Fire never appears without reason.
That's what Dravik learned at a very young age.
It can sleep.
It can wait.
It can lurk beneath the skin like a docile beast.
But it is never wrong.
That morning, as he moved through the trees still damp with night,
Dravik sensed the change before he understood its source.
It wasn't a sudden rush of heat. Not a loss of control.
It was worse than that.
The fire hesitated.
A fraction.
A beat too slow.
As if it were searching for something to recognize.
Dravik keeps walking.
He doesn't mention it.
He learned long ago that pointing out an anomaly too soon is to give it form. And some things should not be named until they are understood.
Kael leads the way, silent, focused. The wolf thinks only in terms of trajectories and immediate threats.
Sahr observes the blind spots, the absences,
the areas where the world holds its breath.
Lunaya is between them, upright, calm,
as if each step were already an answer.
And yet.
It is her.
Not consciously.
Not willingly.
But the fire knows.
Dravik clenches his fingers slightly.
The sensation is not painful.
It is an internal pressure, ancient, familiar.
Like when an old memory awakens without warning.
Except that this memory is not his.
He closes his eyes for a second as he walks.
The draconic world does not function like others.
It has never needed messengers.
Orders are not given.
They are inscribed.
In flesh.
In lineage.
In fire itself.
Dravik then feels something he hasn't felt in years:
a vertical resonance.
Something is activated far above him.
Not a specific place. A layer of the world.
An ancient, sealed stratum that only opens when the rules cease to be sufficient.
The fire within him recognizes a pattern.
Not a voice.
Not an injunction.
A classification.
He slows down imperceptibly.
Sahr notices immediately.
Not because Dravik is clumsy,
but because Sahr always notices what should not change.
"Something is burning badly," he whispers without looking at him.
Dravik does not answer.
Because to answer would be to admit that what he senses is real.
And what he senses is deeply disturbing.
The fire slips under his skin, searching for an anchor point.
It doesn't want to come out. It wants to align itself.
As if an ancient matrix had just reactivated,
recalibrating what it is supposed to do, what it is supposed to represent.
Then Dravik understands.
Not immediately.
But enough.
It is not Lunaya who is being targeted.
Not yet.
It is the Resonant One.
The draconic world does not name her like the others.
It does not describe her. It classifies her.
Unstable variable.
Active phenomenon.
Risk of mythical propagation.
And every bearer of ancient fire becomes,
in fact, a potential answer.
Dravik feels the mark.
Not a new one.
An old one, forgotten, dormant, which reminds him of itself.
A ritual scar that he had long believed to be neutral pulses once,
deeply, like a heart that has been awakened too late.
He inhales slowly.
The fire does not tell him what to do.
It only tells him this:
You are involved.
They continue onward.
No one speaks.
But Dravik no longer sees the path in the same way.
Each step becomes an invisible fork in the road.
Each moment he remains beside Lunaya becomes,
unbeknownst to her, a choice.
He looks at her.
She feels nothing specific. Not yet.
She is too busy containing something else.
The black-silver thread is stable, focused, turned toward Erynd.
She is unaware that the world has just officially recognized her,
as a problem to be dealt with.
And Dravik...
Dravik is the one the draconic world calls upon,
when it no longer knows whether to protect or destroy.
He remembers.
Not the city.
Not the flames.
But the moment just before.
That absolute certainty that what he was doing was right.
And the moment just after, when he realized that the fire had made no distinction between what he wanted to save and what had to disappear.
He clenches his jaw.
No.
Not her.
There is still no order.
Still no clear formulation.
But the fire has ceased to be neutral.
And Dravik knows, with a clarity that almost makes him nauseous,
that if he continues to walk with her, if he protects her,
if he accompanies her...
He will no longer be simply an ally.
He will become active disobedience.
Sahr moves slightly closer.
"You just lost something," he says quietly.
Dravik looks at him.
"No, he replies after a moment.
I was found."
They stop at the edge of a rocky outcrop. Kael raises his fist.
Possible danger. Nothing immediate. But the world is denser here.
Dravik stays behind a second longer than the others.
The fire calms down. Not because the threat has disappeared.
But because he understands that, for now, Dravik will not respond.
Not yet.
He rejoins the group.
Lunaya gives him a brief look. Not worried.
Not questioning. Just a simple look of presence.
And that's when the real decision is made.
Not in a council.
Not in an order.
Not in an oath.
But in this precise, tense, fragile silence, where Dravik accepts a simple and dangerous truth:
The world may well ask him to capture her.
But if he must burn again,
it will not be to obey.