The crystalline moonwood throne hall was empty now—echoes of the earlier court session lingering like mist in the vaulted air. Guards returned to their silent posts, ministers whispered among themselves as they left, and envoys clutched scrolls as they scurried back to their respective chambers.
Queen Sylviana sat motionless upon her throne, a polished armrest carved from starlit oak beneath her hand. Her expression unreadable. Regal. Timeless.
Then, with the faintest bow, Duke Theodric of House Aldercrest stepped forward.
"Your Majesty," he said, voice steady, "might I request a moment of private discourse? Over tea, if you would permit."
The Queen's silver eyebrows arched delicately. Her gaze, sharp as flint and soft as snowfall, regarded him for a moment that felt like eternity.
"…Tomorrow evening," she finally said. "You may present yourself at the west garden pavilion. And do bring your dragon, if she so chooses."
Theo bowed low. "It would be my honor."
Evening – The West Garden Pavilion
Twilight painted the sky in hues of amethyst and gold. The pavilion was nestled in a field of moonlotus flowers, their petals blooming only under the fading light, releasing a subtle luminescence. A table stood under a canopy of woven silver branches and hanging lanterns, glowing with contained starlight.
Theo arrived precisely at the appointed time.
His attire was understated—deep grey robes embroidered in silver with elven spirals—and in his gloved hand he carried a lacquered wooden box no larger than a fruit basket. Beside him, Vaelstrom crouched like a silent sentinel, her black wings tucked tight, scales glinting like onyx beneath the lantern light.
Queen Sylviana awaited him, already seated, robes of pale green and gold flowing like riverwater around her. She gestured gently to the seat across from her.
"You're punctual," she said. "A rarity in monarchs."
"I'm only a Duke, Your Majesty. The punctuality is simply good manners."
He set the wooden box down and unlatched it carefully.
Inside: a watch.
But not just any timepiece. Its casing was shaped from starmetal—softly glowing under moonlight—and the gears inside were visible beneath a crystal made of enchanted glass that shimmered like dragonfly wings. The band was wrapped in spirit-wood bark, flexible yet firm, and inlaid with elven runes that flowed like water when light passed over them.
"This," Theo said, sliding the box forward, "is for you."
The Queen lifted the timepiece with both hands, eyes narrowing in curiosity. It felt warm to the touch—subtle magic infused into every joint.
"A mechanical gift," she murmured. "From a man who sails with dragons."
Theo nodded. "Inspired by your people. Precision, grace, elegance… and a hint of the impossible."
She examined it a moment longer and then, without a word, fastened it to her wrist. The gears began to tick.
"Haa," she exhaled softly. Not a laugh. More… amusement, perhaps. A sound only an immortal could make.
Theo's smile twitched. Was that… approval?
Then came the sweat. A single bead sliding down his temple. He could strategize kingdoms. But this elf—this ancient queen—could unravel him with a blink.
She leaned back, casually examining the array of crates behind him. "Your entourage was… generous with gifts."
Theo turned, following her gaze.
In one of the opened crates, a dozen glass bottles gleamed under the lanterns. Liquid gold sloshed inside each one.
She pointed with a graceful finger. "That. What is it?"
Theo tilted his head. "Ah… that would be spirit. Whiskey, to be precise."
"Spirit?" she repeated. "A peculiar word for a drink."
"We… humans tend to exaggerate."
Her gaze didn't waver. "May I try it?"
Theo blinked. "Of course. Though—uh—it's strong."
"How strong?"
"Well," he said, retrieving one bottle and gently uncorking it, "it has a certain… burn to it. And a kick."
She raised an eyebrow. "I've lived for two thousand years, little Duke. Everyone is 'little' to me."
Theo poured the whiskey into an elegant elven crystal chalice. She swirled it briefly, brought it to her lips…
And drank.
There was a silence.
Then—
"—whoo."
Sylviana's eyes widened. Her elegant shoulders tensed slightly.
"That was… unexpected."
Theo opened his mouth, unsure whether to apologize or gloat.
"…and I like it," she continued. "Burns like an oath. Kicks like a spell. Why didn't you bring this sooner?"
Theo chuckled nervously. "Well, I thought… perhaps the elves didn't drink."
She waved her hand. "We don't like alcohol, Duke. We love it. So much that the dwarves occasionally accuse us of stealing their barrels, which is the real reason behind the ancient dwarven-elven feud."
Theo choked on his own sip.
The Queen leaned forward slightly, crystal glass still in hand.
"But let's not pretend this is a casual tasting."
Her tone had shifted.
Gone was the amused glint.
Now, only frost and steel remained in her eyes.
"What did you truly come here to speak about, Theodric of Aldercrest?"
Theo exhaled. The air seemed to grow colder around him.
"I came," he said slowly, "because of how you looked at Vaelstrom in the court."
The Queen tilted her head, as if listening not to his voice—but his soul.
"You recognized her," Theo continued. "Not just as a dragon. But as something… more."
Sylviana placed her glass down.
"When a dragon emerges, Duke, it is not a creature—it is a sign."
Theo frowned. "A sign?"
"Dragons are not beasts. They are not even species. They are manifestations. Embodiments. When the world grows… imbalanced… when its axis of fate tilts—dragons emerge to correct it."
Theo was silent.
She went on. "The last time a dragon was seen was six centuries ago. During the War of Three Continents. The world burned. Thrones fell. Magic fractured. And then… the dragon vanished. And the world righted itself."
Theo looked to Vaelstrom, who remained still, silent, eyes closed.
"She chose me," he whispered. "I didn't bind her. I didn't even hatch her."
The Queen's eyes narrowed. "Then where did you find the egg?"
"…Deadwood Marches," he said. "The ruins of what we call the Dragon City."
Sylviana froze.
"There is no such thing as a 'Dragon City,' Theo."
His brow furrowed. "But… Elric led me there."
Elric—standing nearby—stepped forward in alarm. "What?"
"You took me there," Theo said. "Three years ago. Said you found the ruins on an old map."
Elric looked shaken. "I… no. You disappeared, remember? For three days. Then you came back with the egg. I never went with you."
Theo's blood ran cold.
His thoughts raced. Memory fragments shattered.
The Queen stood slowly, voice like thunder beneath velvet.
"Then that confirms it."
Theo met her eyes.
"Confirms what?"
She stepped toward him.
"That something greater is at play. That Vaelstrom's arrival… is no accident. And your role in it is far more dangerous than you believe."
Theo opened his mouth—then stopped.
Because Vaelstrom…
…opened hers.
A low rumble echoed.
Not a growl.
A word.
Spoken in ancient Draconic, lost to time.
The Queen's eyes widened.
Theo turned, stunned.
Vaelstrom was not merely growling.
She was speaking.
Sylviana's voice came quiet, but shaken.
"…Theo. You must understand something."
The dragon opened both eyes. Her pupils narrowed.
"The dragons of legend did not speak. They roared. They burned. They fought."
"But only one dragon was ever said to speak in tongues of men."
Theo's heart thudded.
"Who?" he asked.
The Queen looked directly into him.
"…The First Flame."
A silence fell, thick and breathless.
"Theo…" Sylviana said.
"If you didn't find the egg…"
"…then who gave it to you?"