The morning light fell cold and gray across the valley.
Eric hadn't slept since Seraphina's dream.
He sat by the dying fire, his thoughts spiraling like smoke. The way she had described it — Drakonis, the woman who looked like her, the bond that tied them — it all refused to leave his mind.
Every word had carried the weight of something ancient, something that felt too real to be just a dream.
He glanced at Seraphina, still asleep, her breathing shallow but calm now. Even in rest, her hand glowed faintly with a soft silver hue.
She looked peaceful — but he could feel the tension humming beneath her skin, like a storm waiting to break.
He stood quietly, wrapped his cloak around his shoulders, and stepped outside.
The air bit at his lungs. The forest was quiet, but it wasn't silence — it was listening. Every rustle, every creak of branch, seemed to echo his heartbeat.
He had to understand.
He couldn't protect her from something he didn't comprehend.
---
The ruins of the ancient temple lay at the far end of the valley, half-buried beneath creeping vines and fallen stone. It was older than the village — older than human memory itself.
He had been here before, once, when they sought shelter during the storm. But now, walking through the remnants of its shattered arches, he felt something different.
The air was alive — faint, warm, like the breath of a sleeping dragon.
He knelt near one of the cracked pillars, brushing away moss and dust. Beneath it, faint markings glimmered — golden lines carved deep into the rock.
Drakonian script. The same as those Seraphina had studied.
Eric wasn't fluent in it, but he had learned enough from her to recognize a few words.
> "Flame… memory… rebirth…"
He frowned.
The words weren't just inscriptions — they were echoes.
When he touched the carvings, his fingertips burned faintly. A vision flashed behind his eyes — fleeting, incomplete — the image of a great winged shape shrouded in shadow, kneeling beside a body that glowed silver in the darkness.
He stumbled back, gasping.
"What was that?" he whispered.
The echo faded, leaving the smell of scorched air behind. He looked down at his palm — faint golden sparks flickered across his skin, fading almost instantly.
His connection to Drakonis was deepening too. Not just Seraphina's.
And maybe… that wasn't entirely a curse.
---
He wandered deeper into the temple, guided by instinct more than reason.
At the far end of the ruins, a half-collapsed stairway led underground — a place Seraphina hadn't dared to explore.
As he descended, the air grew heavy with the scent of old smoke and stone. Torches carved into the wall flickered to life as he passed, reacting to his presence.
When he reached the bottom, he found himself in a vast circular chamber. The ceiling had long since crumbled, but at the center stood an intact mural — its colors surprisingly vivid despite the centuries.
It depicted two figures:
A dragon cloaked in fire, wings unfurled in defiance of the heavens — and beside him, a woman of silver flame, her hands reaching toward his heart.
Beneath the mural, an inscription in the ancient tongue read:
> "In their union, the flame became whole. In their fall, the world was remade."
Eric stared at the words, heart pounding.
Seraphina's dream hadn't been just a warning. It was a memory — not hers, but inherited.
And if Drakonis' lost love had truly been reborn within Seraphina, then the fire inside both of them wasn't just power.
It was connection — ancient, cyclical, inevitable.
He sank to his knees, whispering to himself,
"So that's what he meant… The bridge of ruin — it's not destruction. It's reunion."
He clenched his fists.
That meant Drakonis didn't simply want to reclaim power. He wanted her.
Through Seraphina.
And if Eric was right… that meant the fire inside him was Drakonis' way back.
---
Footsteps echoed softly behind him.
He turned sharply — but it wasn't Seraphina.
A figure cloaked in red stepped from the shadows, their eyes glowing faint amber.
"Curious little human," the stranger said, their voice smooth, almost amused. "You walk in a place where even dragons fear to tread."
Eric's muscles tensed. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted their head, smiling faintly. "Once? A priest of the Flame. Now… a witness."
They stepped closer, their gaze studying him. "You carry it, don't you? The mark. The ember that will wake the old god."
Eric's hand went to his arm instinctively. "If you mean Drakonis, I'm not his vessel."
The stranger chuckled, low and knowing. "Vessels never think they are. Until they burn."
Eric frowned. "Tell me what you know."
The priest's smile faded. "He dreams through both of you now. The bond that ties dragon and man has never been this strong. The world trembles at the balance you've created. But beware — when the flame awakens fully, it does not ask permission."
"What does that mean?" Eric demanded.
The priest's eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. "It means your love will decide whether the world is reborn… or ends where it began."
And before Eric could respond, the figure vanished — dissolving into a swirl of golden sparks that faded into the dark.
---
When he finally emerged from the ruins, the sky had begun to darken.
A low wind rolled through the valley, carrying the faint scent of smoke. The air was colder than before — sharp, electric.
He could feel it now. Something vast was stirring beneath the world, resonating with the mark on his arm.
But for the first time, fear wasn't what filled him.
It was clarity.
He looked up toward the ridge where the cabin stood — where Seraphina waited — and whispered,
"If love made him burn the world once… then maybe love can save it this time."
---
When he returned, Seraphina was awake, sitting by the fire with her knees drawn to her chest. Her expression softened when she saw him, but her eyes still carried worry.
"Where were you?" she asked quietly.
"Learning," he said simply, sitting beside her. "About him. About us."
Her brows furrowed. "And?"
He hesitated, then met her gaze. "Your dream wasn't just a vision, Sera. It was memory — his memory. You and I… we're connected to something older than either of us. But it's not just fate. It's choice."
She blinked, uncertain. "Choice?"
He nodded. "They — the dragon and the woman — they loved each other once. Their union tore the world apart. But maybe it doesn't have to happen again."
She studied him for a long time, searching for something in his eyes. What she found there wasn't arrogance or denial — it was belief.
And hope.
"You really think we can stop it?" she whispered.
"I think we can rewrite it," he said softly. "If Drakonis remembers love through you… then maybe that's how we remind him of what he lost. Not through war, but through what he once was."
For the first time that day, Seraphina smiled — small, tired, but real.
And as the wind outside shifted, carrying the faint warmth of a coming storm, Eric reached for her hand.
Neither of them noticed the faint golden light pulsing in unison beneath their skin.