The crater smoldered like an open wound in the earth.
Heat rose in shimmering waves, distorting the air above broken stone and molten veins of rock that slowly cooled to black. Ash drifted lazily downward, settling over everything—over the ruined ground, over the villagers who stood frozen at a distance, and over the massive golden form lying at the crater's heart.
The dragon did not move.
Aren stood near the edge, his pulse racing, ears still ringing faintly from the impact that had shaken the land moments earlier. The scream of the sky echoed in his mind, over and over, refusing to fade. He had seen firestorms before. He had heard beasts roar in the deep forests.
This was different.
This felt like the fall of something ancient. Important.
The dragon's chest rose, then fell again, each breath shallow and labored. Steam hissed from cracks between its scales, escaping from deep wounds that glowed faintly as if fire still burned beneath the flesh. One wing was folded awkwardly beneath its body, the bones clearly shattered. The other lay stretched across the crater floor, torn and useless.
Aren swallowed.
So this was what a dragon looked like up close.
It was beautiful.
Its scales were not the crude plates of armor described in children's tales, but layered like living gold, each one etched with faint, natural patterns that caught the light. Even wounded, even broken, the creature radiated power. It felt wrong to see something like this lying helpless in the dirt.
Around the crater, villagers murmured in frightened voices.
"Is it dead?"
"No… look, it's breathing."
"By the old flames… we're doomed."
"Someone send word to the capital."
Aren barely heard them. His attention was fixed entirely on the dragon.
Every story he had been told said dragons were monsters—beasts of destruction that razed cities and devoured armies. Yet nothing about this creature felt mindless or savage. There was a presence to it, heavy and solemn, like a mountain given flesh.
Aren's feet moved before his mind could argue.
"Aren!" someone hissed urgently behind him. "Don't be stupid!"
He didn't turn around.
With careful steps, he descended into the crater, boots sinking into warm ash. The heat grew stronger the closer he got, but it wasn't unbearable. It felt… controlled. As though the fire within the dragon was restrained by will alone.
The dragon's golden eye opened fully.
It followed his every movement.
Aren's breath caught in his throat. Up close, the eye was enormous—larger than his entire head—its pupil a narrow slit surrounded by molten gold. Intelligence burned there. Awareness. Judgment.
He stopped several paces away.
"Can you… understand me?" he asked quietly, feeling foolish the moment the words left his mouth.
The dragon did not answer.
But it did not attack either.
Slowly, Aren lowered himself to one knee, making himself smaller, less threatening. His heart hammered so loudly he was sure the dragon could hear it.
"I won't hurt you," he said again, more firmly this time. "I swear it."
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the dragon's head shifted—just slightly—and a low rumble vibrated through the ground beneath Aren's knees. It wasn't a growl. It sounded more like… pain.
Aren clenched his fists.
Up close, he could see how badly the dragon was injured. Deep gashes scored its side, blackened at the edges as if something unnatural had burned through scale and flesh alike. Whatever had brought it down had been powerful. Deliberate.
"What did this to you?" Aren whispered.
The dragon's eye never left him.
Carefully, almost without realizing what he was doing, Aren reached out.
Heat radiated from the dragon's body, but when his fingers brushed one of the intact scales, it didn't burn. The surface was warm, smooth, and alive beneath his touch.
A shiver ran through him.
Something stirred in his chest—an unfamiliar sensation, like a door cracking open inside him. Images flashed through his mind: endless skies, roaring fire, distant mountains crowned in snow, and a crushing sense of loss so deep it stole his breath.
Aren gasped and pulled his hand back.
The dragon's eye widened slightly.
"You're not a beast," Aren murmured, realization settling into his bones. "You're… someone."
A faint sound escaped the dragon's throat, softer this time.
Then metal rang against stone.
The sharp, unmistakable sound sliced through the air like a blade.
Aren spun around.
Figures emerged from the forest at the crater's edge—men in heavy armor etched with glowing runes. Their movements were precise, disciplined. Each carried weapons designed not for men, but for monsters: massive harpoons, thick chains, and enchanted restraints that hummed faintly with power.
Dragon hunters.
Panic rippled through the villagers.
"They've come already…"
"So fast…"
"We're dead."
The hunters fanned out, surrounding the crater with practiced efficiency. At their center stood a tall man with a scar running down his face, his armor darker and more ornate than the rest. His cold gaze swept over the scene, then locked onto the dragon.
"A Sky Guardian," he said calmly. "Alive. That's rare."
His eyes shifted to Aren.
"And dangerous."
Aren stood up without thinking, placing himself directly between the hunters and the dragon.
"Please," he said, his voice shaking despite his effort to stay calm. "It's injured. It's not attacking anyone."
The captain raised an eyebrow. "Step away, boy."
"No."
A murmur of laughter rippled through the hunters.
"A messenger thinks he can stop us," one sneered.
The dragon stirred behind Aren, sensing the threat. Heat flared in the air, the ground beneath them warming rapidly.
The captain raised a hand. "Restrain it. Quickly."
A harpoon launcher snapped open with a mechanical click.
Time slowed.
Aren's thoughts raced. If they attacked now, the dragon would fight back—injured or not. The crater would become a battlefield, and the village beyond it would burn.
He couldn't let that happen.
"I said stop!" Aren shouted.
The harpoon fired.
At that exact moment, something broke inside Aren.
A presence surged through him—vast, ancient, overwhelming. Fire flooded his veins, not burning, but awakening. The world seemed to tilt as a voice filled his mind, deep and resonant.
Human…
Aren gasped, clutching his chest.
"I hear you," he whispered in disbelief.
The dragon's golden eye widened.
Impossible.
No human should have been able to respond.
The harpoon sailed past Aren's shoulder, missing by inches.
The dragon inhaled sharply.
Fire erupted upward in a blinding column, forcing the hunters back. Heat swallowed the air, turning ash to swirling embers. The dragon roared—not in blind rage, but in defiance.
Aren felt it then.
The bond.
It snapped into place like chains forged from fire, wrapping around his soul and the dragon's alike. Strength. Pain. Trust. Loss. All of it flowed between them in a single, irreversible moment.
The captain's eyes widened. "That boy—"
"—has bonded," one hunter breathed.
Silence fell.
Aren staggered, barely keeping his footing as the connection settled deep within him. His heart pounded, but beneath the fear was something else.
Purpose.
The dragon's voice echoed again, clearer now.
Aren.
It knew his name.
Aren looked up at the fallen king of the skies, realization dawning.
He had crossed a line that could never be undone.
And the world would never forgive him for it.