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1437 Words
The gates of Dragonspire Citadel slammed shut behind him with a thundering finality that shook the ground beneath Aric’s feet. Snow-laced wind howled through the fortress canyon, slicing across his skin like knives. Shackles dug into his wrists. Frozen mud sucked at his boots as the guards marched him forward, flanked on both sides by members of the Ashen Covenant.
Their masks—white porcelain carved with ash patterns—were blank and lifeless. Their footsteps were soundless.
Aric tried not to look at them. He felt their attention like a swarm of needles, pricking at the Drake Mark beneath his collarbone.
The Mark burned—faint but constant—like a heartbeat he wasn’t sure belonged to him.
He stumbled when the ground dipped unexpectedly. A guard shoved him forward.
“Move,” the man barked.
Aric staggered, catching himself before he fell face-first into the snow. The cold bit through his clothing, stealing his breath. The Frostborder was a world apart from the warmth of the citadel—untamed, predatory, unforgiving.
“Where exactly are you taking me?” he demanded through chattering teeth.
“Far enough,” the guard replied curtly.
Aric’s jaw tightened. “To die?”
None of them answered.
But he already knew.
The path wound through jagged cliffs sculpted by centuries of blizzards. Pines twisted out of the rocks like skeletal fingers. The air smelled of ice and ancient things buried beneath it.
They marched deeper.
Out of Dragonspire.
Out of the kingdom.
Out of his life.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time was strange in the cold. Aric’s fingers went numb. His lashes froze. His thoughts frayed at the edges.
At last, the guards halted.
They stood at the mouth of a valley—an endless expanse of white and shadow stretching beneath a sky bruised with storm clouds. Black mountains rose like fangs in the distance.
Aric had heard stories of this place.
The Frostborder.
Where the freezing wind stripped flesh from bone.
Where beasts larger than houses stalked the ice.
Where no man survived alone.
The lead guard stepped forward. He held a blade glimmering with frost.
“This is where your exile begins,” he said flatly.
Aric’s breath caught.
“You can’t do this. I am a prince of Dragonspire.”
“Not anymore.”
The guard seized his chains and struck the iron with the frostblade. The metal shattered instantly, falling away from Aric’s wrists in glittering fragments.
Freedom—except not really.
Not when he’d been abandoned in a frozen wasteland.
Aric backed away, rubbing his raw wrists.
“You’ll freeze within the hour,” the guard said. “Or the ice wolves will take you first. Either way… your death will serve the Dominion.”
Behind him, the Ashen Covenant hummed a low chant—a ritual farewell for criminals unworthy of burial. Their masks gleamed in the stormlight.
Aric clenched his fists.
“If Vorren thinks this will—”
“He is king now,” the guard interrupted sharply. “You are nothing.”
Those words hit harder than the cold.
King.
Vorren.
Already.
“Farewell, Prince,” the guard said, voice hollow.
The group turned and began the trek back toward the citadel, silhouettes fading into the swirling snow.
Aric stared after them.
He was alone.
Completely, utterly alone.
The wind screamed across the valley.
Aric stumbled forward on stiff legs, every breath scraping his lungs raw. Snowflakes stung his face. His boots cracked through thin ice. The sky rumbled. He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to retain what little warmth remained.
He needed shelter. Heat. Fire. Anything.
But there was only cold.
Cold and silence.
Until the silence broke.
A howl echoed through the valley—long, low, and hungry.
Not wolf.
Something bigger.
Something older.
Aric spun, heart hammering.
Shapes emerged from the white mist. Four… no, five… massive forms. Their fur shimmered like silver frost. Ice crystals clung to their fangs. Their eyes glowed an eerie blue.
Frostwolves.
Aric stumbled backward.
Move. MOVE.
But the cold locked his limbs.
The wolves fanned out, circling him.
He counted his breaths.
One. Two. Three—
The largest wolf lunged.
Aric raised his arms out of instinct, expecting teeth to close around his throat.
But before the wolf struck him—
the Drake Mark seared, burning bright as molten gold beneath his skin.
A blast of heat erupted from his chest.
The wolf yelped, crashing into the snow. Smoke drifted from its fur. The others hesitated, snarling in confusion.
Aric stared at his hands, stunned.
Steam curled from his palms.
His blood felt like fire.
The Mark pulsed again.
He didn’t understand.
He didn’t know how.
But something had awakened.
The wolves recovered quickly.
The second charged.
Aric braced himself—
but the heat inside him surged violently, bursting outward in a shockwave of scorching air.
This time, the entire pack reeled back, howling in pain.
Aric collapsed to one knee, gasping.
The warmth faded instantly.
Cold snapped back into his bones.
He staggered to his feet.
He couldn’t fight them again.
He couldn’t summon whatever that was.
He needed to run.
He spun—and sprinted deeper into the valley. The wolves regained their bearings and chased after him, paws thundering across the ice.
Aric’s breath tore from his chest. His legs burned. The wind cut at him like razors. He ran until he couldn’t feel his feet. Until darkness blurred the edges of his vision.
The wolves closed in.
He could hear them—
snarling, relentless, gaining.
One leapt.
Aric tripped on a buried root and fell, rolling across the ice. He slid toward a cliff edge.
Snow crumbled beneath him.
He scrambled, clawing at the frozen ground as his body slid further over the edge. The drop below plunged into a cavernous ravine.
The wolf lunged again.
Aric braced for impact—
A roar shattered the sky.
Not a wolf.
Not wind.
A roar so deep it vibrated the earth.
The wolves froze instantly, tails tucked, ears flattened. Their glowing eyes widened with pure instinctive terror.
Aric lifted his head.
The storm clouds above him churned.
Lightning crackled.
And then—
From within the swirling blizzard, a colossal shape descended.
Wings broader than any sail.
Scales burning like living embers beneath layers of ice.
Eyes—massive, golden, ancient—locked directly onto Aric.
A dragon.
A living dragon.
Not extinct.
Not gone.
Very real.
And undeniably aware of him.
Aric’s blood felt like molten iron. The Drake Mark blazed white-hot.
The wolves whimpered and fled, vanishing into the snow.
Aric couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
The dragon landed before him, shaking the earth. Snow blasted outward in a spiraling wave. Frost cracked. The air sizzled with heat and cold meeting at once.
The creature lowered its massive head.
Its breath washed over him—warm, smoky, ancient.
Aric stared into the dragon’s eyes.
Eyes filled not with hunger—
But with recognition.
A voice thundered inside his mind, old as time and sharp as fire.
“Aric Dravenhart.”
He gasped.
“Blood of my blood,” the voice continued. “Descendant of the Dravenhart Oath.”
Aric’s heart pounded.
“You… you know me?”
The dragon’s eyes glowed brighter.
“I am Kaeronth,” the voice boomed.
“First Fire. Last of the Ancients.”
“And you, Aric Dravenhart…”
The dragon leaned closer, its hot breath melting the snow around him.
“…are the heir I have been waiting for.”
Aric’s breath caught.
“My heir?”
“You carry the Mark. The fire. The covenant.”
“Your exile is not your end.”
“It is your beginning.”
Aric shook his head in disbelief.
“But Vorren—he framed me. He killed my mother. He—”
The dragon growled, smoke curling from its jaws.
“I know what your brother has done.”
“And I know what he fears.”
Aric swallowed.
“What does he fear?”
Kaeronth’s eyes burned like suns.
“You.”
Lightning ripped through the clouds.
The dragon unfurled its wings.
“Rise, Aric Dravenhart,” Kaeronth thundered.
“Your exile ends tonight.”
And as Aric climbed onto the dragon’s back, warmth returned to his frozen limbs.
For the first time since the night his world collapsed—
He felt alive.
He felt powerful.
He felt destined.
The dragon launched into the storm.
Aric didn’t look back.
The Frostborder swallowed the ground beneath him, but above the clouds, the world opened.
And vengeance waited on the horizon.
- Writer
