The wind from the north carried the smell of rain and iron — the scent of storms and faraway battlefields. Elijah traveled light, only the clothes on his back, his father’s sword, and the small crystal that now pulsed faintly at his belt. For three days, he wandered through the charred forest that once cradled his home, following the whispering pull of the pendant.


Each night, he dreamed of wings — vast and shimmering — rising above mountains of flame. And each morning, the dreams lingered like smoke.


On the fourth day, he reached the stone cliffs overlooking the Vale of Mourn. The land stretched endlessly before him: black peaks, twisted rivers, and storm clouds that never seemed to break. Somewhere beyond those desolate ridges lay the Cavern of Embers.


But Elijah was not alone.


As he knelt beside a stream to refill his flask, a sharp click echoed from behind him — the unmistakable sound of a crossbow being cocked.


“Don’t move,” a voice drawled, calm but dangerous. “And drop the sword.”


Elijah froze. “You’re a long way from any road,” he said.


“So are you,” the voice replied. “Except I belong here.”


He turned slowly. The speaker was a man, perhaps a few years older than Elijah, dressed in worn leathers and a half-torn cloak. His eyes were sharp and golden-brown, and a scar ran from his temple down to his jaw. Around his neck hung a black coin — the mark of a mercenary.


“Elijah of Ashvale,” the man said. “Or what’s left of it.”


Elijah’s pulse quickened. “How do you know my name?”


“Because the bounty posters already reached the border towns.” The stranger smirked. “The Warden of the South says a boy with fire in his blood burned a village to the ground. Sound familiar?”


“That’s a lie,” Elijah snapped.


“Maybe. But lies pay just as well as truth.” The man lowered the crossbow slightly. “Name’s Kael. And you’re worth enough coin for me to risk asking questions before I haul you in.”


“I didn’t burn my village,” Elijah said, stepping forward. “Something fell from the sky. It wasn’t fire — it was alive.”


Kael’s gaze flicked to the pendant. “And what’s that glowing thing on your chest? Doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen.”


Before Elijah could answer, the crystal in his pouch began to hum — a low, resonant vibration that made the air shimmer. The pendant answered, glowing brighter until symbols appeared on the surface of his father’s sword.


Kael swore and stepped back. “What in the hells—”


Elijah drew the blade. The markings blazed, rearranging themselves into lines and shapes — forming an image of mountains, valleys, and rivers.


“A map,” Elijah whispered. “It’s a map.”


Kael lowered his weapon entirely now, curiosity overtaking greed. “That’s not normal steel. What kind of sword does that?”


“It was my father’s,” Elijah said softly. “He called it Dragonsong. I never knew why.”


Kael whistled. “I think we’re finding out.”


The map’s glow intensified, projecting a faint image of the continent into the air between them. There were seven symbols etched into it — each resembling a dragon, each glowing a different color. One burned brighter than the rest, pulsing like a heartbeat.


“That one,” Elijah said, pointing to the red mark near the eastern mountains. “The Cavern of Embers.”


Kael tilted his head. “And what happens if you get there?”


“I find out what the fire wants from me,” Elijah said.


Kael grinned. “Sounds like suicide. I like it.”


Elijah frowned. “You’re not coming with me.”


“Wrong,” Kael said, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. “See, the way I figure it, you’re walking around with a sword that projects glowing maps and hums like thunder. If I let you die, I’ll never know what that’s worth. So until I decide you’re not cursed, you’ve got yourself a guide.”


“I don’t need a guide.”


“You do if you want to cross the Vale alive.”


Before Elijah could argue, the ground beneath them rumbled. Birds scattered from the trees, and a low roar echoed through the valley. Kael’s grin faded.


“That,” he muttered, “is not weather.”


From the ravine below, something massive stirred. The rocks shifted, glowing faintly red — not from sunlight, but from heat. A molten crack opened in the earth, and a head emerged — horned, scaled, and burning from within.


A lesser wyrm — not a true dragon, but close enough to turn men to ash.


Kael dove behind a boulder, reloading his crossbow. “You brought this thing, didn’t you?”


Elijah’s pulse thundered. The pendant burned so hot it seared his skin. The voice from before returned, louder now, cutting through the roar of the creature.


Do not run, Flame-Bearer. Claim your fire.


Elijah gritted his teeth, gripping the sword. The blade blazed to life, runes shifting from gold to crimson. As the wyrm lunged, he slashed across its face — the steel singing like a storm. The creature reeled, roaring as fire poured from its jaws.


Elijah raised the sword, and the fire curved — bending around him, spiraling into the blade instead of burning him. The light burst outward, blinding Kael and driving the beast back into the chasm with a shattering roar.


When the dust settled, Elijah stood trembling, smoke rising from the ground around him.


Kael peered over the rock, eyes wide. “Well,” he said, half laughing. “Guess the rumors were true.”


Elijah lowered the blade, still shaking. “I didn’t mean to—”


“Save it,” Kael said. “You just killed a wyrm with a glowing sword and a pendant that eats fire. You’re not just some farm boy.”


He stood and extended a hand. “So, Dragonblood… we heading east or what?”


Elijah hesitated — then took his hand. “East,” he said. “To the Cavern of Embers.”


As they began down the mountain trail, the sword dimmed once more, its map fading into darkness. But Elijah knew the next path had already been set.


Somewhere beyond those ridges, dragons waited. And so did destiny.