The night above Drathmor was unlike any sky Eric had ever seen.
Stars shimmered between ribbons of crimson cloud, and beneath them, the molten rivers glowed like veins of a living world. The mountain's heart beat faintly with heat, whispering of ancient power.
After the ceremony, the dragons dispersed to their caverns and halls. Only the soft hum of magic lingered — a peace rare in a place built from fire.
Eric sat on a balcony carved into the mountain wall, his body still aching from the Trial. His skin bore faint gold lines — the residual burn marks from the sigil. They pulsed faintly, like embers that refused to fade.
Seraphina found him there, silent against the wind. She'd shed her battle armor and wore a simple obsidian wrap that shimmered like starlight. For once, her wings were folded gently behind her instead of flared in defiance.
"You should be resting," she said softly, leaning against the railing beside him.
He smiled faintly. "I could say the same about you."
She tilted her head. "Dragons don't sleep easily. Especially after almost losing someone."
The warmth in her tone carried more weight than the words themselves.
He turned toward her. "You mean during the Trial?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "You shouldn't have taken it, Eric. That trial wasn't meant for humans. I thought you were going to die."
He chuckled under his breath. "To be honest, I thought so too."
Her eyes softened — a rare vulnerability breaking through her usual fire. "Why did you do it? You could've refused. I wouldn't have blamed you."
Eric looked out toward the molten horizon. "Because if I'm going to stand beside you, it has to mean something to them — to you. I don't want to be the outsider you have to defend. I want to be the reason they believe change is possible."
Seraphina watched him for a moment, her lips parting slightly as though words tried to form but failed.
Instead, she stepped closer — close enough that the heat from her body mingled with the lingering warmth of his.
"Do you know what you've done?" she whispered. "You've forced dragons who've hated humans for centuries to bow in recognition. Even Ka'varn — he hasn't bowed to anyone since before my father's war."
Eric smiled faintly. "Then maybe it's a start."
She studied him in silence, her gaze tracing the faint golden marks on his chest. Without thinking, she reached out, brushing her fingers across one of the glowing lines.
He inhaled sharply at her touch. The mark pulsed brighter.
"They accepted you," she said quietly, "but this… this mark isn't just a symbol. It's a binding flame. A fragment of dragonfire that lives in your blood now."
"Is that dangerous?"
"Only if your heart falters." Her fingers lingered against his skin. "If your resolve weakens, it'll consume you."
He met her eyes. "Then I guess I'll just have to stay strong."
A small smile touched her lips — one that held both pride and sorrow.
"You sound like my mother," she murmured.
Eric blinked. "You never talk about her."
Seraphina looked away, her gaze distant. "There isn't much to say. She was powerful — wise — and kind in ways my father never understood. When I was young, she told me dragons were never meant to rule through fear. That true strength comes from restraint. My father called it weakness."
Eric's expression softened. "What happened to her?"
Seraphina hesitated, her voice barely audible when she answered.
"She tried to stop the war between dragons and humans. My father silenced her. Permanently."
The air grew still. Even the molten rivers seemed to dim for a moment.
Eric reached out, gently taking her hand. "I'm sorry, Sera."
She didn't pull away. "He told everyone she died of illness. But I saw the truth. I saw the flames that devoured her. That's when I swore I'd never let him decide what dragons should become again."
Her eyes glowed faintly, but this time it wasn't rage — it was grief wrapped in old fire.
Eric squeezed her hand. "Then we'll make sure he never does. Together."
For a long time, neither spoke. The wind moved softly through the mountain passes, carrying distant dragon songs — low, ancient, mournful melodies that spoke of things lost.
Finally, Seraphina broke the silence. "You've changed, Eric. When I first met you in the ruins of Vael, you were reckless — impulsive, full of anger. Now… you're something else."
He smiled wryly. "Older? More scarred?"
"Wiser," she said simply. "And… dangerous in a quieter way."
He chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Her gaze lingered on him. "It is."
Then, as if pulled by something beyond thought, Seraphina stepped closer. The flickering light from the molten river below danced across her face — gold against the pale shimmer of her skin. Her wings unfurled slightly, framing them both in a soft halo of red-gold luminescence.
Eric felt his breath catch. "Sera…"
She met his eyes. "You risked your life for mine. Not as a soldier. Not as a savior. Just… as you. No one's ever done that for me before."
He swallowed hard, his heartbeat loud in his chest. "Then maybe no one saw you the way I do."
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then she leaned forward — not in hunger, but in quiet surrender — pressing her forehead against his.
The warmth that passed between them was not of fire, but of recognition.
Two broken souls, bound not by destiny, but by choice.
"I'm not good at this," she whispered. "At feeling things that aren't anger."
"You're better at it than you think," he murmured.
Her lips curved faintly. "Maybe. But if you die before this war ends, I'll drag you back myself just to kill you again."
He laughed softly, and for the first time in weeks, so did she.
They stayed that way for a while — two figures beneath an ember sky, caught between love and war. And though the world beyond the mountain was preparing for chaos, for that single fragile night, peace existed in the heart of dragons.
---
Later, as dawn's light filtered through the smoke clouds, Seraphina woke alone in the chamber overlooking the forge valleys. Eric stood below, training with the dragon warriors — his movements sharp, disciplined, infused with something new: purpose.
Ka'varn watched from a distance, his deep voice rumbling. "He learns quickly."
"He always does," Seraphina replied, her tone unreadable.
Ka'varn's molten eyes turned toward her. "You care for him."
She didn't deny it. "He reminds me what it means to fight for more than vengeance."
Ka'varn exhaled a plume of smoke. "Careful, princess. Love has undone greater dragons than your father."
Seraphina's gaze hardened. "Love isn't the weakness, Ka'varn. Fear is."
The old dragon rumbled in approval. "Then may your fire burn bright enough to outshine both."
---
That night, as Eric returned from training, he found Seraphina waiting with two blades forged from blacksteel. Their edges glimmered faintly with crimson runes.
"One for you," she said, handing him the lighter of the two. "Forged from drakebone. It won't break under dragonfire."
He turned the sword in his hands, awed. "And the other?"
Her eyes gleamed. "Mine. For when we fight beside each other — not as princess and mortal, but as equals."
Eric smiled. "You already know we'll win."
"No," she said quietly. "But I know we'll burn bright enough to make them remember."
They stood side by side at the balcony's edge, watching the world below flicker with light. The rebellion was beginning to stir. Messengers rode the skies. Armies gathered in secret. And somewhere deep within the obsidian halls, a forgotten prophecy began to awaken.
Seraphina glanced at him. "Tomorrow, the council meets. The dragons will choose whether to march or hide. If we fail to convince them, this alliance dies before it begins."
"Then we won't fail," Eric said.
Her gaze softened, but there was a shadow in it. "You still don't understand what my father is. He's not just a tyrant. He's ancient. His power feeds on fear — and the moment we face him, he'll try to break your spirit first."
Eric turned toward her fully. "Let him try."
Seraphina's wings flared slightly — not in anger this time, but pride. "You sound like a dragon already."
He grinned. "Guess I'm learning from the best."
And in that moment, as the wind carried the faint echo of roars across the horizon, Seraphina felt something stir deep within — something older than duty, fiercer than vengeance. For the first time, she didn't feel alone.