Angielski
The sky is on fire, and I'm not talking poetic metaphor or artistic imagery fluff. No. That's literal, not lyrical. Try to keep up.
It's been 150 years since the end of mankind, or at least the almost-end. Bombs rained down, entire cities leveled, and biowarfare nearly erased every trace of us from the Earth. But the worst came after.
Stars fell from the sky, breaking every law of nature and every rule of physics. Then the Rip tore open. To where? Who the hell knows. But dragons came through, huge and vicious and scary enough to make a grown man shit his pants. That was the moment the old world died for good.
I'm just living life on the downlow, until this strange little stranger shows up and flips my whole life on its ass. Which is how I end up on a suicidal trip along the Northeast coast of destroyed America to the Rip-the epicenter of dragons and destruction.
But I don't plan on dying a martyr. I'm way too mean for that. I lie like a dog, don't censor a damn thing, and my head might not be screwed on straight.
I've got my wits, a gun, and one fine-ass cowboy stupid enough to ride beside me. Is that enough to survive the Outlands and outlaws with our names on their bullets?
My name is Wren Deveraux. But the dragons say I'm Wildfire.
