The night after the attack felt unnaturally still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath around the camp. Kael sat by the fading embers of the fire, staring into the glowing coals as if they might whisper answers. His hands still trembled faintly, silver light flickering beneath his skin like lightning trapped in glass.
Lira approached quietly, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. "You haven't slept," she said softly.
Kael shook his head. "Every time I close my eyes, I see them—the raiders, the fire… me." He looked up at her, golden eyes weary. "I didn't even think. It was like something else was fighting through me."
Before Lira could respond, Maelor's voice came from the shadows.
"Something else? No, boy. Not something else. Something older."
He stepped into the light, his crooked staff glowing faintly with blue runes. The fire reflected in his eyes, making them look otherworldly.
"You think power is a gift, but it's an echo—a memory passed through blood. You wield the fire of the First Flame, the oldest breath of the Silver Dragon himself. But do you even know what it means to carry that burden?"
Kael frowned. "You said it was my legacy."
"Legacy?" Maelor scoffed. "A legacy is a story told by victors. You, boy, are a promise made by the dying."
He tapped his staff against the earth. The runes on the ground flared to life, forming a ring of light. Images shimmered above it—dragons locked in battle against creatures of black flame, the sky split between silver and shadow.
"Long ago, before kingdoms rose and fell, there were two fires," Maelor continued. "The Silver Flame, born from creation. And the Black Fire, born from envy. When they clashed, the world was nearly undone. The dragons sealed the darkness away—but not before one of their own betrayed them."
Lira's voice broke the silence. "The Demon Ruler."
Maelor nodded. "Aye. Once a dragon himself. Twisted by his own hunger for power. The one you call Demon Ruler was once Drathen, the Wyrm of Night. And he has waited centuries to reclaim what he lost—the flame that burns in your blood, Kael."
The words hung heavy in the air. Kael stared at the images, his pulse quickening. "So he's after me."
"He's after what you carry," Maelor said. "And if you cannot master it before he finds you, he will tear it from your soul."
Lira stepped forward, defiant. "Then we stop him. Together."
Maelor's expression softened just slightly. "Together, yes. But remember this—every bond, every love, every promise will be tested by fire. The dragon's flame burns brightest when it devours what it loves most."
Kael looked at him sharply. "What are you saying?"
Maelor only smiled faintly, as if hearing a secret Kael couldn't.
"I'm saying that the day will come when your heart and your power will not agree—and the world will burn waiting to see which wins."
Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains, distant but drawing closer. Somewhere beneath the valley, the Demon Ruler opened his eyes—and smiled.