The first strike of the Watch Tower bells startled Ethan awake. He sat up with a gasp, heart pounding with the deafening klaxon ringing from the stone walls of his bedchamber.

The sound chased him out of bed. In a panic, he donned his silk slippers, before shaking his head and pulling on his leather boots instead. The way he’d practised with his guards a few times before.

Those times had been fun. It had felt like a game, waking in the dead of night, stifling giggles as he was escorted towards his parents’ chambers.

Now, fear made his fingers clumsy, and he had only finished lacing one boot when his doors crashed open.

“Failen!” Ethan shouted over the din, tugging on his second boot. “What’s going on?”

Failen didn’t answer, only gazed about the dark room before holstering his club of carved bone. Its lethal tip of blood-red quartz glittered in the moonlight as Failen strode towards the closet and ripped a jacket from its hanger. Ethan hurried to tie his laces as Failen wrapped the fleece around his shoulders.

Drawing his club with a deft flick, Failen raised it for combat and turned towards the door. Peering down the corridor while Ethan shrugged into the jacket, Failen beckoned for the young prince to follow.

“Failen, what’s—?”

“Shh. Just follow. Quickly now.” Failen’s tone was rigid with command and brooked no argument as Ethan stumbled along in the Ranger’s wake, ungainly with sleep and dread.

Sharp shadows slanted down the halls. The moon hung full and bright in the dark sky, leering down through the large, paned windows lining the Palace corridors as they wended their way towards his parents’ rooms.

Occasional flares of bright silver light glimmered beyond the windows, as if a second moon had erupted from the grounds below. Ethan veered towards the windows to look, but Failen grasped the scruff of his neck, marching him forwards at a quickening pace.

“Don’t look, don’t speak, keep moving. Just like we practised.” Failen breathed the command in his ear, barely heard over the persistent clamour of bronze bells. Ethan’s lip trembled as he nodded, running now to keep pace.

A pair of guards nodded to Failen as they passed through the doors to his mother’s receiving room. The muted green leathers and gleaming dark woods, so familiar and inviting in the light of the day, were now bleached stark, almost hostile in the moonlight.

“Mother?” Ethan called as Failen drew him beyond another set of doors into her personal suite.

Princess Seraphina sat on a lounge that had been dragged against the farthest wall, away from the windows. Her face was pale and pinched with stress, increasing Ethan’s own. Her forced smile did little to ease his anxiety as he raced to cross the room and nestle under her arm.

Cradled in her other arm was his littlest brother, a newborn prince not even two months old, screaming in protest at the cacophony.

His other brothers, Michael, Dante, and Esra, were crowded onto the couch around their mother. Esra was sniffling with his hands clamped tight over his ears, and Dante had fresh tear tracks drying on his cheeks. Michael’s face was pale with terror, yet his expression was resolute as he rubbed soothing circles on Esra’s back.

The sight of his brothers in such distress made Ethan’s stomach twist. Yet, being the oldest at the age of seven, Ethan pushed his fear aside as best he could.

Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, Ethan squared his shoulders, withdrawing from his mother’s grasp so she could better tend the squirming infant.

He glanced behind him where Failen was manning the bedchamber door. The Ranger’s stance was taut and alert, his gaze flicking constantly from shadow to shadow, seeking threat.

Ethan turned to his mother. “Mother, what’s happening? Where’s Father?”

Seraphina drew a breath that shuddered as she tightened her grasp of the baby. She spoke slowly, seeming to choose her words with care. “We’ve had news of a threat to the safety of the Village, my love. Your father has gone to investigate with the King and your uncles. We’re staying here, all together, as a precaution. The Rangers will protect us. And Father, of course.” Seraphina smiled down at her bravest son as he solemnly absorbed her words.

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Dante started to cry again. “Are we going to die?” he wailed, causing Michael’s eyes to well with fear.

“Hush, little sweet, we are well protected in this room. Failen and the others will keep us safe.”

Ethan watched his mother, wanting to believe her words, yet he couldn’t help notice her flinch as another silver light flared beyond the windows.

“What are those lights, Mother?” Ethan asked. Seraphina placed a quelling hand on Ethan’s arm as he shifted towards the tall windows.

“Don’t, my love. Sit with your brothers. The Rangers will handle it.”

And so Ethan sat with his siblings, all remaining quiet except for the tears of his smallest brothers when the bells were too loud. They sat still as statues, moving only to huddle closer to each other or to use the chamber pot.

Seraphina recited stories. Familiar tales of brave warriors. Heroes winning the day with valour and sacrifice. Monsters slain by weapons forged of righteousness.

Ethan had heard these tales many times before. He thrived on them, often vexing his tutors with his tendency to daydream of champions and foes to the detriment of his studies. He didn’t correct his mother when she skipped over his favourite parts, or misremembered details. He listened to the parts his grandfather would tell better, throat tight with fear for the boisterous man, and snuggled closer to his mother’s side.

Ethan was beginning to drift into sleep when shouting echoed in the corridor beyond the chambers. Ethan snapped awake as his brothers scrambled to hide beneath the lounge.

Ethan stood, moving to shield his mother and infant brother, wishing he had thought to bring his own dagger of carved bone. Though dull and only used for ceremony, Ethan would have felt stronger, braver, with it in his palm. His small and empty hands curled into fists as the scuffle of boots sounded closer.

Seraphina gripped the back of Ethan’s shirt, holding him in place with a whispered warning to stay near.

The breath froze in his chest as a thin edge of silver light gleamed beneath the chamber door. Failen readied his club as the door rattled with the force of something heavy slamming against it.

The light shifted, to-and-fro, as if uncertain and questing.

Ethan felt his heart might burst at any moment, its thudding beat almost louder than the bells.

The light stilled, spilling silver ripples across the carpets, before a great, brilliant something pushed its way through the door.

The translucent head of a great beast emerged, passing through the solid wood of the barred doors as if they were smoke. It stalked forwards, followed by a long, serpentine body and billowing luminescent fins. Thousands of transparent colours glittered and swirled within its ghostly form, ever shifting like schools of fish.

“Dragon,” Ethan whimpered, eyes wide and mouth dry.

Failen stumbled back with a curse, before stepping to the side with a deft swing at the creature’s neck. The red bladed tip of the club passed through the shining form, parting it like dawn mist. Several globs of indigo light fell to the woven carpets before the wound-like gash reformed with a swirl. The sparkling colours sank into the fabric and melted from sight.

The spectre shook itself like an agitated cat before stalking towards Failen, circling him with fluttering fins of livid teal. The beast’s long claws gleamed brighter, silver as razors. Silver sparks flared from its snakelike snout.

Failen swung and slashed, dancing about the ghostly creature. Though several more pools of colour fell to the ground, the dragon seemed unaffected, reforming itself after each strike of Failen’s club.

The dragon swiped out, claws extended, batting almost playfully as though the creature were merely toying with the Ranger.

With a final, lazy swipe, shining claws caught Failen’s ribbed armour and he was flung towards the wall. Landing against the stone with a hard thud, Failen collapsed and did not move.

The dragon slunk forward, sniffing at Failen’s prone form. As the dragon inhaled, colours swirled up from Failen’s skin. Greens, blues, golds, and earthen browns. They spilled from his arms and legs, his chest, his face, and hair. The dragon breathed them all in.

At last, a gleaming silver light, like a miniature star, erupted from Failen’s chest. The dragon snapped at it with its maw, swallowing it down. Ethan watched as the star-like light travelled through the dragon’s gullet, down and down before merging with the silver light beating in the dragon’s own chest.

Failen lay still, neither moving nor breathing. His skin was pallid and waxy, his hair and eyes devoid of all colour.

The dragon turned, its gleaming eyes locking onto Ethan, Failen’s colours swirling and settling within the beast’s long body.

Behind him, Ethan heard his mother draw in a sharp breath.

“Stay still,” she said, pitching her voice over the bells. “Stay very, very still.”

The beast lowered its head and fanned its iridescent tails, coiling as if to pounce. Ethan’s hand twitched. The dragon tracked the movement.

Ethan knew in that moment what had to be done. His mother and brothers were all behind him. He was closest to the door. Balling his fists, Ethan flung himself forward. Wrenching his shirt from his mother’s grasp, he raced towards the door.

“Ethan, no!” Seraphina screamed behind him, but Ethan didn’t stop.

The dragon shifted at once and Ethan knew, with a thrill of dread and nauseating relief, that the beast would follow.

“Hey, dragon! Follow me!” Ethan flailed his arms and tilted forward, sprinting for the corridor.

He dashed through the open doors, leaping over the lifeless forms of other Rangers. Ethan felt sick with the pounding of his heart, but he didn’t stop to see who he was jumping over. A quick backward glance assured him the dragon was following, snaking after him as he fled down the long halls.