Bound by Dreams

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Caelum

The sun was already low when I woke, but it never felt like it mattered here. The sky of Droselle was always gray—the kind of gray that felt heavy, like the air itself had grown tired of holding its breath.

I rose from my bed—a cot in a small room lined with thick stone walls—and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. It was always the same: a night spent training, a day spent trying to hold myself together. I was Caelum, son of the Dragonguard, and now king by blood and duty. My purpose was carved before I was old enough to choose it: defend Droselle from the dragons that roamed the skies, and lead those sworn to do the same.

The armor was cold against my skin, the weight of it like a second skin I never got used to. I stood before the mirror—a large, cracked thing with jagged edges—and took a deep breath. The reflection that stared back wasn’t mine. Not really.

I looked at the dark circles under my eyes, the roughness of my jaw, the weariness etched into the lines of my face. Battle scars. Bruises from training. Deep cuts where steel had kissed skin. A warrior, born and bred. A crownless king holding a sword instead of a scepter.

And yet, in that quiet, empty room—away from the training grounds and the barracks, away from the throne I never asked for—I just wanted to let it all go. Let the weight of the armor fall away. Let the sound of swords clashing and dragons screaming fade into nothing. I was tired. Tired of fighting, of training, of the constant expectation that I’d always be ready.

But there was no room for weakness. Not in Droselle.

I lingered there longer than I should’ve, watching my reflection flicker in the dim light. I wasn’t sure if I could keep doing this anymore—if I could keep pretending that the training was enough.

The people depended on me. They didn’t see the cracks that were starting to form beneath the surface. They only saw the Dragonguard. The warrior. The king who fought their battles. But I wasn’t sure if I could fight my own much longer.

With a sigh, I turned away from the mirror and moved to the door. It opened with a low groan, and I stepped out into the dimly lit hall of the barracks, my boots thudding softly against the stone floor. The air was thick with the smell of iron and smoke, the faint scent of singed leather lingering from the night before.

I passed soldiers in the corridor—men and women hardened by the same endless drills, the same bone-deep exhaustion—and I wondered, not for the first time, if they felt it too. This creeping hollowness. But none of us said a word. We were trained to be silent, to fight without falter. We were too busy sharpening our swords to admit we were already bleeding.

When I reached the courtyard, the sound of blades rang out like church bells. Steel met steel in a rhythm that once thrilled me. Now it only sounded like noise. Endless, deafening noise.

The others were already training. Commander Serin barked orders across the yard, his voice hoarse but unrelenting. His presence was a storm—loud, fast, unforgiving. He caught sight of me and nodded once, short and sharp.

“You’re late.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then fight tired,” he snapped. “That’s the only kind of fighting we’ll ever do.”

He handed me a blunted practice sword and pointed to the ring. My opponent was already waiting. Tira, one of the newer recruits—young, fast, and still hopeful. Her eyes met mine with a flicker of challenge.

I stepped into the ring, feeling the familiar pressure settle over me. A thousand eyes watching the king who fights like a soldier.

The spar began.

We danced steel against steel, the clang echoing through the yard. Tira was quick, clever, but I had years of instinct drilled into my bones. I moved without thinking, letting muscle remember what my mind wanted to forget.

After five rounds, we broke apart, breathless. My chest burned.

“You fight like you want it to end,” Tira muttered under her breath.

I said nothing.

Later, I skipped the midday meal and climbed the old watchtower, alone. The spiral staircase groaned beneath my boots as I ascended. The wind up top cut sharp across my face, but I didn’t care.

From here, I could see the Graylands beyond the city—the scorched plains where dragons once nested, now a graveyard of charred trees and rusting ballistas. Farther still, the jagged peaks of Vareen’s Spine loomed like teeth, black against the sky. Somewhere out there, they still flew.

Dragons.

Monsters. Legends. Survivors of a war we were taught we won.

But deep down, I wondered.

What if we didn’t win?

What if we just made them quieter?

I closed my eyes, letting the cold wind cut into me. I could still hear them sometimes—in the crackle of fire, in the howl of the night winds. My father used to say the sky never forgets its fury. Maybe he was right.

That evening, I was summoned to the War Hall. The generals stood hunched over maps, their voices low and tense.

“There was another attack,” General Veyron said. “South ridge. A herd incinerated. No survivors.”

“How many?” I asked.

“Too many,” he replied.

I looked at the pin on the map, marking the spot like a wound. It was spreading—this chaos. The dragons weren’t retreating anymore. They were circling.

“We need to go beyond the border,” said Serin. “Drive them back. Hunt them in their nests.”

“And risk waking the ones we buried?” I shot back.

A heavy silence fell. No one wanted to say it. We didn’t know how many still lived.

“Send scouts,” I said. “And prepare the north watch. I’ll ride out at first light.”

Serin didn’t argue. That scared me more than if he had.

By the time I returned to my room, night had settled. My armor lay folded near the hearth, and my sword rested beside my cot like a loyal dog. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the ceiling, muscles aching, eyes heavy.

A knock came at the door. I didn’t answer.

It opened anyway.

Tira stepped in, carrying a small pouch. “You dropped this in the ring.”

She set it down on the table, then paused.

“You fight well,” she said. “Even when it looks like you’re breaking.”

I gave a bitter smile. “Then I’m better at pretending than I thought.”

She hesitated. “You’re not the only one who’s tired, you know.”

She left without waiting for a reply.

I sat there, alone with the silence. The wind howled faintly outside, whistling through the cracks in the stone. Somewhere far off, a dragon screamed. Not close—but not far enough.

I lay back on the cot, letting exhaustion pull me under. For a moment, just before sleep took me, I imagined flying—not like a Dragonguard chasing prey, but like something free.

Like something no one could command.