The morning broke with a low mist that clung to the valley floor. Every step Kael took left a print of glowing embers that quickly faded, the echo of power still settling within him. The storm had passed, but something heavier remained — the silence that followed every revelation.
Lira walked beside him, her bow slung across her shoulder, eyes sharp despite her exhaustion. "You didn't sleep," she said quietly.
"Did you?"
She smirked. "Not with you tossing fire in your dreams."
Maelor led them through the fog, his staff tapping the stone path ahead. The forest had thinned, revealing a field of silver-white rock that glowed faintly even without sunlight. In the center stood the ruins — broken arches, shattered statues, and a great circular platform that pulsed softly like a living heart.
"The Silver Temple," Maelor said at last. "Where your ancestors first spoke with dragons… and where the last one fell."
Kael stopped. He could feel it — the hum of power in the air, the same pulse that lived inside him. "Why bring me here?"
Maelor turned, his face hidden beneath his hood. "Because, Kael… this is where you will either master what you are — or be devoured by it."
Lira frowned. "You mean he could die?"
Maelor's grin was thin. "Death is just another lesson, girl. Sometimes, it's the one we learn from most."
The old man motioned for Kael to step onto the circular stone. As Kael's boots touched the surface, light flared beneath him — ancient runes awakening after centuries of silence. The wind shifted. The mist lifted. And the whispers began.
Voices — thousands of them — old, broken, desperate.
"Son of fire… bearer of silver… why do you call us back?"
Kael's breath caught. His veins glowed faintly, his dragon tail flicking as if sensing the power.
"I didn't call you," he said.
But the voices only laughed — a sound that cracked the air.
Suddenly, the ruins trembled. Fragments of broken stone lifted into the air, orbiting Kael in a storm of ancient energy. The runes burned brighter — then burst outward in a spiral of light that threw Maelor and Lira to the ground.
When the light faded, Kael stood at the center — his hair now glowing white-blue, his eyes like twin suns. The runes were etched along his arms, alive with dragonfire.
Lira looked up, awe and fear tangled in her gaze.
"Kael?"
He turned toward her slowly, the air around him shimmering with heat. For a moment, he didn't answer — as if something else was speaking through him.
Then Maelor's staff struck the ground. The light shattered, and Kael collapsed, smoke rising from his hands.
When he woke, Maelor was staring down at him.
"You touched what few dare, boy," the old man said softly. "The voices you heard — they were the remnants of the Silver Line. They remember what your kind once did… and they do not forgive easily."
Kael swallowed hard. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Maelor looked out toward the mountains, where storm clouds gathered once more.
"You learn, Kael. You learn to be both flame and shadow. Because soon… the Demon Ruler will not send scouts."
He turned back to Kael, his pale eyes gleaming.
"He will come himself."