Lara's chambers, once a sanctuary of quiet reflection, now felt like a cage. The opulent tapestries and polished marble floors only served to mock the turmoil raging within her. The air was thick with the lingering scent of anxiety and a faint, smoky odor of untamed magic. She paced the room, her bare feet silent on the cold stone, the weight of the obsidian shard a constant presence in her palm. It was cold, unnaturally so, but within its depths, she felt the fiery thrum of a connection, a line taut with desperate hope. He's alive. The words echoed in her mind, a mantra whispered by her dragon, Draconia.
Draconia was no longer a comforting hum in the back of her mind. She was a raging furnace, her fiery spirit lashing out at the confines of Lara's mortal form. He's alive, and you are here, doing nothing, Draconia's voice was a low growl, a rumble that vibrated through Lara's bones. The silence of the grand hall, the festivities over, was a cruel, mocking absence. It felt like the entire world had moved on, while she was trapped in this single, suspended moment of revelation.
A sharp rap on her chamber door broke the silence. Jorik. His presence was a solid, unyielding wall of duty and disapproval. He was a man carved from granite, his face an impassive mask, but Lara could feel his judgment through the thick oak door.
"Princess," his voice was a low, steady rumble, "the elders are concerned. Your… departure from the ceremony was seen as a lack of control."
Lara didn't answer. Her "departure" was a flight, an escape from a lie.
"They are also questioning the small magical disruption," Jorik continued. "Lord Aric has brought the matter to their attention. He suggests you require more… guidance."
Aric. The name was a bitter taste in her mouth. He hadn't felt the bond because there was none, and now he was trying to use her turmoil against her. He would never understand.
A faint, shimmering light flickered at the edge of her vision. Eleanor, her closest friend and a gifted witch, slipped through the door as if she were a ghost. Eleanor's face, framed by a cascade of dark curls, was etched with concern. She took in the chaotic state of the room—the scattered clothes, the overturned cup, the barely contained fire in Lara's eyes—and her own kind eyes softened with understanding.
"Are you all right?" Eleanor's voice was a soothing balm, but Lara shook her head.
"No, I'm not. I can't be. Look at this," Lara said, holding out the obsidian shard. "When the sigil was activated, I felt this… connection. A pull. It's him, Eleanor. It's Kaen."
Eleanor took the shard, her brow furrowing in concentration. A faint, violet light emanated from her fingertips, caressing the shard's surface. "This is not a simple rock, Lara. It's imbued with dark, volatile magic. The same magic from the sigil. It was a beacon, just as you said, but it was designed to disrupt the academy's ancient wards, to tear a hole in the magical protections of our entire realm."
"But why?" Lara asked, her voice raw.
"I think it's connected to the ley lines of power," Eleanor said, a theory forming in her mind. "The magical currents that crisscross our land, unseen but deeply felt. The sigil didn't just disrupt them; it used them as a channel for a signal. A signal... that you felt."
The next morning, Lara was summoned to the elders' council. The council room was an intimidating space of dark wood and stern faces. In the center of the room sat Aric, his perfect features twisted into a mask of feigned concern.
"My princess," he said, his voice a low, honeyed rumble, "I am deeply concerned for your well-being. The magical instability you demonstrated yesterday is a sign of a deeper issue. A lack of control. A princess of Aethelgard should not be so… volatile."
Lara met his gaze, her spine straightening with a newfound resolve. "My magic is not unstable, Aric. It is simply reacting to the magical disruption caused by the sigil. A disruption that, for some reason, only I seem to have noticed."
She didn't mention Kaen. She couldn't. The truth was her most powerful weapon, and she couldn't give it away so easily.
Aric's eyes narrowed, a flash of possessive anger flickering in their depths. "Perhaps a closer bond would help to stabilize you. A deeper connection. I am willing to offer my guidance, my strength, to help you master this… volatility."
Lara's heart hammered against her ribs, but her voice was as calm as a placid lake. "Thank you for your concern, Lord Aric, but I am perfectly capable of handling my duties. My family's bloodline is one of control and power, not instability."
From the corner of the room, she saw Jorik watching her. His usual stony expression had a hairline crack in it, a brief flash of grudging respect in his eyes. He was a man of duty, but even he could see the difference between a broken girl and a determined woman.
That evening, Lara and Eleanor slipped into the ancient, rune-carved library. The library was a maze of towering shelves and dusty books, a place where the weight of history pressed down on you. They were armed with the obsidian shard and the memory crystal Eleanor had stolen. Eleanor, with the shard in her hand, began to chant softly. The air around them began to crackle, and a faint, shimmering trail of violet light snaked from the shard, hovering in the air like a magical breadcrumb.
The trail led them deep into a forgotten section of the library, to a shelf of scrolls and maps that had not been touched in centuries. There, they found a massive, intricate map of the realm's ley lines. As they watched, the lines on the map that corresponded with the academy's sigil began to glow, a fiery orange that matched Lara's own power. The disrupted lines of power converged on a single, remote location—a place on the map labeled the Shattered Peaks. It was a region of jagged mountains and forgotten valleys, a place of myth and legend, said to be filled with untamed magic.
As Eleanor ran her finger over the map, the memory crystal in her satchel began to glow. She pulled it out, and the image within it became clear. It was a faded image of a crest—a snarling, three-headed serpent—on a cloak. Lara felt a jolt of recognition. She had seen that same crest, hidden in plain sight on the first page of an ancient book on the Ignis bloodline. The Crimson Oath wasn't just a rogue faction; they were connected to her family, to her very history.
Meanwhile, in a different part of the academy, Aric was not idle. He had felt the magical remnants of Eleanor's scrying spell. He didn't understand the ley lines or the intricate workings of ancient magic, but he knew enough to follow a trail. He used his own dark, manipulative magic to trace the spell's remnants, and it led him to the same location on the same map. The Shattered Peaks. He scoffed. The "Twin Flames of Aethelgard" was a bedtime story, a fairy tale the elders told to frighten the young. But if Lara believed it, if she was heading there in search of some mythical power, he would follow. He would prove her a fool and claim his place as the true leader of the dragons, with or without her.
Back in her chamber, Lara stood with Eleanor and Jorik, the map spread out on her table. The Shattered Peaks was a desolate, dangerous place, a journey of many weeks.
"I have to go," Lara said, her voice filled with a quiet certainty that surprised even her. "I have to find out what happened. I have to find him."
"Princess, you cannot," Jorik said, his voice laced with uncharacteristic desperation. "Aric will follow you. The elders will declare you a traitor. It is too dangerous."
"Jorik," she said, her eyes meeting his, "Aric is already following me. And the elders' concerns are based on a lie. They told me my brother was dead. They lied to me my entire life. I cannot be a princess to people who build their kingdom on deceit."
She turned to Eleanor. "Are you with me?"
Eleanor didn't hesitate. "Always."
Lara looked at Jorik. "Will you help me, or will you stand in my way?"
Jorik's gaze lingered on her hand, where she held the obsidian shard. The tiny piece of rock pulsed with a fiery light, a faint echo of the roar that thundered in her mind. He saw a princess, yes, but he also saw a fire that had been buried for years, a fire that was now ready to burn down the world to find what it had lost.
"I will not stand in your way, Princess," he said, the words a surrender and a vow. "I will get you what you need to leave undetected. But once you are gone, you are on your own."
Lara didn't need to answer. She knew what she had to do. The shattered peaks awaited, and so did her brother. The journey had begun.