Kael landed heavily in the village square, his talons cracking the stone beneath him. The cheers of the villagers felt far away, muffled, as if spoken through water. His silver scales still glowed faintly, and his breath steamed in the cool night air.
Lira ran toward him, her face pale with awe and fear. "Kael... you saved us."
He lowered his head, the dragon's golden eyes staring into hers. "Did I?" He rumbled. "Or did it?"
Because beneath his thoughts—his own fear, his own relief—another presence stirred. The dragon's essence, old and proud, whispered in his mind. You are mine now. The blood of dragons flows again. Do not falter. Do not rest.
Kael shuddered. His claws dug into the ground involuntarily. "Get... out of my head," he hissed under his breath.
His grandfather approached, leaning on his staff. "This is the price, Kael. The necklace was not only a key... it was a seal."
The villagers began to whisper among themselves. Some bowed to him; others hid behind their doors. Was he their savior, or the omen of something far darker?
Kael turned his gaze toward the distant Dark Valley, where the black mist writhed like a living shadow. The dragon's voice hummed again: Hunt them. Burn them. Reclaim what ours is.
He spread his wings slowly; torn between the boy he was, and the beast he had become.
"Lira," he said at last, "if I lose myself... stop me."
Her grip tightened her spear. "I'll bring you back, Kael. No matter what."