The first thing Kaelen knew was cold. Cold biting through his skin, cold sinking into his bones. He opened his eyes but only saw black stone and dripping water. His head felt heavy, his mouth dry like sand.
When he tried to move, the chains rattled. Thick iron, wrapped tight around his wrists and ankles, heavy enough that even breathing felt like dragging weight. Strange marks burned faint blue on the metal, pulsing when he pulled too hard.
He sucked in air, his chest aching. "Where… where…" His voice cracked like it didn't belong to him.
The dungeon stank of mold, of blood old and new, of fire smoke buried in stone. The walls sweated damp. In the far corner, rats scurried, bold and fat.
Kaelen tried again to sit up, but the chain on his chest yanked him down. He lay on the cold slab, staring up at the ceiling, counting the cracks just to stay awake.
His hand twitched. No fire came. Nothing answered. The blood in him was quiet, like it had been stuffed into a jar and sealed shut.
He remembered the cloaked woman's scream, remembered the guards hitting her down. He whispered her face in the dark, "Please… don't be dead."
The silence gave no answer.
Far above, in the high tower of black stone, another man sat awake.
The Emperor of Elyndor leaned back in his carved chair, robes spilling like shadow around him. His crown wasn't gold, but black iron, shaped sharp like claws. He had ruled thirty years, and still his eyes burned sharp, cold as coals with no flame left.
Before him, the council stood in half-circle. Generals in steel, priests in their ash-white robes, scribes holding tablets. Torches crackled but no one dared speak too loud.
The captain who led the capture still had dust on his armor. He bowed low. "Sire, the creature is chained below. Just as you commanded."
The Emperor tilted his head. "Creature? I was told he bled like a man."
The captain swallowed. "He bleeds fire, Majesty. Not blood. He… he burned through half my men before the shackles bound him."
Whispers rippled in the chamber. The priests muttered prayers.
One of the generals, old with scarred jaw, spat on the floor. "Demon spawn. Let us end him now. A blade to the throat and be rid of this curse."
But the Emperor only smiled thin. "If fire falls into your hand, do you snuff it, or do you learn how to wield it?"
The general froze. "Majesty, it's too dangerous—"
"Dangerous?" The Emperor rose, his voice cutting. "Elyndor is built on danger. On chains and flame. Did you think the old prophecies were lies?"
The priests shifted uneasily. One of them, an old man with clouded eyes, spoke. "The Dragon-blood will rise in ash and ruin… it was written. He is not weapon, Majesty. He is ending."
The Emperor turned his cold gaze on the priest. "Then let us hold the ending in our hands. If the boy carries dragon fire, then he belongs to me."
Silence filled the hall.
The Emperor stepped down from his seat, slow, every bootstep echoing. He stopped before the captain. "Tell me… did he look afraid?"
The captain nodded quick. "Yes, Majesty. Afraid of himself more than us. He tried not to burn the woman."
The Emperor's smile deepened, cruel. "Good. Fear makes chains stronger."
Back in the dungeon, Kaelen's breath came ragged. The chains burned against his skin every time he shifted. His head shook with fever. He thought he heard footsteps—light, too light for a guard.
A figure in white robes appeared outside the bars. A priest, face half-hidden under hood. The man watched him long, silent.
Kaelen spoke out, "Who… who are you?"
The priest didn't answer. He just pressed a small mark on the bars, whispering words Kaelen couldn't catch. The chains flared blue again, tighter, biting into his wrists till he groaned.
Then the priest leaned close to the bars and whispered, "You shouldn't have been born."
Kaelen's chest clenched. His anger sparked, but the fire stayed dead, trapped. His voice broke rough. "Where is she? The woman—tell me she's alive."
The priest only smiled thin, then vanished back into the dark.
Kaelen pulled at the chains till his skin tore raw. Nothing gave. Nothing.
The drip of water was the only sound after.
Above, the Emperor turned back to his council.
"Let the people believe he is chained. Let them whisper of demons in the dark. Fear will keep them quiet. But…" He raised one hand, curling his fingers like claws, "…when I unleash him, when his fire burns for Elyndor, no kingdom will stand."
One of the scribes dared ask, "And if he refuses, Majesty?"
The Emperor's smile was thin as knives. "Then we break him. Fire can be taught to bend, or it can be snuffed. Either way… it will serve."
He waved his hand, ending the council. Guards pounded fists to chest and marched out.
Only when the chamber emptied did the Emperor look toward the window, the city burning with torchlight below. His voice was low, almost to himself.
"The dragon returns… and it is mine."
Deep in the dungeon, Kaelen's eyes closed heavy. Chains pulled him down.
But in his chest, in the marrow of his bones, the fire stirred again—slow, quiet, waiting.
And far above, the Emperor already planned the day it would be set loose.