The days that followed the hatching were a blur of whispers.
Ashvale was traditionally a quiet village, where days slipped by like dust blown on the wind, but now the village swirled like an agitated hive. Wherever Lioran moved, the air grew thick. Mothers hurried children indoors, doors closed, and yet… eyes still watched him from cracks and shadows.
Others glared at him with hatred, growling "curse" under their breath. Some gave him desperate, pleading looks—the kind that asked for a savior but dreaded the cost he would exact.
And in the midst of all this, Mira Vale strode like a woman torn in a tempest. She spoke little to the villagers, but her silence was so weighted that it could be interpreted in a hundred different ways.
Lioran disregarded them. He had no tolerance for their fear, no patience for their gossip. His days were taken up by the hatchling.
Kyrris.
The dragon was developing rapidly, much more quickly than any creature in nature. What was once the length of his arm now approached that of a hound, its wings spreading wider by the day. The dark scales had become ridged plates, red veins glowing dimly when the animal became angry or hungry.
And it was famished.
Goats, chickens, and hares disappeared down its throat with a terrifying velocity, leaving Mira to forage more frequently than she could tolerate. The villagers spoke in hushed tones of lost animals, of "the widow's beast" consuming their living.
But at night, when Kyrris nested against him like a burning knot, heat spreading through his very marrow, Lioran knew only surety. This was no curse. This was the key to his return.
The Spark
It occurred at the seventh morning following the hatching.
Lioran stood on the border of the fields, the parched earth cracking at his feet. Kyrris knelt beside him, folded wings, molten eyes regarding him with rapt fascination.
"Observe well," Lioran whispered. His weak chest heaved and fell, his shaking palms extended out over the earth.
The spark in him fermented. Fire beat in his arteries, focusing in his hands. Minute sparks flickered over his fingertips, blazing and expiring in rapid turn. He willed his power into them, forming, shaping, commandi
Flame sprang out, thin and trembling—but alive. It writhed over the barren ground, licking across the soil with determined obstinacy.
Kyrris emitted a high, trilling shriek, wings trembling with excitement.
Lioran grinned. "Yes… do you sense it? Fire responds to us."
But the fire died as suddenly as it had burst into life. The ember faded, and his body was wracked with fatigue. He fell to his knees, gasping, vision whirling.
Kyrris chirped frantically, prodding his chest.
"I'm alright," Lioran breathed croakily, though his belly burned with fire. "This body… it remains too frail."
Even so, he grinned. Fire had responded. And that was sufficient.
What he failed to notice was the queue of villagers standing at a distance. Old Tomas was among them, resting on his cane, his deeply wrinkled face stern.
"Did you see it?" the farmer whispered.
"He scorched the earth with his bare hands."
"Not natural. Not human."
"Not human… but possibly what we need."
Tomas shushed them with a glare. "Do not confuse fire for salvation. Fire consumes all, in the end."
...
Rumors in the Dark
Far from the village, the scarred bandit leader knelt in the forest, hearing the information of a spy.
"A boy with fire," the scout reported, speaking low. "And a creature. A beast with black scales. The villagers call it a dragon."
The leader's lips twisted into a cruel smile. His scar pulled wide like stretched leather.
"A dragon, is it? Then Ashvale has treasure worth stealing after all.
He rose, spitting into the dirt. "Gather the men. Double. Triple. If the boy wields fire, then we'll smother it in blood. No village brat defies me and lives."
...
The Fracture
That night, tension reached a breaking point.
Mira had tried to keep him indoors, tried to keep Kyrris hidden. But dragons were not meant to be hidden. Their presence demanded notice.
It started when restless Kyrris slid out of the hut while Mira slept. Lioran woke to screams outside. He ran out into the night to see the hatchling standing in the village square, wings spread halfway, tail whipping as it growled at a cluster of cowering farmers.
A goat hung from its mouth, blood running into the earth.
The villagers screamed in terror, waving pitchforks and torches.
"Monster!"
"It'll kill us all!"
"Burn it before it grows!"
Kyrris snarled, fire dancing in its throat, poised to strike.
Lioran approached, his voice rising over the tumult. "Enough!"
The crowd stumbled. Even the hatchling halted at his words. He marched into the square, cloak streaming behind him, and stood facing the villagers, arms akimbo.
This beast is no monster. It is mine. Do you not understand? Last night, you were sheep. Helpless waiting for wolves to rip you apart. And who put them off?" His voice boomed with the force of his real self. "I did. With flame. With power you do not possess."
The crowd faltered, divided between terror and admiration.
Old Tomas hobbled onward, his eyes burning. "Strength or no, you bring destruction on all of us! When lords hear of it, when soldiers come here, they will not leave Ashvale alive. They will destroy us to eliminate your curse!"
"Then let them," Lioran replied unmoved. "I will destroy them first."
Gasps went through the villagers
Kyrris dropped the goat and padded over to his side, wings folding. Its burning eyes turned on Tomas, and the old man stepped back, face white.
"This is your warning," Lioran said, voice quiet but carrying. "I am no curse. I am the only protection Ashvale has. You may revile it. You may hate it. But when the next tempest arises, you will hold on to it. Remember that.
He turned and strode away, Kyrris following behind, leaving the villagers shaking in his wake.
....
Fire in the Blood
In the hut, Mira accosted him, tears streaming down her face.
"You're destroying the village," she wept. "They'll turn against us. They'll kill you. And me."
"They won't," Lioran replied bluntly, smoothing Kyrris's scales. "Fear holds tighter than love. And soon, they will realize I am not their destruction, but their salvation."
Mira nodded, desperation lacing her words. "You sound like… like the men who used to ride dragons to battle. I recall their fire. I recall the screams."
Lioran gazed at her, and his voice was finally gentle. "Mother… I cannot become what you wish me to be. No longer. I was born to fire. To wield it, to forge it. Without it, I am nothing."
He glanced at Kyrris, whose burning eyes shone in the dark. "But with it… I will be everything."
.....
The Ember's Trial
That evening, once Mira had cried herself to sleep, Lioran ventured into the woods with Kyrris by his side.
He knelt beneath the trees, shut his eyes, and extended a hand to the ember. It blazed, brighter than ever, as the flame was fueled by his connection to the hatchling.
Heat coursed through his veins. His flesh flushed. Sparks crossed his skin. Kyrris echoed him, its small chest aflame like a furnace.
Together, they breathed.
A blast of flame shot out, charring a tree trunk to black. Kyrris followed with a smaller flame, but their breaths merged, two fires entwining into one.
Lioran laughed—a hard, wild sound. "Yes. This is only the beginning."
But the spark burned too fiercely. His weak frame was unable to hold it. Pain tore through him, limbs convulsing, blood oozing from his nose. He fell, twisting in the earth.
Kyrris shrieked, huddling against him, golden eyes bulging with terror. Its heat pushed against his chest, holding the raging flame at bay before it consumed him.
When at last he stilled, soaked with sweat and shaking, he wrapped the hatchling close to his chest.
"Not yet," he panted between rasping breaths. "But soon."
......
The Dragon's Shadow
Dawn brought the village to awareness with smoke winding from the forest. Trees were blackened, the smell of smoke thick in the air.
And Lioran Vale returned to Ashvale, cloak rent, body quivering, yet his eyes ablaze with flames that would not be concealed.
Kyrris walked at his side, wings spreading in the light of the morning sun.
The villagers stood in silence. Some awestruck. Some frightened.
But they all knew one thing.
Ashvale's days of silence were at an end.
The shadow of the Dragon Lord had come back.