The centuries-old prophesy of the One is being fulfilled, and the ancient dragon clans are coming out of hiding to remake the world. The king of the magic users will stop at nothing to be sure the prophecy is fulfilled the right way–with his oppressive government ruling. As they struggle for power, Haylwen (14) and her brother Cadarn (16) just happen to be caught dead center.

The Prophecy


The One will drag us back in
the world with humans again.
One from each of we the Three
gifts he will need receive.
First, to a Guardian cleave
then all Others, binding Three.
Back and forth through worlds and time
’til now is ruin — sublime.
Empties their throne and their pride
and all that we safely hide.
To our worlds he brings new rage
to return a golden age
infinite to all and Three.
Author C. H. MacLean

About the Author

To young C. H. MacLean, books were everything: mind-food, friends, and fun. They gave the shy middle child’s life color and energy. Amazingly, not everyone saw them that way. (read more…)

More Chocolate

Effort has its limits. This statement can be said about many things. In particular I am thinking of how it's true about writing, or maybe just editing. For me, at first, an image explodes, fills me with verve and motivation. Ideas spill and scatter, mixing together...

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Horse or Donkey?

  I'm stubborn. Not only a Taurus, I was also born in the year of the Ox. I'm mixing my astrology, I know. I guess it’s why I have a double helping of stubborn. Do I think I don’t have a choice in being stubborn? No. I don't believe in predestination or anything...

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A Reward From My Principal

Today I was reminded of a great lesson my principal taught me when I was sixteen. I walked down the narrow hall, crowded with other kids rushing to leave school. We packed the hallway, a steady flow. Like an explosion went off, a clearing appeared just ahead of me. I...

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Season for Death

I almost crashed several times while driving out of my neighborhood this week. The lane is not tricky, and the snow didn't faze me. The bright contrast of a white blanket cast gently over the land usually soothes me, in fact. Trees and bushes slumbering peacefully,...

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Writing is loud and lonely work, sleep’s enemy.

I stare at the ceiling. The sun isn’t even thinking about rising yet. What in the world am I doing up? I sneak out of the bedroom.

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