The wind howled through the cliffs of Eldmere as Marcus's eyes narrowed. A figure moved among the rocks—silent, deadly, and not of the Sapphire guard.
"I knew they would come," Alina murmured, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword.
Marcus stepped forward, his own blade drawing with a quiet hiss. His heart raced—not with fear—but with purpose. The flame inside him stirred, sensing the threat before his mind could fully grasp it.
"You said they wouldn't stop," Alina continued. "I thought you meant our people. But you meant them."
The air around them seemed to thicken as shadows crept along the edge of the lighthouse.
"They're not just watching," Marcus said, voice low. "They're waiting."
Before Alina could respond, a figure stepped from the shadows, tall and lean, with the unmistakable bearing of a warrior—an assassin, but one of no ordinary skill.
"Is that your brother?" he asked, addressing Alina with a cold smile.
She said nothing, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"You must be Marcus Daemon," the man continued, studying him with cold, calculating eyes. "The bastard son of Levi. The one with the dragon."
"I'm no one's bastard," Marcus said, his voice steady as he positioned himself between Alina and the newcomer. "And I don't take kindly to being watched."
The assassin's lips curled upward. "You'll find no kindness where I come from. But you'll find purpose."
Before either could respond, a dozen more figures emerged from the cliffs, surrounding them. Cloaked in dark armor, bearing weapons etched with foreign symbols. These were not Sapphire soldiers. They were from Gravemire.
Marcus's eyes flicked to Alina's. She nodded once, silent but understanding. They had both been trained to fight—and fight they would.
"I take it your master didn't send you here for pleasantries," Marcus said, tightening his grip on his sword. "Who sent you?"
The lead assassin chuckled. "A king's bidding, boy. Not just any king, but one with the ambition to reign over more than the ashes of a single kingdom."
"Valmora?" Alina asked, voice steady.
The assassin shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. You'd be surprised at how many kings seek to control the flame that burns within you."
Marcus's grip on his sword tightened. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you will burn like the ember you are," the assassin replied with a cold smile.
In an instant, Marcus and Alina moved as one.
Blades clashed, the sound ringing through the night. Marcus's movements were fluid, quick, like the wind—each strike a dance of calculated aggression learned from years of swordplay. Alina was his equal, her sword flashing as she blocked and struck with lethal precision.
But they were outnumbered.
Marcus knew that soon they'd be overwhelmed, even with Alina at his side. And something deep inside him—a burning, ancient instinct—knew he had to act quickly.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Veyrion.
The world seemed to still.
And then, through the storm, a massive shadow broke through the clouds. The earth trembled beneath the weight of it, and a roar shook the night air—a roar so powerful it sent ripples through the sea below.
The dragon appeared.
Veyrion.
Golden scales shimmered in the moonlight as the dragon descended, its wings beating with the force of a storm. The assassins froze, fear flashing in their eyes as the great beast landed before Marcus and Alina, roaring with a fury that threatened to consume them all.
"Run," Marcus growled.
The assassins didn't need to be told twice. They scattered like rats, vanishing into the shadows from whence they came.
But Marcus did not look after them. He looked at Alina, who stood beside him, sword still drawn, her breath coming in steady gasps.
"Your dragon," she whispered, awe in her voice.
"He's not just mine," Marcus said quietly. "He's part of me."
Veyrion lowered his massive head to Marcus's shoulder, nuzzling him in a way that was almost tender.
"Alina," Marcus began, his voice firm but soft. "This isn't just about the throne. The kingdoms will come for us—because of him. Because of me."
Alina looked at him, her gaze filled with something deeper than just the need for survival. It was understanding. Recognition.
"We fight together, Marcus," she said. "We face what's to come. Or we fall."
Marcus nodded, his heart racing not with fear, but with resolve.
The fire inside him had only just begun to burn.