The sky over REF burned with color that evening — not from battle, but from victory. Lanterns hung from rooftops, banners of silver and red danced in the wind, and laughter echoed through the market streets.
The Royal Hearing was over. REF stood vindicated.
No noble dared challenge the decree of King Theron.
Yet within Kael's heart, triumph burned alongside something quieter — purpose.
He stood on the balcony overlooking the city with Lyra at his side. Below, citizens and refugees from across the lands celebrated freely. The phoenix sigil glowed across banners, the symbol of rebirth that REF had become.
"You did it," Lyra said softly, resting her head against his shoulder. "REF is free because of you."
Kael smiled faintly. "Because of us. No one wins alone."
Lyra looked up at him, eyes glimmering. "Still, you carry more than anyone I know."
Before Kael could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind.
"Then maybe it's time he forged something strong enough to carry him back," said Pallas, stepping onto the balcony with her usual confident grin.
Vex followed, carrying a small case of shimmering vials, and Arra trailed behind, holding a glowing schematic scroll.
Kael turned to them. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Pallas smirked. "It means your sword's dying."
Vex nodded seriously. "She's right. The mana density in your body's rising too fast. Every time you fight, your sword cracks because it can't channel your magic anymore. You need a blade born of mana — not metal."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly would we find that?"
Pallas' smirk widened. "Draconspire."
Lyra blinked. "Your homeland? The city in the clouds?"
"The one and only," Pallas said proudly, spreading her arms. "The ancient forge of my ancestors lies there — built in the heart of a storm, above the world itself. With my father's permission, we can forge a weapon worthy of Kael's power."
Arra unrolled the schematic scroll. "She's not exaggerating. The forge runs on condensed dragonfire and core mana. It can create alloys that no alchemist or mage could replicate."
Kael looked intrigued but cautious. "And what's the cost?"
Pallas' expression softened. "It's not gold or steel, Kael. The forge requires a bond — a spark of your essence. It shapes the weapon based on your soul."
Kael took a breath, staring out at the moonlit horizon. "Then we'll do it."
Lyra's eyes widened. "Kael—"
He smiled at her gently. "Every sword I've wielded so far broke when I needed it most. I can't protect anyone like that. Not you, not REF."
She sighed, then smiled back. "Then I'm coming too."
Pallas grinned. "Of course you are. The royal forges don't open for just anyone. I'll need witnesses — and someone to keep Kael from arguing with my father."
Vex chuckled. "I'll bring my potions, just in case we melt him by accident."
Kael rolled his eyes. "You inspire so much confidence."
Brown appeared from the shadows behind them, startling everyone. "You'll need someone to make sure you don't get eaten. Dragons are dramatic."
Pallas narrowed her eyes. "You're not invited."
Brown smirked. "Doesn't matter. I'll show up anyway."
Luminor's calm voice cut in from the doorway. "If Brown insists on going, then REF will remain under my protection. I'll maintain the wards until you return."
Kael nodded with gratitude. "Thanks, Luminor."
Luminor smiled faintly. "Just don't blow up a mountain."
---
The Journey to Draconspire
The next day, the small group gathered at the northern docks, where Pallas summoned a majestic skyship — a dragon vessel powered by storm mana. Its wings of crystal light stretched wide as the engines roared to life.
Citizens waved as they departed, the ship rising into the clouds, higher and higher, until REF was just a patch of gold beneath them.
Hours turned into days as they ascended into the endless sea of mist. The air grew thick with mana; lightning danced across the horizon.
And then, like a fortress born of thunder, Draconspire appeared — a floating city of marble and crystal suspended within a storm. Giant dragon statues watched over its spires, and below it, clouds swirled like living oceans.
Lyra's mouth fell open. "It's… beautiful."
Vex muttered, "That's not beauty — that's insanity floating on lightning."
Pallas grinned. "Welcome to home."
As they landed, armored dragonkin guards bowed before her. "Princess Pallas. The High Council awaits."
Kael blinked. "Princess?"
Pallas sighed, rubbing her temples. "I told you I was from a royal bloodline."
Lyra smirked. "You said royal, not princess."
"Details," Pallas muttered, walking ahead. "Come on. We've got a forge to light."
---
The Forging Ritual
The Dragon Forge sat at the heart of the floating citadel, surrounded by rings of molten energy. The air shimmered with power; runes glowed across the walls.
An ancient dragon in humanoid form awaited them — scales like molten silver, eyes like lightning. King Valtherion, ruler of Draconspire and Pallas's father.
"So," the dragon king rumbled, his voice deep and thunderous. "This is the mortal who carries the storm within his veins."
Kael bowed respectfully. "Kael Eldrath, Your Majesty."
Valtherion studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "You bear the will of a warrior, and the weight of destiny. The forge will test both."
He extended his clawed hand toward the molten heart of the forge. "To forge a blade that channels your soul, you must offer your mana, your flame, and your truth. Fail — and the weapon shatters you instead."
Lyra stepped forward, concern in her voice. "He could die?"
Valtherion smiled faintly. "All creation demands sacrifice."
Kael stepped into the circle without hesitation. "Then I'll pay the price."
Lightning arced across the chamber. The forge roared to life, and ancient runes burned beneath Kael's feet. Vex poured the alchemical reagents into the molten pool, their colors swirling — crimson, blue, gold.
Pallas and her father unleashed dragonfire into the core. The flames twisted around Kael, surrounding him in a vortex of heat and mana.
His body screamed in pain — his soul tested, his mana pushed to its limits. But within that storm, Kael saw flashes of every battle, every friend, every vow. Lyra's eyes. Ember's courage. Luminor's wisdom. Brown's loyalty.
He raised his hand, and from the swirling storm, a blade began to form — forged from dragonfire, tempered by lightning, bound by Kael's spirit.
When the light faded, he stood holding a blade of shimmering white steel laced with gold veins. It pulsed with living energy.
Valtherion's eyes gleamed. "You did not break. The forge accepted you."
Kael gazed at the weapon, feeling it hum with his heartbeat. "What should I call it?"
Pallas smiled. "Names come from deeds. Let it earn one."
Lyra stepped closer, awe in her voice. "It's beautiful."
Vex grinned. "And hopefully explosion-proof."
Kael laughed softly, the weight of exhaustion and pride mixing in his chest.
---
That night, as the stars shone above the storm clouds, Kael stood on the balcony overlooking Draconspire, his new sword sheathed at his side. Lyra joined him quietly, the wind brushing her hair.
"You didn't hesitate," she said softly. "Even when you knew the risk."
Kael smiled faintly. "If I'd hesitated, I'd still be chasing destiny instead of making it."
Lyra smiled. "That's what makes you Kael."
The sky thundered softly, as if in agreement.
And for the first time in a long while, Kael felt truly ready — not just to protect, but to lead.