The storm that followed Seraphina's disappearance did not fade for three days.
Thunder rolled endlessly across the valley, tearing the skies apart, and the people of Drakenvale whispered that the gods themselves were angry. Lightning struck the hills, setting dry brush aflame, and the river overflowed, flooding the lower fields.
Eric had not slept. Not truly. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—Seraphina's eyes wide with fear, her hand reaching for him before she vanished into the glowing torrent. Her last words echoed in his mind like a curse:
> "When the sky burns gold and the river runs crimson, follow the whisper again."
He sat by the window of his small cabin, staring at the rain that lashed the glass. The wind howled outside like a beast in pain. His thoughts were a storm of their own—half memory, half longing.
And then came the knock.
It was faint at first, barely audible over the roar of the rain. Then again, louder. Deliberate.
Eric's heart leapt into his throat. He snatched a knife from the table, moving quietly to the door. "Who's there?" he called.
No answer.
He opened it a crack—and a drenched figure stumbled inside, collapsing against the doorway. It was Joran, the miller's son, his face pale and eyes wide with terror.
"Eric… they're coming," he gasped. "The knights—those dragon ones—they're in the village. They're searching every house!"
Eric's blood ran cold. "When?"
"Now. I saw them ride past the square—they're heading this way!"
Without another word, Eric grabbed his cloak and tossed a small satchel of food over his shoulder. "Go back home, Joran. Tell your father to hide. If they find out you warned me—"
"I'll tell them nothing," Joran said, shaking his head. "Just… don't get caught."
Eric nodded once, then slipped out the back door into the rain.
The village was chaos. He could see flashes of blue light in the distance, hear the metallic clatter of armored boots splashing through mud. The dragon knights—Kael's men. They were hunting him.
He didn't know how they knew, but it didn't matter.
He ran.
Through fields of soaked wheat, past fences half-swallowed by floodwater, until he reached the forest at the edge of the valley. The rain was heavier there, the canopy above thick enough to shield him from sight.
He didn't stop until his lungs burned.
Leaning against a tree, he tried to steady his breath. The storm had dulled to a steady drizzle now, and the forest around him was alive with the sound of dripping water and rustling leaves.
But then—something glimmered.
A faint light shimmered in the darkness, golden and pulsing like a heartbeat.
Eric frowned and stepped closer. The glow came from the ground, half-buried in mud—a small, flat stone carved with an intricate symbol: a dragon coiled around a flame. The same sigil that had been embroidered on Kael's cloak.
Cautiously, he brushed away the mud. The moment his skin touched the stone, the air seemed to vibrate.
He gasped.
A searing heat spread through his hand, racing up his arm like liquid fire. He tried to drop the stone, but it clung to his palm as though alive. Golden light exploded from it, swirling around him in a vortex of flame and wind.
"Eric of Drakenvale," a voice thundered within his mind—ancient, echoing, powerful. "The bond has been forged."
He fell to his knees, clutching his head. "What—what is this?!"
"The dragon's mark," the voice answered. "A seal of destiny. You have touched the relic of House Drakonis. From this moment, your soul is bound to the blood of dragons."
The light burned brighter, and pain tore through his arm. He cried out as the mark seared into his skin—a swirling pattern of gold and crimson, glowing faintly even in the rain.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the light vanished. The stone crumbled to dust in his palm.
Eric gasped for breath, staring at the mark now etched into his forearm. It pulsed softly with heat, alive beneath his skin.
"What in the gods' name have I done…" he whispered.
He didn't have time to think.
A flash of blue light struck the ground beside him, and a voice barked, "There he is!"
Eric spun around. Through the rain, three armored figures emerged—dragon knights, their eyes glowing faintly gold beneath their hoods. Kael was with them.
His expression was cold, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I knew you would come here," he said. "The bond has awakened. She must have told you how to find it."
Eric backed away slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Kael's gaze flicked to the glowing mark on his arm. "You lie. The Relic of Fire and Blood accepts no one unworthy. You've been chosen by her… or by something older."
"I don't want this!" Eric shouted. "I just want her to be safe!"
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Then you are already lost."
He drew his sword. The blade burst into blue fire.
Eric turned and ran.
Bolts of light seared past him, striking trees and shattering branches. The forest erupted in flame. Smoke filled the air, choking him as he stumbled through the underbrush.
A hand grabbed his cloak—he twisted, slashing blindly with his knife. Sparks flew as steel met armor, and Kael's cold eyes glowed inches from his face.
"You cannot escape fate, mortal," the knight hissed. "The mark will lead us to you wherever you flee."
Before Eric could reply, the ground beneath them trembled. A deep, resonant hum filled the air, like the growl of a distant storm. The river.
A beam of golden light shot upward from the valley, piercing the clouds. Kael cursed, stepping back. "No… the Seal is awakening!"
Eric didn't understand what he meant—but instinct took over. He broke free and ran toward the light.
Branches tore at his clothes. The air grew hotter with each step, until he burst out of the trees and stumbled onto the riverbank.
The river was no longer water.
It flowed with liquid gold, shimmering and boiling as though alive. The current twisted in impossible shapes, forming symbols of flame that vanished as quickly as they appeared.
Eric felt the mark on his arm burn brighter. The whisper in his mind returned—Seraphina's voice, soft and desperate.
> "Eric… run to the light. Trust the mark."
Kael's shout echoed behind him. "Don't you dare!"
But Eric didn't hesitate.
He stepped into the river.
The instant his foot touched the surface, the world exploded in golden fire.
He felt weightless—pulled upward and downward all at once. The air roared around him, filled with the sound of ancient voices chanting in a language older than time. The light swallowed everything.
And then—silence.
He fell to his knees on solid ground. When he looked up, his breath caught.
He was no longer in Drakenvale.
The sky above was crimson and gold, streaked with drifting islands of stone. Waterfalls cascaded into the clouds, glowing faintly as they vanished into mist. Towering spires of black stone rose in the distance, connected by bridges of light. Dragons soared between them—majestic, terrible, beautiful.
"The Sky Citadel…" he whispered. "Her home."
His heart pounded as he rose unsteadily to his feet. The mark on his arm pulsed like a heartbeat, guiding him forward. He didn't know how or why, but he could feel her—Seraphina's presence—somewhere within this impossible realm.
Behind him, a tear in the air shimmered open, and Kael stepped through, sword drawn. His voice was filled with fury. "You've crossed into the realm of dragons, human. This is your grave!"
Eric turned to face him, his fear melting into something fierce and determined. "No," he said quietly. "This is where it begins."
The mark on his arm flared, and a burst of golden fire ignited around his hands. He didn't understand how—but the flame obeyed him.
Kael hesitated, eyes widening. "Impossible…"
The wind roared. The ground trembled.
And far above, on the highest tower of the Sky Citadel, a figure stood watching—the silhouette of a woman with silver hair and golden eyes filled with both hope and dread.
"Eric…" Seraphina whispered. "You found me."