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(Midnight, Velmoria Palace)
Eyan lay sprawled across his bed, the chamber shrouded in silence. In his hand, his wedding ring glimmered faintly in the moonlight, the symbol of vows he himself could barely understand anymore. His thoughts churned like a storm, tangled with lies, truths, and the weight of choices pressing down on him.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged him under. Sleep claimed him.
The dream came swiftly.
A grand hall opened before him, endless pillars rising into darkness. At its heart stood a vast block of black marble, polished so smoothly it gleamed as though the night sky had been trapped within. A boy of five—Eyan's younger self—stood before it, wide-eyed, clutching his father's hand.
"Wow… it's so beautiful," the boy whispered. "Father, what is that?"
King Thalor Therald rested a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. His voice rumbled with authority.
"This, my son, is no ordinary marble. It is the prison of the Dragon King."
"The Dragon King?" Little Eyan's eyes sparkled.
"Yes," Thalor nodded gravely. "The very dragon I have told you about. The one who can grant any wish."
Eyan's gaze brightened with childish wonder. "If he can grant wishes… then why is he trapped in this marble? Who can free him, Father?"
"Only those who bear the name of Therald may release him. That power lies within our bloodline."
The boy's face lit up. "Really? Then I'll do it! I'll free him!"
His tiny hands reached out, touching the smooth, cold surface of the marble.
But before he could press further, King Thalor swiftly took the stone from him, his expression hardening.
"No, Eyan. You can release him… but you must never do so."
Eyan blinked in confusion. "Why, Father?"
Thalor crouched down to his level, eyes sharp as steel. His tone was low, commanding.
"Listen carefully, my son. If you ever release the dragon, punishment will follow."
The boy frowned. "Punishment?"
"Yes. A punishment you cannot escape."
"What kind of punishment, Father?"
Thalor's lips parted, his gaze shadowed. "The punishment is—"
But before the words could be spoken,The dream dissolved.
Another vision unfolded—a throne room drenched in shadows.
Queen Seris Valenne (Eyan's mother) was on her knees, her wrists bound in chains, blood streaking down her temple. An enemy's blade hovered at her throat, its steel glinting with menace.
Before her stood King Thalor Therald, sword in hand, yet helpless—Behind him, little Eyan clutched his father's cloak, eyes wide with terror.
"Emperor," the enemy snarled, pressing the blade closer, "release the Dragon King… or watch your wife die."
Seris's voice broke through the silence, trembling yet fierce. "No, Your Majesty! You cannot—think of Eyan, think of our son!"
Her eyes locked with her husband's, burning with desperate resolve. "If you release the Dragon King… I will never forgive you."
Thalor's gaze wavered, then fell to his boy. "Eyan," he whispered hoarsely, "close your eyes son."
Seris's lips curved into a tearful smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty…"
A single tear slid down Thalor's cheek.
The enemy sneered. "So that's your choice." With a swift motion, his sword arced downward.
Seris's scream pierced the chamber. Her body collapsed, blood spreading across the marble floor.
Eyan had shut his eyes, just as his father said. He saw nothing—but the sound of his mother's final cry carved itself into his soul.
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The vision shattered.
"Mother!" Eyan jolted upright, his voice raw, his face wet with tears. His chest heaved as though the weight of the nightmare still pressed on him.
In his trembling hand, his wedding ring gleamed faintly in the light. He clenched it so tightly his knuckles turned white.
For a long moment, silence filled the chamber—only his ragged breaths breaking through. Then, with resolve hardening in his eyes, he whispered:
"I know what to do now."
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