Sebas lay on the coarse straw mattress of his rented room, his mind spinning. The embers of the conversation with Marek lingered in his thoughts, flaring brighter with each unanswered question. Who was the rogue, truly? How much did he know about the bond with Tiameth? And why had he seemed almost... invested in Sebas's choices?

The room felt stifling. Shadows gathered in the corners, stretching and curling as the lamplight flickered. Sebas’s hand drifted to the sigil burned into his palm. The faint heat of the dragon’s eye pulsed rhythmically, as though the mark had its own heartbeat. A soft murmur drifted through his mind, low and indistinct, like the murmur of distant waves against a rocky shore.

The questions came unbidden, their weight pressing on him like the heavy blanket of night.

*What did Marek mean about being trained to seek out chaos? Was he part of some clandestine order? Could he be lying?*

Sebas sat up, his brow furrowed. His instincts told him Marek had been genuine—if maddeningly cryptic. But how could he know for sure? His own past had taught him the futility of trusting too easily.

His thoughts spiraled deeper, grasping for clarity. *Why had Marek’s mention of the Church of Alexander stung so fiercely? Was it the memories of the orphanage, the rigid dogma, or the weight of being an unwanted ward?*

Sebas exhaled sharply, shaking his head. The church had shaped his earliest years, true, but it had given him little more than sermons and scars. Its teachings had failed him when he’d needed them most. Now, with Tiameth’s mark burned into his soul, he wondered if he’d traded one domineering presence for another.

*What does Tiameth truly want from me?* The thought lingered like a splinter. Power came with a price, Marek had said. But Sebas hadn’t asked for a breakdown of the cost—he’d barely understood the terms before sealing the pact.

Sebas pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the faint hum of the bond that now tethered him to the Dragon Queen. *Will I become a puppet? Or do I still have control?*

The air grew heavier, almost suffocating. Sebas rubbed his temples, trying to quell the noise in his mind. It was no use. The questions swirled, relentless.

*Why me? Why now?*

A sudden chill swept through the room. The shadows seemed to deepen, coalescing into shapes that slithered just beyond the edge of perception. Sebas shivered. The sigil on his palm flared, the heat now sharp and biting.

And then, the dream began.

---

Sebas found himself standing in an endless expanse of obsidian glass. Above him, a swirling void of fire and smoke churned, casting the black surface below in a restless, molten glow. Each step sent ripples through the glassy ground, the motion fracturing his distorted reflection.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“So many questions,” a voice purred, rich and resonant.

Sebas turned sharply. Tiameth emerged from the shifting flames, her form as imposing as ever. Her appearance blurred between dragon and woman, her molten scales and flowing obsidian gown merging into one seamless entity. The intensity of her gaze pinned Sebas in place.

“You call upon me even in sleep, little binder?” she asked, her lips curling into a smirk. “Or is it that your mind is too loud to let you rest?”

Sebas swallowed hard. The weight of her presence pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to summon you,” he stammered. “I just have... questions.”

Tiameth tilted her head, her molten hair shifting like liquid fire. “Questions are the foundation of power, mortal. The wise seek answers; the foolish, merely certainty.” She stepped closer, the ground beneath her feet hissing and cracking. “Ask, then. But know that my answers come at a price.”

Sebas hesitated. Even here, in the depths of his mind, the bond between them felt tangible. He could feel her power, vast and unfathomable, brushing against his own like a predator circling its prey. *Tread carefully,* a voice within him warned.

“Why did you choose me?” he asked finally. “I’m no one. A failed soul binder. There are others more worthy.”

Tiameth’s laughter was a low, rolling thunder. “Worthiness is a construct of mortal minds. It does not interest me.” She leaned in, her eyes blazing. “I chose you because you were empty. A vessel waiting to be filled. Power craves space to grow, and you, Sebas, were a barren field.”

Her words stung, but Sebas pressed on. “And what do you want from me in return?”

Tiameth’s smile faded, replaced by something colder. “Loyalty,” she said simply. “A bond forged in fire is not easily broken. Through you, my influence will spread. You will carry my mark, my power, and my will. In return, you will rise above the mediocrity that has plagued your life.”

Sebas’s fists clenched. “And if I refuse?”

The flames around her flared, licking at the edges of the void. “Refusal is no longer an option,” she said, her voice hard as iron. “You accepted my gift. The bond is forged. Should you attempt to sever it, the consequences will be... unpleasant.”

The weight of her words settled over him like a shroud. “Then what am I to you?” he asked, his voice quiet. “A pawn? A tool?”

Tiameth’s gaze softened, just barely. “You are more than that, Sebas. You are a vessel of potential. A harbinger of chaos. And perhaps, if you prove yourself... something greater.”

Sebas’s breath hitched. Her words carried an allure he couldn’t deny, a promise of meaning in a life that had always felt empty. But beneath it all, there was a darkness he couldn’t ignore.

“Why the fire?” he asked suddenly. “Why mark me with it?”

Tiameth’s smile returned, sharp and knowing. “Fire is destruction,” she said. “But it is also renewal. From the ashes, new life emerges. You, Sebas, are both. You will burn away the weak, the stagnant, the old—and in their place, something stronger will rise.”

Her words resonated deep within him, the truth of the bond sinking in. He was no longer the aimless orphan scraping by on scraps of pity. He was something new, something dangerous.

“But beware,” Tiameth continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Fire is a fickle ally. Let it consume you, and you will become nothing more than ash.”

Sebas nodded slowly, the weight of her warning pressing on his chest. “I’ll remember that,” he said.

Tiameth’s laughter echoed through the void as she stepped back, her form dissolving into flames. “We shall see, little binder. We shall see.”

The dream began to fade, the obsidian ground cracking beneath him. Sebas felt himself falling, the void swallowing him whole.

---

He awoke with a gasp, his body slick with sweat. The room was dark, the lamplight long extinguished. The sigil on his palm still glowed faintly, the heat a reminder of the pact he had made.

Sebas sat up, his mind clearer now. The questions still lingered, but so did Tiameth’s answers. He had been chosen not for his worth, but for his potential. The bond was both a blessing and a curse, a path that could lead to power or destruction.

As he stared at the faint glow of the sigil, a new thought emerged, unbidden but undeniable.

*What will I become?*

The night offered no answers, only the faint whisper of flames in the back of his mind.