Erwin felt an odd twinge of recognition as Charlotte spoke. The pieces were falling into place, like echoes from a half-remembered tale.
"What exactly is this Draconic bloodline talent?" he asked.
Charlotte explained, "It's Merlin's legacy. Back in his day, wizards were seen as cursed—hunted down and burned alive. King Uther, desperate for an heir after a childless marriage, staged a coup and struck a bargain with the goblins using Ancient Magic. He wanted a son, and they granted it... but at a steep price. The ancient arts demand balance: to create life, something must be lost. Uther got his boy, but the goblins claimed his wife Ygraine's life in return. Bitter and vengeful, Uther outlawed all magic in his realm under pain of death."
"Merlin was just an apprentice then. He stumbled upon the last dragon on earth and awakened his talent for speaking to dragons. It let him command their tongue and wield dragon magic—the raw, world-shaking power of old. Later, he split his bloodline into four branches, seeding the great families with these Draconic gifts. Merlin's records say each lineage holds a unique aspect. Unite them through ancient rituals, and you unlock the full dragon tamer bloodline."
Erwin nodded slowly. No wonder it rang a bell. This was straight out of the legends of Merlin—the greatest wizard, the final dragon lord. The dragons of that era weren't the brute beasts of today, belching fire and little else. Those ancient ones commanded true magic, forces that could reshape the land. Time had eroded the details in Erwin's memory, but fragments lingered: prophecies, hidden heirs, a final stand against tyranny.
"You mentioned the four great families' bloodlines uniting?" he pressed.
Charlotte confirmed with a nod. "Only their chosen heirs carry the Dragon Speaker marks. Through secret rites and Ancient Magic, these bloodlines can consume one another, merging into something greater."
Erwin's eyes narrowed. "So that's why you're here—with me. To claim my bloodline?"
She gave a wry, pained smile. "Not anymore. Mine's already been taken."
He blinked, caught off guard. "Taken? By Alva or Demos?"
She shook her head. "No. By the Solents—the Solent family."
Erwin's brow furrowed. "You said the lower four families were loyal retainers to the upper ones. How'd they pull that off? Are you holding back?"
Seeing the suspicion harden on his face, Charlotte dropped to one knee, her voice urgent. "My lord, I swear it—everything's out in the open. The Solents are traitors, scavengers. They unearthed some forbidden rite from Merlin knows where. While the Theresa family clashed with the Demoses up front, the Solents struck from behind. They wiped out my kin and siphoned my bloodline. If not for a hidden escape ward, I'd be gone too—fled here to England as our last hope."
Erwin studied her, weighing the raw edge in her words. It felt authentic, stripped of deception. "So your own servants stabbed you in the back?"
Humiliation flushed her cheeks, but she met his gaze. "Yes. The truth stings, but there it is."
A spark of dark amusement lit Erwin's eyes. "Now that's a twist. Unreliable help can bite hard—if the lower houses have that kind of edge, the upper ones might not be as secure as they think."
Charlotte shook her head again. "Not likely. The Solent heir's a ruthless sort, mad for lost lore. He's one of the rare few today with a knack for Ancient Magic—bartering with the goblins for power, no doubt. That's probably how they got their edge."
Erwin mulled it over. Ancient Magic talent—he had that stirring in his veins too, locked away for now. Trading with goblins? Bargains that twisted fate? It had a perilous allure, like dancing on a knife's edge.
"One more thing," he said. "Why did Merlin scatter these bloodlines across four families? What was he after?"
She shrugged helplessly. "No one's sure. The records are sealed tight—tied to some grand secret, but the details? Lost. Claim Merlin's mantle, and maybe the full story unlocks."
Erwin leaned back, satisfied for the moment. Charlotte had cracked open doors he'd been pounding on for days. Enemies clarified: the Solents, Alvas, and Demoses—all gunning for his blood, no choice in the matter. Their lineages demanded it, turning rivals into hunters. And the other lower houses? Hidden threats, potentially. If the Solents could turn the tables, who said the rest couldn't follow suit?
It was a grim shift. Just days ago, the world felt full of tentative allies. Now? Shadows everywhere.
"Blimey," he muttered. "Life moves fast. Anyway—back to the bloodlines. You said each Dragon Speaker talent's distinct. What's yours?"
"It's guarded knowledge," she replied. "Heirs don't advertise. But the Theresas specialized in bonds—we forged pacts with dragons, turning them into loyal mounts and allies. Modern ones, mind you, not the ancient behemoths."
Erwin's mind flashed to the dream: him astride a soaring beast, wind whipping past. So that vision stemmed from her gift, absorbed into his own.
"And the others?" he asked. "What do you know about Alva and Demos?"
"The Alvas are ghosts—elusive, uninterested in the hunt. Their heirs vanish into the ether; no one's crossed them in ages. As for the Demoses..." Her voice trailed off, laced with old venom, leaving the air thick with unspoken grudges.
Erwin didn't press. The web was tangled enough for one night. But as Charlotte rose, her eyes steady on his, he felt the weight of alliances forged in blood—and the blade that could sever them. In the wizarding world, loyalty was as fragile as a goblin's gold.