Only a true heir of the Giant King could inherit that specific brand of violence. Jorik wasn't blind; he finally recognized the lineage.
"I am Kaelen Stoneheart," the hybrid declared, hovering amidst the blood mist. "Fourth Prince of the Stoneheart Horde."
His voice rang like steel. For the first time, he felt the true weight of that title. Seeing the awe and fear in the dragon's eyes, Kaelen realized that his heritage wasn't a burden.
It was glorious.
"My apologies. I misjudged you."
The massive dragon lowered his head, his voice a low rumble of shifting ice. "I knew your father, though I never expected to find his kin here. I am Jorik, of the Glacial Dragons."
To be honest, Jorik was still reeling. If Kaelen hadn't stepped in, that ambush by the Dragonlouse King wouldn't just have hurt—it would have crippled him, forcing him to burn a lifeline he couldn't afford to lose.
"Jorik?" Kaelen's eyes lit up with recognition. "The ancient dragon of the Northern Tundra?"
