Master of Time (Chronicles of the Half-Emrys Book 3)

By: Lisa Rector

The Two Masters and the Dragons’ Hope

From the Lore Chronicles of the Half-Emrys

As with every world, a creator shapes and forms it from the matter of the universe. With the power of light, a creator moves the elements and rolls them together, forging life.

As with every world, that life can be destroyed.

Eternal laws cannot be changed. There had to be opposition. To maintain balance, there had to be darkness where there was light. Where beauty flourished, death and decay festered as the light’s antithesis—as the dark matter of the universe and in the skin of one creator’s own brother, Cysgod, the Dark Master.

So it was with our beloved Bryn and the immortal world of Gorlassar. Our creator, Deian, the Master of Light, designed them both. Within the mortal world of Bryn, his creations lived for a time before returning to his abode and dwelling with him in glory. But in Gorlassar, Deian hid his most prized creation, his dragons—creatures of fire and light, tempered by magic.

They possessed ages of knowledge and histories from other worlds. The dragons were living repositories, carrying with them the wisdom of ages to be passed from one generation to the next upon birth. Their knowledge endured because with it came the keys to the mysteries of the universe and the keys to creation.

Oh, how Cysgod hated them.

Because of his nature, he could never hold the ability to create true life. Cysgod manipulated false representations, but the eternal spirits, who carried with them a portion of Deian’s light and waited to begin their life on a world, could not survive in Cysgod’s malformed monsters of darkness.

So Cysgod wanted the dragons dead. He wanted the frail beings called humans corrupted. Not one soul would live with Deian again—not if Cysgod mutilated their light until they became his.

To protect his dragons, Deian sealed Gorlassar, concealing it from his brother. But the armor had to have one chink—one rift into the realm so agency could have sway.

Cysgod found the rift, and in one far-reaching attempt, he nearly annihilated the entire species in a battle that spread over Gorlassar. Deian defeated Cysgod and sentenced him to an eternity without physical form, under the mountain Uffern on Bryn.

Despite his imprisonment, Cysgod had other plans that stretched into the future and twisted through time to the past until Gorlassar became undone.

And two immortals were stuck in the middle of his game—one emrys, a being of pure light, charged with guarding Deian’s dragons, and one half-emrys, who had forsworn both Masters. Although they were pawns, the pair couldn’t imagine how their choices would change the future. With every step, the two immortals held the key to the dragons’ survival—or their undoing.

Thus we continue the half-emryn chronicles.

Written by the hand of Ceisiwr, Lore Master of the Libraries of Gwireddau in the mortal realm of Terrin


Time is only one enemy.



Meuric picked up a sharp red and black volcanic rock perfectly sized for the palm of his hand. The air had stilled, and the familiar sulfurous scent lingered, biting at his nose. He stood like an obsidian statue with only his hand moving as he turned the pointed rock over and over.

Sweat rolled down his nose, the perspiration a result of the continual heat pouring out of the ground from the volcanic mountain Uffern. Lava rivers flowed beneath the whole central highland and the great range that Uffern was the star of.

It was here, along this forsaken mountainside of jagged, loose sediment, where a single crevice ripped into the inferno, allowing access to the volcanic depths. It was here, where Meuric waited for his mother Siana and Einion to trek through the passages to the Dark Master’s chamber.

Meuric ran a finger along the somewhat straight bridge of his nose, shaking off the beads of sweat, and brushed a hand over his scalp, which was shorn to stubs for battle. He adjusted the sword at his hip before resuming his stance, continuously turning the sharp stone.

His dragon, Derog, mentally called out to him. I’ve reached the battle. I won’t wait for you. It’s brutal. I long to dig my claws into some flesh.

Rhianu, his sister, had sent his army to annihilate the Dragons of Light. Because of the smooth, round stone around his neck, Meuric saw dragon fighting dragon and heard the shouts and screams of battle through Derog. The Dragons of Light and their guardians, the emrys, fought against the Dark Dragon Riders. Meuric would rather be among the chaos, hours away over the desert with the rest of his men, soaring into battle on his beloved winged companion.

But he was here, seeing to another task first. He swallowed the lump in his throat. This night would have devastating repercussions; however, Meuric was prepared to go through with his plan.

Derog, have you spotted Rhianu? Keep her safe. Her flame of red hair—or her ferocity—would be simple to see in the onslaught.

Not yet, but I will not fail you.

How can I do this? I’m vile. I’m despicable. Meuric clutched the volcanic rock, and it cut into his flesh. A curse slipped under his breath. He dropped the shiny glasslike offender and watched blood bubble from an angry gash in the meat of his palm.

Stand by your decision. Derog growled as he clobbered a green dragon and raked his claws across her wings.