The fires of Varnek's betrayal still smoldered across Aramoor. Though the traitor was dead, the city wore its wounds openly—blackened towers, broken statues, spells of repair weaving through the streets like silent prayers.
Yet Kael found no solace in the brief victory.
Something had awakened beneath the city.
And it called to him.
—
At the break of dawn, Kael, Rynn, and a small party from the Stormguard stood before the ancient cisterns—massive gates buried deep beneath the Tower of Winds. It was said these tunnels predated Aramoor itself, carved by the first magi when the world was young and dragons ruled the skies.
The scholars called it the Wyrmgate.
A portal not to another place—but to another time.
"We shouldn't go down there," murmured Lysa, one of the junior magi. "The prophecies warned—"
"The prophecies warned of what happens when good men do nothing," Kael said grimly. "We go."
The gates groaned open, revealing blackness thick enough to suffocate.
Kael lit a torch, though the blood burning in his veins offered its own faint illumination.
They descended.
Down spiral stairways slick with condensation. Through catacombs lined with runes no living soul could fully decipher. Past statues of ancient dragonkin, their eyes seeming to follow the intruders.
As they moved, the temperature dropped. Their breath misted in the air. Even Rynn, ever the fierce one, kept a hand near her blades.
Finally, they reached a cavern vast enough to house the entire Tower of Winds.
At its center lay a pool of liquid silver, swirling and alive.
Floating above it was a single relic: an egg, black as night, veined with threads of living gold.
The last Dragon King's heirloom.
Kael stepped forward, compelled by a force older than memory.
Behind him, Lysa gasped. "It's alive."
Before Kael could speak, the chamber trembled.
The pool boiled, and from the shadows beyond, shapes slithered free—twisted things of scaled flesh and hollow, empty eyes.
Not dragons.
Wyrmspawn.
Corrupted remnants of the old wars, lost beneath the earth, now drawn by the egg's awakening.
They attacked without warning.
—
Kael met them head-on, Veyrion flashing arcs of silver through the gloom.
Rynn fought back-to-back with him, her twin daggers carving brutal, efficient paths through the enemy.
Around them, the Stormguard faltered, the creatures' touch sapping magic and life alike.
Kael felt the blood awaken in him—but deeper this time, not the controlled surge he had mastered on the battlefield. This was primal. Wild. Ancient.
The egg pulsed, resonating with his blood.
Help us, it seemed to whisper.
Kael made his choice.
He thrust Veyrion into the pool, letting the blade drink of the silver magic.
The cavern exploded with light.
A shockwave blasted outward, vaporizing the nearest Wyrmspawn. The egg floated into Kael's waiting hands, and as it touched him, visions flooded his mind:
The last days of the Dragon Kings.
The betrayal of their bloodlines by mortal sorcerers.
The sealing of their heirs beneath the earth.
And the warning: If the bloodline falls again, the world falls with it.
When Kael came back to himself, the cavern was silent. The Wyrmspawn were gone.
Only Rynn remained at his side, her face pale but resolute.
"You bonded with it," she whispered.
Kael looked down at the egg. It was no longer black—but a luminous white-gold, pulsing softly.
"It bonded with me," he said.
And with that bond came a terrible certainty:
The true enemy was not Varnek.
Not the traitors.
Not even the darkness gathering beyond the horizon.
The true enemy was waking.
And it would stop at nothing to see the world
They returned to the surface under a blood-red sky.
Aramoor was no longer whole.
Refugees poured through the gates, survivors from villages wiped from the map by creatures from nightmare—ancient things of claw, fire, and shadow.
Rumors flew through the streets: black ships on the western horizon, fields rotting overnight, children vanishing in the night.
The Council of Aramoor met in emergency session that very evening.
Kael stood before them, the egg cradled in a shielded ward at his side, Rynn at his shoulder.
"You must relinquish it to us," barked Archmage Cyriss, her thin face pinched with fear.
"You can't protect it," Kael replied coolly. "You failed the last time."
Murmurs rippled through the great hall.
The High Seer rose, his robes stitched with stars. "Then what do you propose, Kael Stormborn?"
Kael let the silence stretch before answering.
"I propose we fight."
Laughter—derisive, uncertain—bubbled up from the council seats.
"You don't understand what you're facing," Kael said, voice carrying like a hammer on steel. "They are coming. Creatures that have no master but destruction. Dragons twisted into monsters. Beasts that defy magic. Sorcery older and crueler than anything we wield."
He looked to Rynn, who nodded.
"We must forge new alliances," Kael continued. "Call the freeholds. The sky-courts. Even the exiled tribes."
"We must awaken the Guardians."
The council exploded into shouts.
Awakening the Guardians was forbidden—the ancient constructs built to end the last Dragon War. Their use could tear the very fabric of the realm.
Kael waited for the uproar to subside.
"Or," he said quietly, "we die in the dark."
Rallying the Realm
Two nights later, Kael and Rynn stood atop the Tower of Winds, looking out over the torchlit city.
Already, embassies were arriving—envoys from the Stoneborn clans, the Sylvan Courts, the Nomadic Brotherhood.
Flags of every color and creed flew from the battered battlements.
For the first time in centuries, the Realms moved as one.
Kael turned to Rynn. "It's starting."
She smiled, fierce and proud. "It started the day you drew that sword, Stormborn."
Below them, armies assembled. Magi wove spells of protection. Artificers reforged ancient weapons.
Hope—fragile, defiant—kindled like a flame in the dark.
Yet Kael could not shake the feeling of eyes watching from the clouds above, or the dreams that plagued him each night—visions of fire swallowing Aramoor, of dragons weeping blood, of a shadowed figure cloaked in living darkness.
The real war had not yet begun.
But when it came, Kael swore he would be ready.
Not alone.
Never alone.
Hand in hand with Rynn.
Sword in hand.
Heart bound to destiny.
And the blood of the Dragon King roaring in his veins.