The fire of the Eternal Forge still clung to Kael's blade when they left the cavern, its glow pulsing faintly beneath the twilight skies. Villages below whispered of their passage, and already rumors spread of a nameless warrior wielding a sword of fire and shadow. But Kael knew this was only the beginning.
The shard within him stirred, tugging at his soul, guiding him northward toward a land no dragon had touched in centuries. The path would lead them beyond mortal kingdoms, across endless tundras, and into the skies themselves—to the ruins of Aelthrys, the lost city of the heavens.
Legends claimed Aelthrys was not built, but sung into existence by the first Celestial Dragon, raised above the clouds on pillars of wind and starfire. Its fall had shattered the heavens, scattering fragments of sky across the world. Few believed it still existed, and fewer dared seek it. But Kael's shard pulsed with certainty. There was something waiting for him there—an inheritance meant only for him.
The journey took weeks. They crossed plains where storms never ceased, and Kael stood unflinching as lightning bent unnaturally toward him, as though testing his resolve. They flew through valleys filled with statues of long-dead dragons, their stone eyes fixed upon Kael as if judging his worth. Selara stayed close, her flames flickering protectively at his side. Nyxara often watched him with that faint, knowing smile, while Aurielle quietly studied his every move, as though committing his path to memory.
Yet for all their closeness, Kael still spoke little. His silence was not empty—it was weight. Every word he chose carried meaning, and every glance set hearts unsteady. He was becoming a myth not only to the world, but to those who followed him.
When at last they reached the northern peaks, the air grew impossibly thin, the winds howling with unnatural force. And then, the clouds broke.
There, suspended above the world, lay Aelthrys.
A shattered city of silver towers and broken bridges stretched across the sky. Its foundations floated upon colossal rings of stone, glowing faintly with celestial runes. Shards of crystal drifted lazily around the ruins, glimmering with trapped starlight. The air hummed with forgotten songs, notes of creation still echoing from the city's birth.
Aurielle's voice trembled, though she never trembled in battle. "This… this is impossible. The city of the Skyborn still exists."
Nyxara's gaze softened with nostalgia. "It was said only those chosen by the heavens could walk its streets. It seems, Kael… you are called to it."
Selara looked at him, her flames flickering brighter. "What waits for you here?"
Kael said nothing, but he felt it. The shard within him pulsed in rhythm with the city's heartbeat. Something ancient, something bound to his bloodline, lay within those ruins. Without hesitation, he spread his wings and ascended toward Aelthrys.
The others followed, though unease clung to them. For the city was not as empty as it seemed.
As they landed upon the fractured streets, the air shifted. From the shadows of broken towers, figures emerged—not mortals, not dragons, but beings of pure starlight. Their forms shimmered, half-solid, half-ethereal, with eyes burning like dying suns. The Wardens of Aelthrys, guardians left behind to judge intruders.
One stepped forward, its voice like a chorus of bells. Only the heir may walk here. Only the blood of the Primordial may claim what remains.
At those words, Selara, Aurielle, and Nyxara all turned to Kael in shock. But Kael did not flinch. He stepped forward, his blade of fire and shadow humming softly at his side.
The Wardens watched him, their gazes piercing deeper than flesh. For a long moment, silence reigned. And then, the first Warden knelt, bowing its head. One by one, the others followed.
Selara's flames faltered as she whispered, "Kael… who are you?"
Kael's golden eyes burned brighter, but his voice was calm, steady, and unyielding. "One who walks the path of fire and shadow. Nothing more."
The Wardens parted, allowing him passage. Yet as they walked deeper into the city, shadows stirred. For while Aelthrys welcomed him, others sought to claim its power.
From the far edge of the ruins, black clouds gathered, coalescing into winged figures clad in armor of bone and obsidian. At their head was a towering figure, his presence heavier than stone, his wings stretched wide like a curtain of night. His eyes glowed with malevolent fire.
Lord Varyon.
Selara tensed, flames roaring to life. "So soon…"
Varyon's voice echoed like thunder, every word dripping with contempt. "The whispers were true. The nameless one walks with a blade not of this age. And now, he dares tread the path of the heavens. Tell me, boy… does your arrogance blind you, or has your blood already betrayed you?"
Kael stepped forward, silent. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his blade, though he did not draw it. His presence alone was answer enough, and it made even Varyon pause.
The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes. "So… it is you. The child the world forgot. The son of the Emperor." His voice dropped, laced with venom. "I killed your father's kingdom. I will kill you as well."
The air snapped with tension, the ruins themselves trembling as power gathered on both sides. Nyxara's eyes glowed with celestial fire, Aurielle's blades gleamed, and Selara's flames blazed hotter than ever. Yet it was Kael who held all their gazes.
Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but carrying through the ruins like a storm. "You will not kill me, Varyon. You will try. And the world will remember how you failed."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to break stone. And then, with a roar that shook the heavens, Varyon launched forward.
The first true battle between heir and usurper had begun.