The morning began like any other — soft sunlight spilling across the valley, painting the grass in shades of gold.
The lake shimmered quietly, the forest hummed with birdsong, and the air carried the sweet scent of blooming violets. For a moment, it seemed that nothing in the world could disturb the fragile peace Eric and Seraphina had built.
But beneath that peace, something had begun to stir.
Eric didn't notice it at first.
It was subtle — like the faint hum beneath silence, the shadow that lingers just beyond sight.
He woke before dawn, breath sharp, drenched in sweat. The dream had been so vivid it felt real. Fire — endless and alive — roaring through a crimson sky. Wings like mountains rising from the inferno. A voice — deep, resonant, and ancient — calling his name from somewhere beyond the smoke.
> "You cannot escape what you were chosen for…"
When he tried to respond, the words burned in his throat.
He had seen eyes — molten gold, filled with fury and grief — staring straight into his soul. Then everything vanished.
Now, as he sat upright in bed, the only sound was his own heartbeat — too fast, too loud. The mark on his forearm throbbed faintly beneath his skin, glowing with a dim, pulsing light before fading again.
He pressed his palm over it, trying to steady his breathing.
"Just a dream," he whispered.
But the words felt hollow.
Outside, dawn broke — and the world looked unchanged. Birds sang, the river murmured, and when Seraphina entered the room, her presence seemed to banish the shadows that still clung to his mind.
"You're awake early again," she said, her tone light but curious.
"Couldn't sleep," Eric replied, forcing a smile. "Just… thoughts."
She tilted her head, studying him with quiet concern. "The nightmares?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "Nothing serious. They come and go."
She stepped closer, resting a gentle hand against his cheek. "Dreams are not harmless things, Eric. Sometimes they are echoes — from within, or from the world itself."
Her touch grounded him. The heat of her skin pushed back the chill that had crept into his bones.
He smiled faintly. "You're starting to sound like the old mystics from your archives."
"I learned from the best," she replied, her lips curving upward. "Besides, even dragons dream. We just pretend not to."
He reached up and intertwined his fingers with hers. "Then maybe we'll both learn to dream better."
But deep down, he wasn't sure he could.
---
The day unfolded quietly.
They helped rebuild part of the village wall, shared a meal with the townsfolk, and watched the children play near the river. To anyone else, it would have looked like a perfect day — laughter, sunlight, peace.
Yet Eric couldn't shake the feeling that something unseen was watching.
Sometimes, when he blinked, he saw a flicker — shadows twisting just beyond the edge of light. Sometimes, the wind carried whispers that didn't belong.
He told himself it was exhaustion. That the war had simply left scars that time hadn't yet healed.
But when he looked at the sky that afternoon, he noticed something odd.
The clouds were moving strangely — slow, deliberate, circling around the mountains as though drawn by a hidden force.
"Storm coming?" one of the villagers asked.
"Maybe," Eric murmured, though his voice was distant. "Maybe more than that."
---
That night, the dreams returned.
He stood once more in the crimson sky, the ground beneath him cracked and burning.
He could feel the heat of his own heartbeat — as if fire ran through his veins instead of blood.
And then he heard it again.
That voice.
Low and thunderous, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.
> "You've forgotten who you are."
Eric spun around, but there was nothing — only flame and ruin stretching endlessly.
> "You walk among them," the voice continued, "but you are bound to me."
"Who are you?" Eric shouted, though the words barely left his throat.
The air rippled — and from the smoke emerged the faint silhouette of a colossal dragon. Its scales glowed like molten metal, its eyes a piercing gold that burned through the darkness.
> "I am what sleeps within your soul," it whispered.
"I am the flame you cannot extinguish."
Eric fell to his knees, the ground trembling beneath him. "No. I'm not—"
> "You are," the dragon hissed. "You carry my mark. My memory. My wrath."
The world split open in light — and Eric screamed.
---
He woke with a gasp, the air torn from his lungs.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint, glowing sigil now pulsing on his arm. The veins beneath his skin shimmered faintly with gold before dimming again.
"Eric?" Seraphina's voice came softly from the doorway. She looked half-awake, concern clouding her silver eyes. "What's wrong?"
He turned away quickly, pulling down his sleeve. "Just a bad dream."
She frowned, walking closer. "You're trembling."
"I'm fine," he said, too quickly. "It's nothing."
But she didn't believe him. She reached for his wrist, and when he flinched — even slightly — her eyes narrowed. "Eric… show me."
He hesitated, then slowly lifted his sleeve. The mark gleamed faintly in the moonlight — intricate, like fire trapped in skin.
Her breath caught. "That's not human."
"I know," he whispered. "It appeared after the battle — after I touched the core of Drakonis' flame."
Seraphina's gaze darkened, a storm flickering behind her calm expression. "You should have told me."
"I didn't think it mattered," he said. "It was just a scar. But now—" He looked at his arm, voice breaking. "It's like it's waking up."
For a long moment, Seraphina said nothing. Then she placed a hand on his chest, feeling the racing heartbeat beneath. "You're still you," she said quietly. "No matter what stirs inside."
He met her eyes, desperate. "What if I'm not? What if… he's in me?"
"Then we fight it," she said firmly. "Together."
He wanted to believe her. He wanted her strength to be enough for both of them. But somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered — She cannot fight what you already are.
---
The following morning, Eric felt strange.
The air seemed heavier, the light sharper, every sound amplified. When he touched the earth, it felt alive beneath his fingers — humming, whispering, breathing.
He stood alone by the lake, staring at his reflection. For an instant, he didn't see himself.
He saw eyes — golden and ancient — staring back.
He stumbled back, breath ragged. The reflection returned to normal, but the image lingered in his mind.
Behind him, Seraphina's voice was soft. "You felt it again, didn't you?"
He didn't answer.
She stepped beside him, her hand finding his. "The world changes around us, Eric. But you… you decide who you become."
He turned to her, eyes filled with conflict. "And if who I am is the thing that destroys it all?"
"Then I'll stop you," she said simply. "But I don't think I'll have to."
There was no fear in her voice — only trust.
And somehow, that terrified him more than anything.
---
That night, as they stood beneath the stars, the wind shifted. The world was silent — too silent. The lake no longer reflected the sky. The air trembled, faintly alive with a distant echo.
Far beyond the mountains, lightning flared — not white, but gold.
A sign.
A warning.
And somewhere deep within Eric's chest, the mark began to burn again.
He didn't say a word.
Neither did she.
They simply stood together in the quiet, holding on to the warmth they still had — while the first true shadow of what was coming stirred beneath the peaceful sky.