The days dragged on like a suffocating fog over the kingdom. Every morning, the search efforts for the prince intensified, yet they returned with the same disheartening outcome: nothing. No clues, no sign of life. For many, including Thorne himself, the young heir was already lost.

In the great hall of the castle, an oppressive silence settled in. Thorne sat at the head of the table, staring blankly ahead, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Edric, seated beside him, shared the same grim demeanor, while Cedric’s expression remained impassive. Fianna, though strong-willed, could not entirely conceal the deep concern etched on her face.

— He's gone, Thorne, — Cedric finally broke the silence, his voice low but resolute. — It's been days, and even the kingdom’s finest trackers have found no sign of him. We must accept the worst.

Thorne exhaled heavily, the anguish and frustration clear in his face. He abruptly stood, pacing toward the window, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

— I refuse to believe that, — Thorne's voice was tight with emotion, a mixture of frustration and helplessness. — He’s stronger than that. He’s survived far worse. I won’t abandon hope… not yet.

Fianna, having remained silent until now, stepped forward. Her eyes held a cold determination, yet her voice was gentle, almost motherly.

— Thorne, the kingdom needs leadership now more than ever. The king... — she paused, carefully choosing her words — ...the king grows weaker with each passing day. He needs us. If there’s no return, we must be prepared for what that means.

Edric, who had been watching Thorne intently, gave a slow nod.

— Fianna's right, Thorne. Our duty is to protect the realm and ensure that if the worst happens, the transfer of power is smooth. But as long as there’s the slightest chance he's alive, we’ll continue to search. He deserves nothing less.

Thorne turned, his gaze falling on the three of them. The tension on his face was unmistakable; he knew they spoke the truth, yet the thought of letting go was unbearable.

— Keep the searches going, — he commanded, his voice hardening with resolve. — But ready the kingdom for what may come. Cedric, I want you to manage the court and keep order. Fianna, see to the king. He needs stability now more than ever.

Cedric, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, nodded in agreement.

— As you command, Thorne. I’ll ensure everything remains in place.

Fianna looked at Thorne, understanding his inner turmoil, before speaking softly:

— I’ll do what I can for the king, Thorne. But you must prepare yourself as well. If there's no return... you know what must be done.

Thorne closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting Fianna’s words sink in. When he opened them, the weight of his burden was clear.

— I know... — he murmured, almost inaudibly. — But as long as there’s a chance, any chance, I won’t stop searching.

Silence returned to the hall, but this time, it was different—heavy with resignation and a newfound sense of purpose. They all understood what was at stake, and in their hearts, each began to prepare for the dawn of a new era, with or without Aemon.

Meanwhile, in the cave cloaked by an illusory barrier, time seemed to stretch endlessly. Days blurred together as Aemon, still weak and battered, kept his wary gaze on the sorceress. She was always near the fire, stirring a potion with a sadistic smile. Each time the guards passed by, unaware of the cave’s existence, her laugh echoed ominously through the dark corridors.

One day, as the guards moved away once more and her laughter filled the cavern, Aemon seized the opportunity to speak, his voice cracked and rough from exhaustion.

— Why are you keeping me here? — Aemon forced the words through dry, parched lips. — What is it you really want?

The sorceress paused, ceasing the motion of her spoon in the pot, but didn’t turn to face him. Her voice, however, carried through the space—soft, dangerous, and dripping with unsettling mystery.

— Questions, questions... — she muttered, almost as if to herself. — You always seek answers, prince. But answers... they’re not for just anyone.

Aemon closed his eyes briefly, struggling to push past the throbbing pain in his body. He knew he had to keep pressing, to try and get something out of her, no matter how cryptic.

— You don’t seem like someone who acts without purpose, — he continued, trying to keep his tone steady. — If I’m alive, it means you need something from me.

At that, she finally turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with a twisted blend of malice and excitement. She took a step closer, holding a cup of the steaming potion.

— Perhaps I’m simply bored, — she mused with a dark smile. — Or maybe… I see something in you—something worth keeping around. Have you never wondered, Aemon, why I laugh while the world crumbles around you?

Aemon met her gaze, trying to read the madness in her eyes, but there was nothing there except riddles.

— You speak in riddles, — he replied, his frustration mounting. — If you want something, just say it.

She laughed again, this time softer, almost tender, though it carried the same cruel undertones.

— Where’s the fun in that, prince? — she tilted her head, studying him like a curious experiment. — You’re so predictable, so noble... so blind. But, at the same time, so... surprising. I could have killed you, but no. You amuse me, Aemon. Perhaps it’s your hope... or your hopelessness. I haven’t decided yet.

Aemon clenched his jaw, struggling to suppress the despair creeping into his thoughts. He was at her mercy, but surrender wasn’t an option. He needed to understand the game she was playing.

— And if I give you what you want? — he asked cautiously, probing for a glimpse into her plan. — What happens then?

Her smile widened, as though she’d been waiting for this question.

— Ah, but what I want... is something you don’t even know you possess, — she said enigmatically, her voice rich with dark amusement. — You’re not ready to give it because you don’t even know what it is. But in time, dear prince... all in time.

With that, she turned back to the fire, resuming her stirring. Aemon felt a chill race down his spine. He was caught in a game with rules he didn’t understand, but one thing was certain: he would need every ounce of his strength and wit to survive whatever was coming.

As night fell, the cave grew even more foreboding. Shadows danced on the walls as the fire flickered weakly, casting long, jagged shapes. The sorceress stood by the pot, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she straightened up, a wicked smile curling her lips.

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— It’s ready, prince, — she said, her voice soft but filled with an eerie undertone.

Aemon, who had been watching her cautiously, felt a surge of both curiosity and dread. He had never seen anything like the concoction she’d been brewing.

— What did you make? — he asked, attempting to mask the unease in his voice.

The sorceress approached, holding a small cup filled with a deep red liquid, as thick and dark as blood. Her eyes glittered with malice and delight.

— This, my dear prince, — she whispered, her tone dripping with sweet poison, — is a potion that will awaken your blood.

Aemon frowned, trying to grasp her meaning.

— Awaken my blood? What does that even mean? — he asked, confusion etched on his face.

The sorceress tilted her head, as if debating how much to reveal. After a long pause, her voice took on a more reverent, almost sacred tone.

— Have you ever wondered why the remaining dragon eggs never hatched? — she asked, her gaze fixed on him, studying every subtle shift in his expression. — It’s because no one with the ancient blood has been worthy enough to awaken them.

A shiver ran through him at her words. Dragons had long faded into legend, their stories becoming little more than myths. But the way she spoke of them, with such deliberate certainty, stirred something uneasy within him.

— And what does that have to do with me? — he asked, his voice thick with caution.

The sorceress’s smile widened, but it brought no comfort, only a chilling sense of foreboding.

— Because you, my dear, carry that blood. The blood of old. You may not see it yet, but it flows through you, waiting to be roused. — She lifted the cup slightly. — This potion... it’s a catalyst. It awakens what slumbers within the one who drinks it. And in you, it will awaken what has been dormant—the power to revive the dragons.

His eyes fell to the cup, his heart pounding. The thought of bringing dragons back was both thrilling and terrifying. He knew better than to trust her, but the allure of her words was difficult to shake.

— And what’s in it for you? — he asked, suspicion coloring his tone.

She chuckled softly, the sound echoing eerily within the cave.

— Oh, you still don’t understand? I gain the pleasure of watching the world change. — Her voice was light, mocking. — I gain the joy of seeing you grapple with your destiny. — She extended the cup toward him. — But the choice is yours. Drink, and discover what truly lies within you... or remain a broken noble, tangled in a game far beyond your comprehension.

He stared at the cup, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. The power to awaken dragons—it was an intoxicating idea. But the fear of what came with it made him hesitate. Yet, the sorceress’s offer had an undeniable pull. If she was telling the truth, this might be the key to turning everything around.

The cave seemed to press in on him, the flickering firelight casting long shadows as the tension thickened. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his decision.

Time slowed as his mind raced. He thought of the turmoil back home, the crumbling state of Volcrist, and the uncertain future looming over all the realms. He couldn’t afford to dismiss this chance, no matter how dangerous it seemed.

His gaze returned to the cup, the dark liquid swirling inside like blood. The risks were monumental, but to do nothing would mean inevitable failure.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he reached out and grasped the cup from her hand. The sorceress’s smile stretched wider, her eyes glinting with satisfaction as he tipped the cup to his lips and swallowed the thick, metallic potion.

The sorceress watched, her eyes alight with twisted delight, as he sealed his fate.

— That’s right, prince. Drink it all, — she murmured, her tone soft and coaxing, like she was urging a child to finish their meal. — True power demands sacrifice, and you’re about to pay the price.

He felt a wave of heat spreading through his body, a fiery sensation as though his very blood was boiling beneath his skin. The heat intensified, soon accompanied by an overwhelming pressure inside him, unlike anything he had felt before. His hands began to tremble, his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

— What’s happening to me? — he asked, his voice shaking as he struggled to steady himself.

The sorceress watched him, a look of perverse satisfaction on her face.

— Complications, my prince, — she replied, her tone unnervingly calm. — Your blood is waking up, merging with something ancient. This won’t be easy, nor will it be painless. You’ll lose consciousness soon, and when you wake... we’ll see what you’ve become.

Her words barely had time to register before the world around him began to blur. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, his strength rapidly fading as the ground rose to meet him. He collapsed with a dull thud, his mind slipping away into a haze.

In the midst of his fading consciousness, a vision took hold. He saw himself on a battlefield, but not as he was now. This was a version of him distorted by time—a figure of immense power, mounted atop a colossal black dragon. The dragon unleashed torrents of black fire, incinerating entire armies, reducing soldiers to ash in moments. He saw the terror in the eyes of his enemies, the hopelessness that spread across the battlefield, and the absolute dominance he held.

He tried to move closer, to understand the full scope of what he was witnessing, but the vision evaporated as swiftly as it had come. He awoke with a jolt, his body still aching, his breaths shallow and ragged as if he had returned from a nightmare.

The scent of burning herbs and smoke lingered in the air. The sorceress stood nearby, silent until now, her eyes gleaming as she stepped forward, her gaze locked onto his.

— You saw it, didn’t you? — she asked, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement. — The future that could be yours. The power you’ll command... if you survive what comes next.

He didn’t answer right away. His hands were still trembling, and the heat in his veins hadn’t fully subsided. But he knew—something within him had changed. Something irreversible. And now, there was no turning back.

When he regained consciousness fully, there was no time for reflection. Instead of relief, he was thrust into an excruciating pain unlike anything he had ever known. His bones stretched and realigned with sickening cracks, as though his entire body was being broken and remade. He wanted to move, to fight against it, but he was paralyzed, trapped in his own skin as the transformation took hold.

His muscles twisted and expanded, growing larger and more defined with every agonizing second. The noble who had once stood before her was now becoming something more—a figure of immense, otherworldly strength. His hair, once a pale grey, had turned pure white, gleaming like fresh snow, while his skin now radiated with an unnatural glow.

But each change came at a terrible cost. The pain was unbearable, as if every fiber of his being was being reforged in a fire hotter than any forge could muster. His screams echoed off the cave’s stone walls, but the sorceress merely watched, her lips twisted into a sadistic smile, reveling in his torment. To her, this was a spectacle, a masterpiece in the making.

— It’s almost over, prince, — she murmured, her voice disturbingly calm, almost maternal, but with an unmistakable edge of malice. — You’re becoming something extraordinary. Just a little more pain, and the power will be all yours.

Her words seemed to challenge his sanity. He wanted to resist, to fight the agony, but it was futile. His body was no longer his own. It was being reshaped, sculpted by forces beyond his control, all part of her twisted plan.

At last, after what felt like an eternity of suffering, the pain began to fade. The transformation was nearly complete. He lay on the cold cave floor, his body trembling and drenched in sweat, feeling as though he had been torn apart and put back together in an entirely new form. The silence that followed was almost more overwhelming than the pain had been.

— Look at yourself, — the sorceress whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. — See what you’ve become.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, though there was no mirror, no reflection to show him the creature he had become. Yet, deep inside, he knew he was no longer the same.

She circled him with slow, deliberate steps, her eyes drinking in every detail of his new form, her hunger palpable. She approached him with an almost predatory grace, her presence suffused with a disturbing mix of fascination and desire.

— Look at you... — she whispered, her voice dripping with admiration and longing. — You are no longer just a prince... you are perfection.

He could barely respond, his body still recovering from the brutal metamorphosis, but the raw power coursing through him was undeniable. Yet, as he looked into her eyes, he saw something unsettling—a hunger far greater than before, a voracious need that went beyond mere power.

She stepped closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. Her lips curved into a slow, almost satisfied smile, as if she had finally achieved something she had longed for.

— Now, you can give me what I truly desire, — she whispered, her voice low and almost intimate. Her fingers lightly brushed his shoulder, testing the reality of her creation. — The power inside you... the ancient blood awakened... It’s the key to a new world.