The trail wound east through the Vale of Mourn, a gray wasteland of dead trees and whispering fog. The air was thick with the scent of metal and rot, and every step felt like walking through the bones of the world.


Elijah and Kael had been traveling for three days, following the fading light of the map that had once blazed within the sword. The magic had gone quiet now, leaving only faint traces of warmth when they turned eastward.


Kael walked ahead, crossbow slung across his back, humming some old tune that sounded more like a soldier’s dirge than a song. Elijah kept his hand near his sword.


“So,” Kael said over his shoulder, “you gonna tell me what that thing in your pocket is?”


Elijah frowned. “What thing?”


“The crystal that hums when you breathe too hard. I saw it glowing last night while you were sleeping.”


“It’s from the elder in Ashvale,” Elijah said. “He called it part of the Dragon Sigil.”


Kael grinned. “Sounds expensive.”


“It’s not for sale.”


Kael chuckled. “Everything’s for sale. Even destiny.”


Elijah gave him a sidelong look. “Who are you really, Kael?”


The man’s smile faded slightly. “Used to be a prince.”


Elijah almost laughed — until he realized Kael wasn’t joking.


“Prince of what?” he asked.


Kael shrugged. “Of nothing now. The Kingdom of Vareth fell years ago. My father ruled it with a crown of iron and fear. I decided I didn’t like his kind of royalty. So I took what I could, burned what I couldn’t, and left.”


“You started a rebellion?”


“I started a fire,” Kael said simply. “Didn’t last long. Turns out a boy with a sword and anger isn’t enough to unmake a kingdom.” He kicked at a rock, sending it tumbling down the trail. “Now I live off bounty posters and broken promises.”


Elijah was silent for a while. The more he learned about Kael, the less sure he was whether the man was a curse or a blessing. But there was something about him — a dangerous charm, yes, but also a strange kind of honesty.


“Why help me then?” Elijah asked.


Kael smirked. “Because I’ve seen men chase gold, women, power. But I’ve never seen anyone chase dragons.”


Before Elijah could reply, the air shifted. The fog thickened, curling low to the ground, and faint shapes began to move within it. Figures.


Kael’s hand went to his dagger. “Bandits,” he muttered.


They emerged from the mist like ghosts — half a dozen of them, armed with rusted blades and scavenged armor. One, taller than the rest, stepped forward. His face was covered by a wolf’s skull mask.


“Well, well,” the leader said. “Kael of Vareth, the runaway prince himself. I never thought you’d crawl back into my valley.”


Kael’s jaw tightened. “Roth.”


The masked man laughed. “Still breathing, I see. Shame. I liked you better on your knees.”


Elijah stepped forward, hand on his sword. “We don’t want trouble.”


Roth tilted his head. “You travel with a man worth a thousand gold crowns and you say you don’t want trouble? Oh, boy — you already found it.”


He raised his hand, and the bandits surrounded them. Kael sighed. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”


Before Elijah could answer, Kael moved — fast. He spun, drew his crossbow, and fired three bolts in the space of a breath. Two bandits fell before they hit the ground. Elijah drew his sword, and flame erupted along the blade’s edge.


The forest lit up in crimson. The bandits shouted, staggering back. Roth lunged at Elijah, but the boy parried, sparks flying. Kael fought like a man dancing with death — fluid, merciless, almost beautiful.


When the last of Roth’s men fell, the masked leader himself backed toward the trees. “You think this ends here?” he hissed. “The Warlord will come for you, Kael. He wants his runaway son back.”


Kael fired his last bolt. It struck the mask dead center. Roth fell without another word.


For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The firelight from Elijah’s sword flickered across Kael’s face.


“You didn’t have to kill him,” Elijah said.


Kael didn’t look away. “Yes, I did.”


The fog began to clear, leaving only the stench of blood and smoke. Elijah sheathed his sword, its glow dimming once more.


“You’re not just a wanderer,” he said quietly. “You’re running from something.”


Kael gave a small, tired laugh. “Aren’t we all?”


They walked on in silence until nightfall, the mountains looming ahead like jagged teeth. When they made camp, Elijah caught Kael staring into the fire — not with fear, but with a kind of hollow longing.


The prince without a throne. The boy with dragonfire in his blood.


Two wanderers bound by ashes and secrets.


And somewhere in the dark, the wind whispered again — faint but certain:

The dragons are watching.