He was pure white.

His scales shimmered with silver, catching the light like moonlit snow. He was larger than before, taller, broader, more commanding. Power radiated from him, quiet and absolute.

Saphira’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Nikolas…”

Around her, the pack stared in stunned silence. Even the Elders looked shaken.

Then Nikolas roared.

The sound was deep, dangerous, and final. It echoed through the trees, shaking the canopy, sending birds scattering into the sky.

Saphira flinched, her heart hammering as the sound rolled over her, primal and commanding. Nikolas’s dragon stood tall in the clearing, the glow around him had faded, but the power hadn’t. It radiated from him in waves.

She stared, breathless. *He’s changed,* she thought.

*‘No, he has transformed.’* Vaelora corrected her.

Behind her, the pack remained frozen, their eyes wide with awe. Even the wounded paused, drawn to the impossible sight before them.

Then movement.

The Elders.

The vampire with silver-threaded hair took a step back, his expression no longer smug but wary. The witches exchanged glances, their hands twitching with restrained magic. The wolf Elder who had mocked Nikolas earlier bared his teeth, but it was no longer a grin. It was fear.

“This isn’t possible,” one of the witches whispered. “He was dying.”

“He should be dead,” the vampire hissed.

Nikolas’s dragon lowered his head, eyes glowing like molten silver. He took one step forward, the ground trembling beneath his claws.

The Elders flinched.

Then, without a word, they turned.

One by one, they fled, vanishing into the trees, their cloaks trailing behind them like shadows torn loose. The wolf Elders shifted mid-run, bolting into the underbrush. The witches vanished in a shimmer of light. The vampires blurred into motion, gone in seconds.

Saphira watched them go, stunned.

The pack erupted behind her, howls of triumph, spells flaring, warriors surging forward to chase down the remnants of Cinderwood. But Saphira didn’t move.

She stepped forward slowly; eyes locked on Nikolas.

He stood still now, chest rising and falling, wings tucked close. His gaze met hers, familiar, fierce, and utterly changed.

Saphira stepped forward again, Nikolas’s dragon stood in the clearing, tall and still, his silver-white scales catching the fractured sunlight.

He was breathtaking.

And unfamiliar.

Her heart pounded as she moved closer, each step cautious, reverent. “Nikolas…” she whispered, unsure if he could hear her, if he was even fully himself.

The dragon turned his head, slowly, deliberately. His eyes locked onto hers, and something in her chest twisted. He was there. But he wasn’t the same.

*‘Vaelora,’* she called inward, her thoughts tight with awe and unease. *‘What is this? What happened to him?’*

The dragon inside her stirred, her voice velvet-smooth and strangely pleased. *‘He has become what he was always meant to be.’*

Saphira frowned. *‘That doesn’t answer the question.’*

*‘No,’* Vaelora agreed, almost playfully. *‘It doesn’t.’*

Saphira stopped a few paces away, her breath catching as she looked up at him. He was taller than before, easily a head above any dragon she’d seen. His wings were broader; the edges laced with faint iridescence. The silver shimmer across his scales wasn’t just light, it pulsed, alive, like starlight woven into flesh.

Behind her, the pack remained silent, watching. No one dared speak.

Saphira took another step. “Nikolas… can you hear me?”

The dragon blinked slowly. Then, with a low rumble, he lowered his head until his snout hovered just above her. Warm breath washed over her face, and her eyes stung with tears.

“You came back,” she whispered. “But you’re different.”

*‘So are you,’* Vaelora murmured.

Saphira’s brows drew together. *‘What does that mean?’*

But Vaelora didn’t answer.

Saphira took a slow step forward, her breath catching as she approached the towering white dragon before her.

She hesitated.

Then reached out.

Her fingers trembled as they hovered just above his snout, the heat of his breath brushing her skin. “Nikolas,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “It’s still you… right?”

She touched him.

The moment her palm met his scales, the world shifted.

A pulse of energy surged through her, warm, electric, ancient. Her knees buckled, but she didn’t fall. Instead, her mind was pulled inward, deeper than any bond she’d ever known. Not just a link. A merging.

She was no longer standing in the clearing.

She was inside something vast and luminous.

A sky of silver and gold stretched around her, stars pulsing like heartbeats. She felt Nikolas’s presence, not just his thoughts, but his soul. Raw, exposed, radiant. And beneath it, Vorthar, newly awakened.

*“You found me,”* Nikolas’s voice echoed through her, not in words but in feeling. *“Even when I was lost.”*

Saphira’s breath hitched. *“You were never lost. You were becoming.”*

She felt his awe, his fear, his love, all of it laid bare. The bond between them pulsed, no longer two threads but one braided cord, glowing with shared magic.

Then Vaelora’s voice joined them, amused and reverent. *‘So… This is what it takes to wake a true sleeping royal.’*

Saphira turned inward. *‘What are you talking about?’*

But Vaelora only laughed, low and knowing. *‘You’ll see.’*