The night air over Arven crackled with an unnatural heat. Vanda stood on the palace's highest terrace, every sense honed to the chaos below. Shouts rose from the city as crimson flames leapt skyward, turning the moonlight a lurid orange. The rebel attack had come earlier than he'd predicted—and far bolder.
His dragon blood surged, an ancient power that wanted only release. He could feel the scales beneath his skin itching to break free. But the terrified citizens below weren't enemies; they were pawns caught in King Osric's cruelty. If he let the dragon loose now, he'd scorch the innocents he'd sworn to protect.
A soft gasp reached him. Daya stood in the doorway, a lantern trembling in her grip. The golden light played over her worried face.
"Prince Vanda, the guards say the rebels are breaching the west gate," she said. "The king's soldiers are…slaughtering anyone who hesitates."
Her voice cracked on the last word. Vanda strode to her side and clasped her shoulders, the heat of his body making her lantern flicker.
"Stay here. Whatever happens, you remain hidden. Do you understand?"
"But—"
"Daya." His tone brooked no argument. "I will not have you in their line of fire."
She swallowed hard, but nodded. Something in her eyes—a fierce trust—anchored him when rage threatened to unmoor his mind.
---
Vanda descended the stairway two steps at a time. The stone trembled under distant explosions. At the courtyard, soldiers scattered as a section of the outer wall collapsed in a storm of sparks. Rebels surged through the breach, their crude weapons gleaming.
King Osric's bellow echoed across the yard. "Kill them all!"
Vanda stepped into the torchlight. "Enough!" His voice rolled like thunder.
The combatants froze, drawn to the unnatural authority vibrating in the air.
Osric turned, sneer twisting into alarm. "You do not command here, dragon prince."
"I command justice," Vanda replied, each word a promise. "Call off your butchery or I will end this my way."
The king laughed—until Vanda's eyes blazed molten gold. Heat shimmered around him; the scent of ozone stung every nose. Soldiers fell back instinctively.
A rebel leader, face streaked with soot, lowered his sword. "If you stand with us, prince, we fight no more tonight."
Vanda exhaled a plume of smoke that curled like a living thing. "There will be no more blood," he said. "Lay down your arms. All of you."
One by one, weapons clattered to the ground. The sudden silence was deafening.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached. Daya had followed despite his warning. Her presence steadied him as the dragon's fury ebbed. She touched his arm, unafraid of the heat radiating from his skin.
"You stopped them," she whispered.
"For now," he answered, eyes still bright as molten metal. "But the true fire has only begun. Tomorrow, Arven will reckon with its king."
Above, the moon broke through the smoke, pale and watchful, as if even the heavens waited to see what the dragon prince would do next.