Dragonbound

3

The storm clouds split open as Kaeronth the First Fire soared through them, each beat of his colossal wings shaking loose curtains of ice and thunder. Aric clung tightly to the dragon’s warm scales, his fingers sinking between ridges that felt ancient as mountains.

Below him, the world was a chaos of white winds and jagged cliffs.

Above him—nothing but roaring sky and crackling lightning.

But for the first time since being dragged from the citadel in chains…

Aric felt alive.

Warmth flooded back into his limbs, carried through his blood in pulses that matched the glowing beat of the Drake Mark on his shoulder.

Kaeronth’s mind-voice rumbled through him like distant thunder.

“You are cold. Weak. Near death.”

Aric gritted his teeth. “You don’t say.”

“You are also stubborn,” Kaeronth added. “That is good.”

A sharp laugh escaped Aric’s lips—half delirium, half awe.

“Is this real?” he asked aloud. “You… you shouldn’t exist.”

Steam poured from the dragon’s nostrils, trailing behind them like twin banners of fire and frost.

“Dragons do not vanish,” Kaeronth replied. “We retreat. We wait. We endure.”

“And you waited for me?” Aric said softly.

“No.”

A beat of wings.

A c***k of lightning.

“I waited for the one who carried the Dravenhart Oath.”

Aric frowned. “Oath?”

The dragon did not answer immediately. Instead, he dove sharply through a narrow stone arch where lightning had carved a natural gate through the mountain.

Aric’s stomach lurched. Wind tore at his hair.

Then—

The storm broke.

And Aric saw it.

A valley illuminated by molten light.

A cavern so vast it could swallow a palace.

Rivers of steam and scattered clusters of glowing crystals.

And in the center—

A massive hollow of black stone carved with ancient runes.

A dragon’s lair.

Kaeronth settled on a wide stone platform, shaking snow and shards of ice from his wings. Aric slid off his back, stumbling as his boots hit solid ground again. His legs wobbled beneath him.

Not from cold.

From shock.

He took several tentative steps into the chamber. Heat radiated upward from fissures in the stone. The air smelled of smoke, metal, and the faint ozone of dragonfire.

His breath stabilized.

Color returned to his fingers.

He turned toward the dragon.

“Why me?” Aric murmured. “Why save me? I’m nothing now. An exile. A traitor in my own kingdom.”

Kaeronth’s eyes glowed like twin suns.

“You are the last Dravenhart born with the Mark. The final ember of the ancient bond between dragon and king.”

Aric shook his head.

“No. I’m a political inconvenience. Vorren made sure of that. The Ashen Covenant—”

Kaeronth growled—a deep, cavernous sound that sent dust falling from the ceiling.

“The Ashen Covenant betrayed the old pact,” the dragon declared. “It was they who hunted us. They who twisted prophecy. They who fed your kingdom lies.”

Aric stepped forward. “Lies about what?”

“About your blood.”

Aric opened his mouth—but the dragon continued, voice like a furnace roaring inside his skull.

“The Dravenhart Dynasty was not built on conquest.”

“It was built on a bond.”

Images flashed in Aric’s mind:

A king kneeling beside a dragon.

A fiery pact carved into stone.

A shared oath.

Aric gasped, grabbing the side of his head as the vision overwhelmed him.

Kaeronth lowered his massive head until his golden eyes were level with Aric’s.

“The first Dravenhart king swore to protect the dragons.”

“And in return, dragons swore to protect the line of Dravenhart.”

Aric stared—breathless, stunned.

“My family… protected dragons?”

“Until they forgot.”

A pang stabbed Aric’s chest.

Kaeronth continued:

“Your mother remembered.”

Aric froze.

Cold swept through him—despite the heat of the cavern.

“Mother… Queen Seraphine… she knew?”

“She carried the Mark before you.”

Aric’s face flooded with emotion—grief, realization, guilt, longing.

He stumbled backward, sinking onto a smooth rock.

“My mother had the Mark,” he whispered. “That’s why the Ashen Covenant accused her. Why they killed her.”

A sound escaped him—a raw, trembling breath that felt like something tearing inside.

Kaeronth lowered his head again, voice rumbling with quiet fury.

“The Ashen Covenant feared her. They have always feared those with the Mark.”

“For the Mark cannot be controlled.”

“It cannot be erased.”

“It awakens the dragonfire.”

Aric looked down at the faintly glowing sigil on his shoulder.

“And what does that mean for me?”

The dragon’s jaw opened slightly, revealing rows of ancient, glowing teeth.

“It means you are becoming what your brother fears most.”

Aric’s pulse quickened.

“A threat?”

“A king.”

Aric swallowed.

He lowered his gaze to his hands—scabbed, burned, trembling.

These were not the hands of a king.

But they were not the hands of a victim either.

“Vorren will never allow me to return,” Aric murmured. “He’ll kill me the moment he learns I’m alive.”

“Then return stronger than he can face.”

Aric looked up sharply. “How?”

Kaeronth pulled back, wings partially unfurling.

Ash swirled.

Fire hissed.

“By claiming what is yours.”

Aric stepped closer, heart pounding.

“What is mine?”

The dragon’s tail struck the stone, echoing through the cavern.

“Your birthright.”

Kaeronth’s eyes blazed hotter.

“The power of dragons.”

Aric inhaled sharply. “You want to train me?”

“I do not train.”

Kaeronth’s wings flexed like living storms.

“I awaken.”

Aric’s breath caught.

The dragon lowered his head, pointing a horn at Aric’s chest.

“Your blood is dormant. Your fire weak.”

“You must learn to harness it.”

“To withstand it.”

“To survive it.”

A tremor of anticipation—fear mixing with purpose—ran through Aric’s veins.

“And if I fail?” he asked quietly.

Kaeronth’s growl rolled like thunder.

“Then your brother will never fear you again.”

Aric’s fists tightened.

Good.

Let him fear.

Let all of Dragonspire fear the mistake they made.

Aric stepped forward until he stood directly beneath the dragon’s massive head.

“What must I do?” he asked.

Kaeronth’s breath washed over him like a furnace.

“First,” the dragon rumbled, “you must learn to breathe fire.”

Aric blinked. “…What?”

The dragon inhaled deeply—air vibrating with heat.

“Stand still.”

“Wait—”

WHOOSH.

A jet of flame roared past Aric’s side, searing the air and lighting the cavern in blazing orange.

Aric flung himself sideways, coughing in the smoke.

“You tried to burn me!”

“You moved.”

“You breathed FIRE at me!”

“And you moved.”

Aric gaped. “That’s your training?! Attempted murder?!”

Kaeronth’s tail thumped the stone.

“Again.”

“No!”

But the dragon inhaled—

Aric threw himself behind a boulder.

Fire engulfed it.

He peeked out; Kaeronth’s eyes narrowed.

“Do not hide. Kings do not hide.”

Another roar of flame blasted toward him.

Aric yelped, diving aside.

Smoke filled his lungs.

Ash seared his skin.

His heart pounded like a war drum.

“You are insane!” Aric shouted.

“You are slow.”

Aric bared his teeth, rage flaring.

“I’ll show you slow—!”

Heat surged through his blood.

The Drake Mark burned fiercely—bright as wildfire.

Aric inhaled—

And coughed.

Nothing came out.

Kaeronth snorted.

“Pathetic.”

“Shut up!” Aric barked—and inhaled again, deeper this time.

The heat gathered.

Rising.

Building inside his chest.

His throat burned.

His vision blurred.

He opened his mouth—

A spark flickered out.

Just a spark.

But it was his spark.

Kaeronth’s eyes widened—not with scorn this time, but with recognition.

“Good.”

Aric stared, chest heaving.

“That… that was fire,” he whispered.

“It was,” Kaeronth agreed. “Now do it again.”

Aric looked down at his trembling hands.

Then up at the dragon.

His fear remained.

His grief remained.

But something else had awakened inside him.

Fire.

Not enough to kill a wolf.

But enough to start a war.

Aric lifted his chin.

“Again,” he said.

Kaeronth’s wings rustled approvingly.

“Very well.”

Fire illuminated the cavern—

And the training of the exiled heir of Dragonspire

began in flame.