THE SECRET THE LEADER IS HIDING
The ash continued to fall like withered snow, covering their armor and cloaks with a gray veil. There was no sound beyond the murmur of the wind, but between them the tension vibrated like a steel wire about to snap.
Sary knelt on a blackened rock, taking from her belt a small cylinder of dark crystal with runes inside that pulsed faintly. She held it up to her eyes, and everyone could see the dim reflection glimmering within.
"This is a fragment of the Ancestral Blood Record," he said in a calm but authoritative voice. "It is older than any written record, older even than the earliest chronicles of the dragon masters."
Kharvek took a step toward her, crossing his arms. "You've told us about that relic before, but you never say how it works."
Sary looked at him patiently, as if she were speaking to a stubborn child. "It's not something that can be used as a weapon or a spell. This record recognizes the unique soul vibration of those born with the Primordial Breath. It doesn't make mistakes. It can't be manipulated. If Zyrion were one of us... or one of them..."
Orhvane interrupted her gently. "The glass would show it."
Sary nodded. "Exactly. But when I used it to observe him from a distance, his signal was... confused. Like he was only half awake, or like something was distorting it. And that's impossible, unless..."
Dertran frowned. "Unless his blood is mixed with something that shouldn't exist."
Kharvek let out a short laugh. "Or unless they're lying to us about what a dragon master really is."
Sary clicked the cylinder shut and put it away. "The records we have aren't perfect. There are gaps. Moments in history that were deliberately erased. And that worries me. If the leader has never revealed his face to us, what makes us think he's told us everything?"
Orhvane lowered her gaze, her hands tracing runes in the air that vanished like smoke. "If what you say is true, then Zyrion might be an anomaly. Neither entirely like us... nor entirely like them."
Dertran turned to her. "And in your opinion, does that make him more dangerous or more valuable?"
Orhvane smiled, barely a gesture. "Both. If he doesn't know what it is, we can guide him. But if he figures it out for himself before we're ready, he could destroy us."
Kharvek stared intently at Sary. "How many more have gone through that crystal test?"
Sary was silent for a moment, as if choosing her words with extreme care. "For as long as I can remember... eight. All of them were absorbed by the leader's will, except for one. And that one... disappeared."
Dertran took a step forward, his voice low but firm. "What if Zyrion is that one?"
The question hung in the air. None of them wanted to answer immediately, and the ash continued to fall, slow and inexorable, as if the world itself awaited their decision.
Finally, Orhvane broke the silence. "If it's him, sooner or later the leader will come for him. And when that happens... we'll have to decide whether we follow his orders or protect the boy."
Kharvek looked at her disdainfully. "You speak as if you've already chosen him."
Orhvane didn't deny it. "Maybe so."
Dertran clenched his jaw. "We're not here to question the leader."
Sary regarded him with an icy stare. "No. But we're here to survive. And if the leader is hiding something from us, knowing it could be the only difference between living and being wiped out like those who came before us."
A distant rumble of thunder echoed across the plain, and the group knew they could not stay any longer. The name Zyrion continued to linger in their minds, an echo they could not ignore.
The plain was shrouded in a tense calm, the gray sky threatening to unleash a storm as ash fell like a funeral veil over the scorched earth. Sary stood motionless on a black rock, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the battlefield lay hidden behind the distance and the mist.
Her silver eyes flashed with a mixture of determination and melancholy, as if in that devastated landscape she was looking for something more than just an enemy.
"Zyrion..." he murmured to himself, his words almost a whisper. "That name has echoed in my dreams since before I ever saw it with my own eyes."
Her fingers intertwined gently as she recalled the fragment of Ancestral Blood she had studied so obsessively. It was a rare fragment, a living reliquary containing the truth about the origins of the dragon masters, their lineages, their pacts, and their betrayals.
"He's not just a boy with a fragment," he thought, his mind going over every detail, every vibration detected in the signal he'd picked up. "He's an anomaly... a being born between shadows and light, trapped in a destiny he doesn't even understand."
The icy breeze made her cloak billow slowly, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the wind caress her face. Her lips moved in a barely audible murmur.
"What are you hiding, Zyrion? What secrets does that blood flowing in your veins hold? Ancestral Blood does not manifest without reason... and you are living proof of that."
Sary opened her eyes again, now with a firmer resolve. She knew that the leader of the Saekrim Noxar maintained control with invisible strings, concealing the truth to preserve a crumbling order. But she had her own doubts, and those doubts drove her to question.
"The leader doesn't want us to know the truth," he thought, touching the reliquary on his belt. "He fears that if Zyrion fully awakens, it could change the rules of the game. But I cannot allow such a powerful secret to remain buried in darkness."
Her breathing deepened, and the rain began to fall, cold and persistent, mingling with the ash, painting the world in shades of gray and silver.
Sary rose slowly, the weight of her thoughts and responsibilities almost palpable on her shoulders. She walked to a small nearby promontory from where she could get a better view of the terrain.
"I must keep an eye on him," she told herself firmly. "I can't let the shadows consume him, but neither can I allow him to become a mindless pawn."
An enigmatic smile curved her lips as she whispered to the wind:
"Zyrion, perhaps you are the lost echo of the Ancient Blood... or perhaps, the storm that will bring rebirth or destruction. But one thing is certain: I will be watching you."
The rain increased, and Sary's figure became a silhouette in the gloom, shrouded in mystery and unspoken promises.
The next Dragon Master must surpass the first.