Dyjin awoke to the sound of rushing water, the soft murmurs of the river weaving through the fog of his dreams. For a moment, he lay still, trying to piece together where he was and how he had ended up there. The events of the previous night came crashing back—the dragon’s attack, his father’s death, the flames engulfing his village. His chest tightened at the memory, and he clenched the obsidian dagger still clasped in his hand. But something was different. Only a few hours ago, his hands had been battered and bleeding. Now, there wasn’t even a trace of injury.

He sat up, bewildered, and glanced at Martin, who was still asleep beside him, wrapped in a worn blanket. The faint glow of the obsidian dagger caught his eye. It was weak in the morning sun, but it still had that odd white glow to it.

Dyjin shook Martin awake, and he sat up with a groan. “Dyjin,” Martin’s voice broke through his thoughts. The older man stirred, rubbing his eyes before sitting up. “You alright, lad?”

“Yeah... I’m fine. Just... tired.” Dyjin said. Martin studied him for a moment, his gaze lingering on the dagger for a heartbeat before he turned to his pack. “Good. We need to move carefully. The Grae, and that dragon are likely still in the area.” He glanced back toward the river.

“Where do we go now?” Dyjin asked.

Martin blinked the sleep out of his eyes, his gaze lingering on the dagger for a heartbeat before he turned back to Dyjin. “Back home. We need to check and see if there’s anyone else that escaped the dragon.”

Digging in his pack, Martin handed him a small bread bun. “Eat something. We’ve got a long way to go.” He glanced at the riverbank where an old wooden boat was half-hidden among the reeds. “We’ll take Arin’s boat. It’s faster than walking, and the current should carry us most of the way.”

Dyjin took the bread, his stomach growling in response. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. As he ate, he noticed that Martin’s eyes kept drifting back to the dagger at his waist.

When they finally pushed off from the shore, the boat gliding smoothly with the river’s gentle current, Martin broke the silence. “That dagger of yours… it’s something special, isn’t it?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but there was a note of curiosity, almost longing, in his voice.

Dyjin glanced down at the blade, still faintly glowing despite the sunlight. “I don’t know. It’s just… strange,” he admitted.

“I’d like to take a look at it later.” Martin suggested, as he rowed.

“No,” Dyjin said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need you to sell it for me.”

“Ouch!” The headache from the evening before returned, with a dull pulse that made it hard to concentrate. Dyjin rubbed his forehead, wincing at the pain. “I’ve got a headache. Just… leave me alone for a bit, okay?”

Martin frowned but nodded, turning his attention back to the river. Dyjin leaned back, closing his eyes as he tried to will the pain away, but it only intensified. He clutched the dagger tighter, hoping the pressure would help, but it was no use. The ache gnawed at him, a relentless force that blurred his thoughts and made it hard to focus on anything else.

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Dyjin opened his eyes, squinting at the sky. Something wasn’t right. The river was too calm, too quiet. A sense of dread began to build in his chest, and the headache only added to his unease.

Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead, and Dyjin’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up, just in time to see the dragon soaring overhead, its fiery wings flared out, bright yellow and orange fading into the deep blood red that colored his shimmering scales.

“Martin!” Dyjin hissed, but the shopkeeper had already seen it. Panic flashed in his eyes as he began to row frantically toward the shore.

“Get ready to jump!” Martin ordered, his voice shaking. “We have to get into tree cover!”

Dyjin didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed up Martin’s pack, and scrambled to the bow of the boat, the pounding in his head almost unbearable now. They reached the shore, the boat scraping against the rocks as they scrambled out. Dyjin stumbled onto the bank, the world spinning around him.

“Run!” Martin shouted, pushing him toward the trees. “Go!”

Dyjin bolted into the forest, the dragon’s roar echoing in his ears. The headache was a searing knife now, each step sending waves of agony through his skull. He could barely see where he was going, his vision blurred by tears of pain. Behind him, he heard Martin crashing through the underbrush, but the sounds soon faded as they became separated in the dense forest.

Dyjin didn’t stop running. He couldn’t. The dragon was close, he could feel it, the air crackling with the heat of its presence. The forest became a blur of greens and browns, the trees whipping past him as he fled deeper into the wilderness. His lungs burned, his legs ached, but he forced himself onward, driven by sheer terror.

Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath him. Dyjin barely had time to register what was happening before he was falling, tumbling down a steep ravine. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, the breath knocked out of him. Pain shot through his leg, and he cried out in agony, realizing that he had broken it. The obsidian dagger slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground a few feet away.

He lay there, gasping for breath, the world spinning around him. The headache had reached a fever pitch, the pain so intense he could barely think. He tried to move, to crawl out of the ravine, but his body refused to obey. He was trapped, helpless, and he could hear the dragon crashing through the trees in his direction.

Dyjin screamed.

As the sound tore from his throat, a surge of energy coursed through him, powerful and overwhelming. The air around him seemed to ripple, and suddenly, like a door flung open, his thoughts reached out.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain in his head vanished, leaving behind a strange, eerie silence. Dyjin’s vision dimmed, the edges of his consciousness fading to black. He felt the world slipping away, his last thought a desperate plea for someone, anyone, to hear him.

Miles away, near the foot of the mountain, a young Grae boy named Raj was out hunting. His senses alert, keen eyes searching for prey. As he crept through the underbrush, he felt a sudden, urgent pull in his mind. [Help! Please, anyone help!] The cry wasn’t just vocal; it echoed telepathically, a desperate plea that resonated in waves through the forest.

Raj’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard stories of this. Mind-speak they called it, and only the humans could use such abilities. Raj knew that humans are dangerous, but the call was filled with such desperation that he couldn’t ignore it. He changed course, moving swiftly and silently toward the source of the cry.