Night fell like a curtain soaked in ink.
The stars above Thale flickered uneasily, dimmed by ash clouds and the distant, pulsing glow of the Sky Wound. Beneath that sickening sky, the city didn't sleep—it braced.
Amine sat alone at the base of the stone spire near the training hall, the taste of fire still lingering on his tongue. Since summoning Thanor again, something had changed inside him. A constant heat. Not painful, but alive. Breathing beneath his skin. Watching.
He wasn't sure whether it was magic or madness.
Footsteps approached. Not hurried, not heavy—just... deliberate.
He turned.
A boy—no older than sixteen—stood at the edge of the path, his eyes catching the moonlight like polished amber. His black coat swept behind him like a shadow with weight, and his skin was pale to the point of unreal. His expression was calm. Too calm.
"You're the Summoner," the boy said softly.
Amine tensed. "And you are?"
"A spectator. For now."
Amine's eyes narrowed. "You're not from the Enclave."
"No," the boy said. "I'm not from here at all."
Suddenly, every part of Amine's body screamed wrong. Like gravity shifted. Like the world flinched.
Because the boy was radiating magic. But not human magic. Something colder, older. A pressure that burned without heat.
Amine instinctively reached for Thanor—but nothing came. The wolf stirred in his soul, but not in obedience. In fear.
"Don't summon him," the boy said. "It would kill you."
"What are you?" Amine asked.
The boy smiled faintly.
"Half a question."
He stepped forward. Amine stood his ground.
"I've heard the dragons whisper your name," the boy murmured. "You should be honored. They only remember names of things they fear—or want to consume."
"And what about you?" Amine asked. "What do you want?"
The boy looked up at the stars.
"To wake the blood inside me."
He opened his hand.
A flicker of fire—crimson, not gold—sprang to life.
And then a wing burst from his back.
Not fully formed. Not scaled. A twisted, deformed limb like a dragon's arm caught mid-transformation. Bone and sinew shifted under his coat. His eyes glowed briefly—not amber now, but reptilian gold.
"You're a—"
"Hybrid," he said. "The first. Born of a dragon and a human Mage."
Amine's throat went dry.
"That's... impossible."
"No," the boy replied. "It's already begun."
The wing retracted with a sickening pop of bone.
He looked back at Amine.
"My name is Riven. You'll hear it again. Likely when I'm tearing your city apart."
And just like that, he vanished into shadow. No spell, no sound.
Just gone.
Amine ran to Mira's chambers.
She was awake, dressed in combat gear, already packing scrolls.
"You felt it," she said before he even spoke.
He nodded. "There's a boy. Riven. Half-dragon. He said... he's the first."
Mira went still.
Then: "It's worse than I feared."
"You knew?"
"We suspected something like this. We've found dragon remains with human DNA. Discarded scales soaked in Arcana residue. But this... this confirms the fusion is viable."
Amine's stomach twisted. "You think there are more?"
"Eventually, yes. And if dragons learn to breed with Mages willingly... they won't just be predators. They'll be gods."
Silence.
And then Mira said, grimly:
"Tell Thanor to be ready."