The air in Draconus was a weapon. It was thick with the scent of ozone and sulfur, radiating an internal heat that had cracked the very surface of the Iron Peaks. Where the Ebon Citadel was a kingdom of polished, silent ice, the Dragon territory was one of raw, volcanic power.
Draven stood on the training terrace carved high into the black basalt of the Chief's stronghold. He was bare chested, his deep bronze skin slick with sweat and dust, his body a living testament to the brute strength of the Fire Dragon lineage. Every muscle was rope tight, hardened by volcanic heat and relentless combat training. The only sound, besides the low, ambient groan of the mountain itself, was the heavy thud of his two-handed war hammer meeting a block of solid granite.
The hammer was a relic, heavy and crude, eschewing the elegance favored by the Water Dragons. Draven liked the simplicity of its weight, the certainty of its impact. He brought it down again, and the granite block fissured, sending shrapnel whistling into the toxic air. His eyes, usually a smoldering amber, held a restlessness that bordered on fury. The quiet unsettled him.
"You will break the stone before you break your silence, Fire Heart."
The voice was cool, a gentle cascade of water against Draven's burning frustration.
Chief Kaelus, Draven's father, walked onto the terrace. Kaelus was a towering figure, but unlike his son, he possessed the pale, almost silver skin and calm composure of the Water Dragons. His strength was in strategy, not smashing. He wore robes of pale grey silk that looked out of place against the black rock, and his eyes were a clear, unnervingly intelligent blue-white.
Draven stopped, leaning on the hammer. "What is there to say, Father? The Fire Clans wait. The Vampire King Alaric grows bolder. And yet, you counsel patience."
"Patience is the currency of longevity, my son. Aggression is the path to exhaustion," Kaelus countered, his voice smooth. "You smash rock, I study the fault lines. We will move when the time is right."
Draven scoffed, wiping sweat from his brow. "The time right now is the Blueblood Prince marrying a human princess to seal a treaty. Damon is solidifying his food source and his border. He is moving while you meditate."
Kaelus stopped ten paces away, his expression unchanged. "That, Draven, is precisely what I came to discuss. The marriage between Prince Damon and the Aldorian Princess, Isolde, is confirmed. The wedding is scheduled for the next dark cycle."
Draven felt the familiar, hot rush of pure, uncontrollable dragon rage. It wasn't just the political insult, it was something sharper, personal, and profoundly maddening.
"Isolde," Draven whispered, the name tasting like ash on his tongue. He had only seen her once, three years ago, during a fleeting, tense trade summit at the Aldorian border. She was a brief flash of auburn hair and defiant grey-blue eyes in a crowd of cowering humans. She had met his gaze without flinching, a rare act of bravery that had etched itself into his volatile memory. That vibrant, defiant essence belonged to the sun, to the earth, not to the shadows of a Vampire. She was not meant for Damon.
He grabbed the massive war hammer and, with a guttural roar, swung it not at the stone, but at the empty air. The sound barrier fractured with a sickening crack, and the residual force of the swing ripped the granite block from its foundation, sending it tumbling down the sheer mountain face.
"Unacceptable," Draven snarled, his eyes momentarily flashing to their true Fire Dragon nature, a molten gold that momentarily swallowed the amber. "She is a shield. She is a symbol. If Damon takes her, the political cost for Draconus is too high."
Kaelus remained placid. "Indeed. Which is why we will not attack the fortress over a human bride. That is Fire Dragon brute force thinking, Draven. Predictable."
"And what is the Water Dragon strategy, Father?" Draven challenged, his breath coming hard and fast. "To send them a strongly worded letter? We crush the alliance now, before the human king gives Damon his heir and his security!"
"We cannot move against Noctis directly without inciting the war we are not yet ready to fight. But," Kaelus said, a faint, calculating smile finally touching his pale lips, "a diplomatic gesture is due. A wedding gift, perhaps. A very prominent, highly volatile gift."
Draven lowered his hammer, his fury momentarily channeled by curiosity. "Explain."
"I will send a contingent to the Ebon Citadel to observe the marriage. A show of force, dressed up as civility. But I will not lead it. You will."
Draven stared at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I will not stand in the shadows and watch that bat claim her. I will not be his witness."
"You will be more than a witness, Draven. You will be a thorn. You will be a promise of what is to come," Kaelus corrected, walking closer. "The Vampires expect me, the cool, calculating Water Dragon. They expect diplomacy. They do not expect the Chief's son, the most volatile Fire Dragon of our generation, to stand mere feet from the Prince's prize. You are the insult, the challenge, and the distraction."
Kaelus placed a pale, cool hand on Draven's sweating shoulder. "Go. Observe their weakness. Let them see your proprietary interest in the Princess. Let Damon know, without a single spoken word, that this human is not safe in his cage. You wanted to increase the tension? This is how it is done. You will light the fire under their political stability, and you will do it on their polished marble, not our scorched earth."
The political maneuver was crude by Water Dragon standards, yet breathtakingly bold by any measure. It was designed to achieve maximum psychological warfare. It was designed to provoke Prince Damon into making the first, irreversible mistake.
And it meant Draven would be standing in the same room as the only human who had ever captured his inner fire. He would see her, not as a defiant princess, but as a Vampire's captive. The thought of her vibrant life being slowly extinguished by the oppressive darkness of Noctis, and, worse, by the cold touch of Damon, sent a fresh, sickening wave of possessive rage through his veins.
"And what do I say if Damon challenges my presence?" Draven asked, the molten gold fading from his eyes, replaced by a dangerous, calculating amber.
"You tell him," Kaelus replied, a cold gleam in his own eyes, "that the Chief of the Iron Peaks wished to personally assure his rival that the fate of the human kingdoms is still very much undecided. And that the Dragon Draven prefers his conquests to be unspoiled."
Draven gripped his hammer, the metal warm against his palm. He finally understood the game. This was not a wedding, it was a stake out. A declaration of interest. He was being sent to claim a moral victory over the Vampire Prince before the formal, political one was even sealed. He was being sent to stand guard over the beautiful, unsuspecting Princess Isolde.
"I accept, Father," Draven said, a dangerous, eager grin splitting his face. The heat of the mountain felt less oppressive now. He finally had a target for his fury, and that target was the arrogant Blueblood Prince of the Night. His thoughts turned to Isolde's stormy eyes. Soon, they would meet again, but this time, he wouldn't let her leave.