The

The fire crackled in the hearth, spitting sparks into the dim room as Kael stirred the stew with a carved wooden spoon. The scent of rabbit and wild herbs filled the air, warm and earthy, but he barely noticed it. His thoughts were still with the shadow in the sky. He glanced across the room. Seraya sat at the table, sharpening one of her curved blades with slow, methodical strokes. Her gaze, as always, was unreadable. “Tell me again,” Kael said, not bothering to hide the challenge in his voice. “Why are dragons gone?” Seraya didn’t look up. “Because they were hunted. Driven into hiding. Killed.” “But why? You said they once protected the realms. That they chose their riders.” “That was a long time ago.” Her voice was calm, but tight. “Before the wars. Before the world turned cruel.” Kael frowned. “Do you really believe they’re all gone?” “I believe what keeps you alive, boy.” She met his eyes now, and there was steel behind them. “And chasing stories will not.” He clenched his jaw. She always did this—dodged, deflected, wrapped truth in riddles. Ever since he was little, there had been whispers. Glances. Villagers bowing their heads when he passed. He was no ordinary orphan, and he knew it. And she knew more than she let on. “You trained me like a soldier. You made me read books older than this village. You taught me about royal bloodlines and ancient magic—why?” Seraya stood abruptly, the blade in her hand gleaming. “Because one day, the world might need more than a hunter.” The fire popped. Kael froze. Before he could speak again, the door burst open. Toren stumbled in, breathless, his face pale. “There’s something—” he gasped. “In the valley. It—it fell from the sky.” Kael was on his feet in an instant. A glance passed between him and Seraya. No more running. No more hiding. The shadows of the past had begun to rise.