The world exploded.
Steel rang, men shrieked, fire and smoke gushed into the square as if hell itself had broken open at Ashvale's feet.
The knights formed up in haste, blades flashing. Their commander yelled orders, voice ringing over the chaos: "Form on me! Hold the line!"
The bandits jeered as they boiled from the trees, torches and axes glinting. Huts burned. Chickens screamed, goats bleated, children wailed as mothers pulled them back.
And between them all, Lioran Vale stood unflinching, cloak streaming about his gaunt form, gray eyes aglow like coals on stormwind.
Kyrris screamed at his elbow, wings unfolding. Smoke poured from its nostrils, a cauldron about to boil over.
The scarred bandit captain stepped forward, axe on his shoulder, its blade a mad scarlet scimitar that seemed to declare its existence in defiance of the flames. "You imagined you could scare me with sparks, lad? Fire perishes. Steel remains."
Lioran lifted his hand. Sparks danced at his fingertips, small snakes of light. "Then let us see which burns longer—steel, or flame."
.....
The Bandits' Charge
The initial charge of bandits rushed into the square, weapons aloft, eyes shining with greed and madness.
Lioran advanced. The ember burning within him flared to life, heat surging outward. His palm glowed crimson.
A blaze erupted, pouring over the earth in a conflagrating tide. The bandits yelled as they were engulfed by fire, their figures twisting with the sound of steel dropped by burning fingers.
Kyrris let out a cry of joy and sprang, claws tearing across the neck of one bandit, shredding leather as parchment. It crashed down heavily, flapping wings twisting awkwardly, tail lashing out to knock a man's legs from under him.
The knights stalled, their commander's face grim. "That… is not an ordinary beast."
"Sir!" one soldier gasped. "It's a dragon!"
The commander's jaw gritted. "Stand your ground! The duke must learn of this!"
But standing ground grew more difficult by the breath.
...
The Knights' Dilemma
The knights were well-trained, cutting down bandits with savage efficiency. Their steel flashed, their shields locked, their commander at the front cutting through enemies like a storm.
But whenever they glanced at Lioran and the dragon, they hesitated. Friend, or enemy?
Lioran gave them no reassurance. His fire killed bandit and knight alike, sparing none who pushed too close. His intent was survival, not loyalty.
"Demon!" snarled one knight, attacking him.
Lioran intercepted the blade on a chain of flames that lashed from his hand, sparks flying as the metal hissed on fire. With a snap of his wrist, the chain wrapped itself around the knight's arm, burning through mail, hauling him to the ground with a bellow.
Another knight stumbled, taking a step back in revulsion.
The commander watched it all, eyes tightening. "So. The rumors are true."
Through the chaos, the scarred bandit captain advanced, parting the fight like a prow through water. His men gave him space, emboldened by his presence.
He swung his axe in a wide arc, cleaving a knight nearly in two. Blood sprayed across the dirt.
His scar stretched grotesquely as he grinned at Lioran. "You killed my men, boy. Now I'll kill you. Slowly."
Lioran's lips curled into a grim smile. "Try."
The captain bellowed and charged, axe held high.
Lioran pushed his hand forward, flame erupting in a shining wave. But the captain did not hesitate—he plunged through the flames, skin searing, armor scorching, and brought his axe down with bestial strength.
Lioran hardly dodged to the side, the sword slicing into the ground where he had been, dirt bursting. Flame ignited in his chest, and agony seared his weak body. His knees collapsed.
Kyrris shrieked, leaping onto the back of the captain. Claws ripped deep, wings flapping, jaws snapping. The captain roared, reaching back, grabbing the hatchling by the tail and flinging it off. Kyrris rolled on the ground hard, but stood up again, eyes molten with fury.
The captain spat blood, charred skin, wild eyes. "Not even a dragon will save you."
....
The First Fire Breath
Lioran struggled to his feet, eyes blurring. The ember burned, taxing his weak vessel. He clasped both hands, fire shaking in them.
But Kyrris acted first.
The hatchling stepped between him and the captain, wings wide, throat ablaze. Heat rippled in the air.
And then it bellowed.
A blaze of fire burst from its mouth, consuming the night. The flame hit the captain full on, engulfing him in a deluge of gold and scarlet. His cry rent the air, his axe falling from crisped fingers as he stumbled, aflame, crashing to his knees.
The bandits stumbled, their attack disintegrating. Horror ran through their ranks. "Dragon!" someone shrieked. "It is a real dragon!"
Knights stood transfixed in horror, swords falling as the reality of it seared before their eyes.
Kyrris's flames went out. Smoke billowed from its mouth as it stumbled, spent, falling against Lioran's legs.
The captain of the scarred face convulsed for another moment, then became rigid, blackened body beyond recognition.
...
Silence and Fear
The square lay dead silent. Only the sound of burning huts and the whimpering of the injured filled the air.
Bandits, shattered by fear, started to run. The knights allowed them to escape, too dazed to chase after them. Their leader stood immobile, sword in his hand, staring at Lioran.
Lioran stooped and picked up Kyrris in his arms. The hatchling's golden eyes fluttered feebly, smoke drifting from its nostrils. He held it close, eyes scanning the square.
The villagers gazed at him with horror, many dropping to their knees, others bowing their heads. No one dared move near.
Mira stood at the water's edge, hands clamped over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
The knight commander spoke, his voice low and hoarse, full of reverence and fear all at once. "A dragon… in Ashvale. The duke will want to see this."
He slowly sheathed his sword, never once shifting his gaze from Lioran. "Boy… no, not boy. Whoever—whatever you are. Ashvale cannot conceal you. The world will come."
Lioran returned his stare, gray eyes smoldering with quiet flame. "Let it. I will face it."
The commander watched him an instant longer, then motioned to his men. They mounted their horses, faces wan, and rode out in silence.
...
The Birth of Fear
Ashvale was destroyed. Smoldering ruin occupied half the huts, the earth strewn with the dead. The villagers mourned, collecting the bodies, attending to the wounded. But their eyes never left Lioran and his dragon comrade.
Whispers arose, reed-thin and apprehensive.
"Not human…"
"A monster reborn…"
"No—something more. A dragon lord…"
Lioran paid them no mind. He bore Kyrris into his hut, step by steady step despite the bulk on his chest. The ember glowed feebly, alive, expanding.
At the entrance, Mira caught his arm, shivering. "Do you see what you've done? Knights have spotted you. They'll report you to their duke. And then…" Her voice cracked. "…then the world will come for us."
Lioran gazed down at Kyrris, who curled weakly against him, then at Mira.
"Good," he whispered. "Let it be. The world has forgotten fire. I will remind them."
He closed the door behind him.
And outside, Ashvale breathed in horror—
that the era of dragons had come back.