"Found you."
The man standing ahead wasn't just a man. Barefoot in the snow, black hair hanging wild over his shoulders, horns curling from his skull, his presence screamed predator. A faint scar tore across his ribs, still red from a wound not long healed.
Trafalgar studied him, waiting for the pressure to crush his lungs, for the weight of his aura to choke him like Caelvyrn's had. But it didn't. Strong, yes—dangerous, no doubt—but not the suffocating terror of his father or that other dragon.
'So this is the one? Doesn't feel half as heavy as Caelvyrn… or Valttair, for that matter. Not as scary as I thought.'
Beside him, Valttair's voice came cold. "What do you mean by that?"
The dragon's violet eyes gleamed with amusement. He raised a finger, pointing straight at Trafalgar. "That boy. That's what I found. I smelled it in that city… followed the trail until I lost it. Didn't expect him to walk right back into my path. Saves me the trouble."
