The forest was quiet in the early morning. Dew clung to the leaves, and mist drifted low across the ground. Birds sang as if nothing had changed in the world.
But for Kael, everything had changed.
He stood shirtless in the clearing, sweat running down his skin as he struck the air with fists of flame. Each movement was sharp, controlled, yet raw with power. When he exhaled, fire spilled from his mouth in short bursts. The ground beneath his feet was scorched black from hours of training.
Sir Aldric watched from a fallen log, his old sword resting against his knees. His eyes were tired but filled with something new — hope.
"My lord," he said at last, "you grow stronger with every breath. It is as if the blood of dragons wakes more each day."
Kael lowered his fists, breathing hard. His crimson eyes glowed faintly. "It does. The power burns inside me. But it is wild… untamed." He clenched his hand, watching fire curl between his fingers. "I must learn to master it. If I cannot, then it will consume me."
The system voice chimed in his mind.
> [Dragon Bloodline Awakening: 2%]
New Ability Gained: Flame Resistance (Passive).
Kael smiled faintly. Even the system acknowledged his growth.
Aldric stood slowly, his joints stiff. "Then let me help you, my lord. I may be old, but I still know the ways of battle. A blade is not tamed by leaving it in the fire. It is tempered by strike after strike."
Kael nodded. "Then strike me."
Aldric blinked. "What?"
Kael spread his arms, his expression steady. "Fight me. Test me. I must learn how this new body endures against steel."
The knight hesitated, then picked up his sword. He saluted with the blade, then charged.
The clash was strange. Aldric's sword swung fast for an old man, but Kael's reflexes were sharper. His body moved before thought, his hands blocking steel with bare skin. Sparks flew, but the blade barely scratched him.
Aldric pulled back, eyes wide. "Your skin… it's like armor."
Kael looked at the faint mark on his arm where the sword had struck. Scales shimmered faintly, then faded back into skin.
He exhaled, a rush of heat leaving his lungs. "Dragon's body," he murmured.
But then he staggered, fire flaring uncontrolled from his chest. Trees nearby caught flame. Kael dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach.
Aldric rushed to him. "My lord!"
Kael roared, forcing the fire down. Smoke curled from his lips as he panted. Slowly, the flames died.
"I… still lack control," Kael admitted. His voice was low, filled with frustration.
Aldric put a hand on his shoulder. "You are not meant to master it in a single night. Even dragons take centuries to grow. You, my lord, were reborn only days ago. Be patient. The fire will bend to you in time."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "And until then?"
Aldric's grip tightened. "Until then, I will stand beside you. I swore an oath."
Kael looked at the knight and felt a strange warmth — not from fire, but from loyalty. He nodded once. "Good. Then we begin the first step today. We will find others who still remember the Dragon Lord."
In the Capital
The palace of Eldrath was filled with noise — not of celebration, but of unrest.
Messengers rushed through the halls, whispering of villages near the mountains refusing to pay tax. Old banners of the Dragon Lord had been seen flying again in secret. And worse — there were rumors of a silver-haired warrior who fought with fire.
Darion sat on the throne, his fingers drumming against the stone. His crown felt heavier each day.
A trembling messenger knelt before him. "My king… the people say Kael lives. They say he has returned from death."
The hall grew silent. Even the guards shifted uneasily.
Darion's face twisted with rage. He stood, his voice like a blade. "Lies! Kael is dead. I killed him myself. These whispers are poison!"
He stepped down from the throne, seizing the messenger by the throat. "Do you believe them?"
"N–no, my king," the man choked.
Darion threw him to the floor. "Then spread the truth. Kael is gone. Any who say otherwise… will hang."
The guards saluted, but their eyes betrayed doubt. Darion saw it. He felt it. Fear of Kael was stronger than fear of him.
Later, in the council chamber, Darion paced like a caged beast. High Priestess Elara watched him carefully. "The people's hearts are restless," she warned. "Crushing them with fear will only make the fire burn brighter."
Darion spun on her. "What would you have me do? Kael is dead, yet his shadow grows larger every day. If the people will not believe me, then I will drown them in proof."
He slammed his hand on the table. "Send soldiers to every village near the mountains. Burn their fields. Take their sons for the army. If they whisper Kael's name, silence them."
Elara's lips pressed tight, but she bowed. "As you command."
Darion returned to the throne that night, but sleep did not come. In his dreams, he heard a roar — deep, endless, burning. He woke in sweat, the crown slipping from his brow.
The First Followers
Meanwhile, Kael and Aldric traveled through the forest, moving carefully along hidden paths. They avoided main roads, for soldiers of Darion now patrolled them.
They reached a small village at the forest's edge. The place looked poor, its people thin from heavy taxes. Smoke rose from burned homes — punishment for unpaid tribute.
When Kael entered with Aldric, the villagers looked at him with fear. His silver hair and crimson eyes marked him as strange. Mothers pulled children close. Men reached for tools and knives.
But an old woman stepped forward. Her eyes widened. She fell to her knees.
"Dragon Lord," she whispered.
Gasps rippled through the villagers.
Kael froze. "You… know me?"
The woman's voice trembled. "I was a girl when your father ruled. I saw you once, on the walls of Eldrath. The fire in your eyes… no man forgets it." Tears slid down her face. "They said you were dead. But I see the truth. The bloodline lives."
Others fell to their knees, some weeping, some whispering prayers.
Kael looked at them, his chest tightening. These were not soldiers or knights. They were common people, beaten down by Darion's cruelty. And yet, they still remembered.
He raised his hand, flames curling gently in his palm. "I am Kael Draven. I am the Last Dragon Lord. Darion stole my throne, but he cannot steal my blood. If you will stand with me, then I will burn away your chains."
The villagers cried out, bowing deeper. Hope lit their faces — fragile, but real.
Aldric's eyes shone with pride. He leaned close to Kael. "The first spark has become flame, my lord. Soon, the fire will spread."
Kael's gaze turned toward the distant mountains, where Eldrath lay. His voice was low but steady.
"Let it spread. Darion thinks he rules. He does not see that his end has already begun."
The wind carried the scent of smoke — not from Kael, but from villages Dario
n's soldiers burned. Two fires had begun in the world: one of tyranny, and one of vengeance.
Only one would consume Eldrath.