Uneasy Dawn
Ashvale awoke to an unsong morning. There were no birds to announce the dawn. No children's laughter ascended with the light.
The village still smoldered, though weeks had been gone since the raid. Blackened skeletons of huts slanted like shattered teeth, fields were half-barren from the trampling of hooves, and the well continued to reek of smoke.
But more than destruction was silence.
No one saluted Lioran as he moved through the square. Mothers pulled children away in horror at the sight of Kyrris. Farmers looked down at the earth instead of greeting his gray eyes. When he arrived in the butcher's yard, the man there made a stilted bow, offering him bits of meat with shaking hands, white as milk, his face.
Even gratitude had perished.
Lioran fed the scraps to Kyrris, who devoured them hungrily, smoke curling from its nostrils. The hatchling had grown to the size of a small stag now, scales hardening to plates that gleamed in the morning sun. Its wings stretched wider each day, bones and sinew rippling with growing strength.
And still, the villagers muttered.
"He's no boy anymore."
"That thing grows too fast."
"We'll be die before the month is done."
Lioran heard it all. His jaw clenched, but he didn't respond. Not with words. His response would come in flames.
...
Mira's Plea
Mira stood in the doorway of her hut, clasping her hands over her chest. She hadn't slept in weeks. Dark circles under her eyes were deep, her cheeks thinner than before.
When Lioran came, she reached out, but her hands trembled.
"Lioran," she whispered.
He hesitated, cloak falling across his shoulders, Kyrris darting past him. His gray eyes flashed with slight irritation. "What is it?"
Her words crumbled. "Go away. Please. For your own sake, if not mine. For Ashvale's. They… they fear. They conspire. You know it, don't you. Old Tomas rouses them. They will bind you if they can."
He smiled a thin, humorless smile. "Let them.
Her face went pale. "Do you hear yourself? These are your people!"
"They were," he replied quietly, turning his head to the crackling flames in the fireplace. "Now they are but frightened sheep. And sheep do not comprehend the wolf in their midst."
Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Then what am I? Am I sheep to you?
For an instant, his face relaxed, then the glow glowed within him and his lips curved into a colder smile.
"You are the shepherd who cannot guard her flock."
She jerked her hand to her mouth. She had to turn away and choke back sobs.
Kyrris nuzzled its warm flesh against Lioran, and he petted its ridged neck with soothing confidence. "We will not flee, Mother. If the duke dispatches his knights, we will face them. If the Church dispatches priests, we will torch them. And if Ashvale betrays me…" His gaze turned to hard slits. "Then Ashvale will find the cost of treason."
....
Tomas's Resolve
Old Tomas rested on his cane in the middle of the square that night. Men congregated in his shade, faces pinched and white in the light of the torches.
"You saw him today," Tomas croaked. "Not a boy. Not even a man. Flesh created by fire. And fire does not belong to peasants like us. Fire consumes kings. Fire destroys."
The men stirred restlessly. One broke the silence, reluctant: "But he saved us. From raiders. From bandits."
Tomas's cane pounded the earth. "And brought us to armies! Do you not listen to the rumors? The duke moves. Banners move in the south. And when he arrives, do you think he will care who fought, who was loyal? No. He will burn us anyway."
A murmur arose, bitter and afraid.
So what do we do?" whispered one.
Tomas edged forward, eyes flashing in the light of the torches. "We do what we have to. We tie him up. Lock him down. Hand him over to the duke when he comes. That way, Ashvale is innocent. That way, at least some of us might survive."
The men nodded unwillingly. Afraid, they found courage where loyalty faltered.
And in darkness, one child huddled under the eaves, eyes wide with listening—Renn, the young man who still held on to Lioran. Fists curled, pounding heart. He ran into night, not knowing if he should warn the boy or hold his tongue.
....
The Duke's March
Deep south, banners snapped in the wind.
House Rhaemond's stag soared over a column of armored warriors moving north. Steel boots stomped the ground, shields sounded in unison, and the warriors' chant rose with dawn.
Leading them was Duke Rhaemond himself, armor as black as soot, helm adorned with antlers of silver. His smile was quick, ravenous.
By his side rode Ser Kaelen, cold hair shining, eyes narrowed north. His sword lay across the saddle, honed to the sharpness of a razor.
Behind them walked priests of the Pure Flame, white robes shining, staffs held aloft as they whispered prayers of cleansing. Their leader, the priest who had visions of destruction, kept his eyes cast ahead with cold determination.
"The boy is scourge," he whispered. "He must be cleansed."
Rhaemond listened and laughed. "Scourge or no, he will be mine. Dragon and boy, together. A scourge in my service is preferable to a scourge in my foe's."
Kaelen did not speak, but his grip on his sword hilt tightened. He recalled gray eyes ablaze with fury. He recalled the whip of flame that had almost incinerated him.
And in his heart, he ached to fight the duel.
....
The Bond of Fire
That evening, Lioran practiced once more in the forest.
Fire encircled him, lashing, striking, coiling into spears and shields. Every shape bled him, his chest laboring, his skin searing from the inside out. Still, he persevered, teeth gritted.
Kyrris was equal to him flame for flame, wings flapping broader, its fire more contained now, blazing. Their breaths synchronized, their hearts beat in union.
When Lioran stumbled, falling onto one knee, Kyrris pressed the warmth of its snout against his chest, transferring its heat, lifting him up again.
"Good," Lioran gasped. "Together we will survive. Together we will triumph."
The ember in his chest pounded harder, hungrier, alive with something more than mortal flame.
...
Mira's Terror
From the entrance, Mira observed her son and the monster, flames dancing over their bodies like living steel. Her hands were shaking. She could see the strength, yes, but she could see the madness in his eyes too.
She remembered Tomas's words. She remembered betrayal spoken in the darkness. And she remembered the duke's armies, advancing with the dawn.
Her mouth opened on a silent prayer. Not for Ashvale, not for Lioran. But for mercy—mercy from gods who still heard.
....
The Conspirators Move
That evening, beneath a black sky, Tomas and his soldiers moved stealthily toward the hut of Lioran. Chains in their grip, ropes around their waists, fear clutched in their eyes.
"Shh," Tomas whispered. "The beast sleeps. The boy is spent from his fire. We tie him up now, and by morning, he is no longer ours."
The men nodded, swallowing their fear.
The hut was dark and still, a wisp of smoke trickling from the chimney. They crept up, hearts pounding.
Within, Mira stirred. She heard the crunch of boots outside, the clank of chains. Her heart stopped.
She hurried to Lioran's side, shaking his shoulder. "Wake! Wake, please!"
His gray eyes opened immediately, shining dimly even in darkness. He stood silently, cloak falling from his shoulders.
Kyrris stirred, opening golden eyes, wings relaxing. A low growl shook the hut, trembling the beams.
Without, the men froze, fear eating at their valor. Tomas lifted his cane, voice shaken but resolute. "Now. Before he rises—
The door creaked wider.
And Lioran emerged, Kyrris beside him, fire already dancing across his fingertips. His eyes burned like stormlight.
"Slept so soundly?" he inquired, voice like iron wrapped in flame.
The men stood stock-still. Chains fell from one's hands. Another staggered backward.
Tomas stood by himself, however, his cane shaking in his hand. "You are no longer one of us, boy. You are curse, not kin. For the sake of Ashvale, you must be bound."
Lioran's lips twisted into a cold, merciless smile. "Then let Ashvale know what it means to reach for fire.
Kyrris bellowed, a blast of smoke wrenching into the darkness. The men stumbled, covering their eyes, fear claiming them.
The instant of betrayal had arrived—and was gone.
Now, Ashvale would harvest its flame.