Kaelen sat silently in the dimly lit bar, his eyes scanning the room while Vessira hid, nestled within his armor. The air was thick with tension, and though no one dared to approach him, their wary stares told him all he needed to know—they knew who was coming, and they wanted no part of it.

He waited, growing increasingly irritated by the nervous glances from the patrons nursing their drinks. The uneasy silence dragged on until it was shattered by a sudden, deafening crash outside. Screams erupted, filling the slums with chaos. Moments later, the door swung open, and the room fell deathly silent.

A man stepped inside, his heavy black armor gleaming in the low light, each plate resembling the scales of a dragon. At his side hung a single-edged blade shaped like a dragon's wing. Kaelen’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as he recognized the figure instantly.

It was one of Blacktounge’s elite.

The menacing man strode toward Kaelen, his heavy armor clinking softly with each step. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for a confrontation—but to everyone’s shock, including Kaelen’s, the man knelt before him.

"The Lord wishes to see you," the man said, his voice deep and unwavering.

Kaelen blinked, surprised by the lack of hostility, but he nodded, standing up and following the armored man outside. As they stepped into the night air, Kaelen froze in shock at the sight of a massive wyvern standing nearby, its scales shimmering in the dim light. His hand instinctively went for his sword, ready to defend himself, until he realized—this man must be a Drakewarden.

"Please, get on. I will take you to him," the man said, gesturing toward the wyvern’s back.

Kaelen hesitated for a moment, but then climbed onto the creature. The man followed, vaulting onto the wyvern with practiced ease. Before Kaelen could brace himself, the wyvern spread its wings and surged into the air, leaving the ground far below. The wind roared in Kaelen’s ears as they soared into the night, heading toward an uncertain fate.

The wyvern soared high above the city, its powerful wings slicing through the cool night air. Kaelen clung tightly to the saddle as they climbed higher, leaving the city lights behind and entering the vast stretch of desert. Beneath them, the dunes rolled like waves, endless and golden, bathed in the soft glow of the rising moon. The wind whipped at Kaelen's face, stinging his eyes, but the sight of the desert in the moonlight was mesmerizing.

As they flew deeper into the desert, the vastness of the land beneath him seemed to stretch on forever, a barren sea of sand that had swallowed countless souls. The coldness of the night contrasted sharply with the heat of the day, and Kaelen’s thoughts were lost in the rhythmic beats of the wyvern’s wings.

They flew for hours, the sun just beginning to rise when Kaelen noticed a dark shape on the horizon: a massive fortress, carved into the side of a towering cliff, looming ominously ahead. The wyvern began its descent, and as they neared the structure, Kaelen felt a sense of foreboding.

The fortress was ancient, its black stone weathered by time but still imposing. As they landed in the courtyard, Kaelen dismounted, his eyes scanning the heavy iron gates and the soldiers that lined the walls—each one of them watching him intently.

The man in black armor led him through the halls, deeper into the heart of the fortress. They finally entered a grand chamber lit by flickering torches. At the far end of the room, a tall figure stood waiting, draped in dark, opulent robes, his piercing gaze locked onto Kaelen the moment he entered.

Lord Blacktounge.

His eyes narrowed as Kaelen approached, and his expression shifted from curiosity to something akin to shock. For a moment, Blacktounge said nothing, just studying Kaelen with an intensity that made his skin crawl. Finally, the lord spoke, his voice a low rumble, like the shifting of tectonic plates.

"You…" he began, stepping closer, his eyes tracing every feature on Kaelen’s face. "You look just like him."

Kaelen frowned, unsure of what the man meant. "Like who?"

Blacktounge’s gaze darkened, a mixture of disbelief and fascination in his eyes. "Alexander the Stormsent. Your resemblance to him is uncanny."

Kaelen's stomach tightened at the mention of his father. "Alexander… that’s my father," he said cautiously.

Blacktounge's eyes gleamed with interest. "Your father, you say?" He took a step back, crossing his arms. "Tell me, boy—how old are you?"

"I'm eighteen," Kaelen replied, still unsure where this was going.

Blacktounge's expression changed from curiosity to astonishment. He let out a slow, incredulous chuckle. "Eighteen? That should be impossible."

Kaelen furrowed his brow, confused. "Why?"

"Because Alexander took the Drakewarden oath nearly six years before you could have been born," Blacktounge said, his voice laced with intrigue. "By all rights, he should not have had any children after that—at least, none that were human."

Kaelen's mind raced, trying to make sense of Blacktounge’s words. "What are you talking about?"

Blacktounge leaned in closer, his cold gaze locking with Kaelen's. "Your father, Alexander, is a Drakewarden, just like me. But unlike most of us, he forged a pact with a primal dragon—a beast of unimaginable power. When a man takes the oath with a primal, it changes him, binds him to the dragon’s blood. He is no longer fully human. And neither are you."

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Kaelen took a step back, the weight of Blacktounge's words hitting him like a hammer. "What… are you saying?"

Blacktounge's eyes glinted, a dark smile creeping across his face. "You, Kaelen, are half-dragon. Your father’s blood runs through you, and with it, the essence of a primal dragon. That’s why you’ve grown so strong, so fast. It’s in your blood."

Kaelen’s heart pounded in his chest as the revelation sank in. Half-dragon? It was too much to comprehend. But as he stood there, staring into the cold, calculating eyes of Lord Blacktounge, a part of him knew the truth had been revealed. The power that had always surged inside him, the strength he could never fully explain—it all made sense now.

Blacktounge’s voice was soft but filled with dangerous curiosity. "The blood of a primal dragon runs through your veins, Kaelen. And that makes you a threat to me."

Kaelen tensed, expecting Lord Blacktounge to strike after the revelation, but instead, the man asked another question, his voice laced with curiosity rather than malice.

"Tell me, boy," Blacktounge continued, his sharp eyes never leaving Kaelen. "Have you ever noticed that the cold or heat doesn't seem to affect you? Or that you're far stronger than others at your level? Even your sheer size—it could be the primal blood running through you, not to mention your obvious relation to the Sandwalkers."

Kaelen’s brow furrowed as he considered the words. It was true. He had always been told he was unusually resilient. He didn’t feel temperature changes the same way others did, and he had always been stronger, faster, even at a lower level. The idea that it could all be tied to his lineage unsettled him.

"I’ve heard things like that," Kaelen admitted, glancing down at his hands. "But I never thought it was because of… dragon blood."

Blacktounge gave a knowing nod, a dark smile tugging at his lips. "It explains much. The power of a primal dragon is not something that can be easily hidden." He paused, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "And now I understand why you’ve come to my attention."

Kaelen kept his guard up, still unsure of what Blacktounge intended. "So what now? Are you going to kill me?"

Blacktounge chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous. "Kill you? No. Not yet. There’s too much to learn from you first. And who knows—perhaps your father’s blood could be useful to me."

"For now, you're free to go," Blacktounge said, his voice cold and commanding. "But make no mistake—I will be seeing you again, especially when your dragon blood truly awakens."

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they bore into Kaelen's. "And one more thing: I am always watching. Now that you have my attention, you'll never be without it. Every move you make, I’ll know. So, enjoy your freedom while it lasts."

Blacktounge turned away, his cloak billowing behind him as he gave a dismissive wave. "Now leave, before I change my mind."

Kaelen clenched his fists but nodded, backing away slowly before turning to walk out, the weight of Blacktounge’s words pressing heavily on his mind.

The man who had escorted Kaelen to Blacktounge dropped him back in the slums where he had first found him. As Kaelen dismounted, the man glanced at him with a smirk. "You're lucky, boy. If you'd walked in there without that familiar face, you might not have walked out at all."

Without another word, the man mounted his wyvern and took off into the sky, leaving Kaelen staring after him, lost in thought.

Kaelen gazed into the distance as the figure vanished from view, then looked down at his own hands. "Dragon blood, huh?" he muttered, the weight of the revelation settling in. "Maybe my father's actions were more deliberate than I ever believed." The thought made his stomach churn, but worse still was the realization of his father's power—far greater than he had imagined.

Kaelen walked through the desolate city streets, and Vessira finally climbed out from his armor.

"Dragon blood... that explains so much!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with realization. "But I never would've imagined you were Alexander the Stormsent's son. He's widely regarded as one of the strongest men in the world, and the strongest in the desert."

Kaelen scratched his face awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. He really didn’t want to talk about his father. "Why didn’t you tell me? That would have saved you so many interrogations!" she teased.

Kaelen sighed, shaking his head. "I didn’t even know. But I guess it makes sense."

Vessira laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Kaelen, you're a noble! Isn't that great?"

His expression turned serious, cutting off her excitement. "Hardly. I hate that man," he said, his voice cold. "And I doubt bastards, especially ones born of slave mothers, are considered important nobility. Now, can we drop it? I don’t want to talk about him."

Vessira fell silent, sensing the weight of his words. The topic, once exciting to her, now felt heavy with a history she hadn’t fully understood.

"Sorry Kaelen I'll try not to bring it up in the future."

Kaelen pushed open the door to a small, dimly lit room in a quiet inn. The weight of everything that had happened—the revelation about his bloodline, the encounter with Blacktounge, and the realization of just how much his father’s shadow loomed over him—hung heavy on his shoulders. He tossed a few coins to the innkeeper without a word and climbed the creaking stairs to his room.

Once inside, he barely glanced at the simple furnishings. A small bed, a wooden chair, and a table were all the room had to offer. It didn’t matter. He was exhausted, his body aching from the battles, the long ride, and the emotional strain. Kaelen removed his armor with mechanical precision, each piece clanking to the floor as he stripped down to his basic clothes. He didn’t even bother with the blanket; he simply collapsed onto the bed, his large frame making the mattress groan under his weight.

Sleep took him almost immediately.

After some time, Vessira, still in her small form nestled in his armor, stirred. She could feel his unease, even in his sleep. Though he didn’t say it, she knew Kaelen was troubled deeply by the events of the day. Carefully, she climbed out of his armor and floated over to where he lay. Her tiny form shimmered in the faint light that filtered through the cracks in the window shutters. She hovered beside him, her eyes softening as she watched him.

Without hesitation, she shifted from her small form into her full size, the light from her magic casting a soft glow around her. Her ethereal wings spread gently as she knelt beside him, her hand lightly brushing the hair away from his face.

“You always carry so much, Kaelen…” she whispered softly, her voice barely audible.

She could see the tension still etched into his features, even in sleep. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenched—he was wrestling with the weight of things far beyond his years. Vessira sighed, her hand lingering on his cheek, tracing the lines of his face with a tenderness she rarely showed.

“I wish I could take some of that burden from you.”

Her fingers glowed faintly as she reached into her magic, sending a wave of calm over him. It wasn’t much, just enough to soothe the storm within him, to give him peace for a few hours. She sat down beside the bed, keeping her hand on his arm as his breathing began to slow, becoming more even.

For a while, she just watched over him, her thoughts spinning. He was so much more than he realized. Not because of his bloodline or his strength, but because of his heart—his determination to keep going, no matter what. He didn't see it, but she did.

"You don't have to carry this all alone," she whispered.

She stayed there, by his side, long into the night, until the soft sounds of his steady breathing told her he was finally at peace, if only for a while. Then, as the first light of dawn began to creep through the shutters, she gently shifted back into her small form, laying on his chest and let sleep take her as well.