Chapter Four — Flames at Hollowspire
The night wind screamed through the broken towers of Hollowspire, carrying sparks from the fires below. The ruined outpost sat on the edge of Vaelborn's border, half-consumed by ash long before the war reached it. Kairo, Lyra, and Ashen darted through its crumbling corridors, hunted by the mercenaries who had been dogging their heels since Greywick.
"Kairo!" Lyra's voice was sharp but ragged—she had not stopped running in hours. Her long braid was tangled, a streak of mud across her cheek. But her eyes burned with determination. "They're closing in—we need a way out!"
Kairo clutched the pouch at his side, feeling the Dragon's Tear shifting inside as if it was… breathing. The warmth against his ribs was no longer comforting—it swelled in rhythm with his own heartbeat, almost urging him to act.
Ashen, the monk, slowed only enough to glance back. His voice was calm, but urgent. "We cannot run forever. If the Tear senses your fear, Kairo, it may act on its own."
"What does that mean?" Kairo snapped.
"It means," Ashen replied, drawing the thin-bladed staff from his back, "that you're holding something alive."
They burst into a shattered courtyard. From above, moonlight poured through the missing roof, revealing a dozen mercenaries pouring in from the gates—armored in steel, faces hidden behind visors. At their front, the captain strode forward, a hulking man with a jagged axe and eyes like cold iron.
"Kairo of Greywick," he called, voice echoing like a war drum. "Give me the Tear, and I'll let your friends live."
Kairo couldn't help a laugh—half bravado, half panic. "Not happening."
The captain's lips curled. "Then die with it."
The mercenaries surged forward. Steel clashed. Lyra's curved blade danced in the moonlight, her steps nimble like wind weaving through reeds, cutting down two foes. Ashen moved like water, staff striking with surgical precision, knocking soldiers back without killing them.
But there were too many.
Kairo backed toward the broken fountain in the courtyard, his foot catching on ancient rubble. As one of the mercenaries lunged at him, instinct took over—he yanked the Dragon's Tear from his pouch.
The world stopped.
The Tear blazed with impossible light, a swirling storm of blue and gold spilling into the air. Gravity seemed to vanish; the mercenary froze mid-stride, his armor glowing in spectral threads.
Then came the roar.
It rolled through the stones beneath their feet, making the ruins tremble. Above them, in the moonlight—no, beyond it—an immense shadow coiled in the sky. Scales like the ocean at sunrise, horns curved like ancient spires, wings stretching across the horizon.
The celestial dragon.
Its massive head dipped low, eyes locking on Kairo. Bearer… why do you run?
The voice wasn't sound—it was thought, thunder pressed into his mind.
Kairo's fingers tightened around the Tear. "Because they keep trying to kill me!"
Then stand, the dragon's voice commanded, rumbling through every bone in his body. And I will make them kneel.
Light exploded outward. Every mercenary in the courtyard was seared by its brilliance, their weapons clattering to the ground as unseen force hurled them backward. The captain tried to rise, only to find a massive spectral claw pinning him to the stones. His visor shattered, revealing terrified eyes.
Lyra shielded her face from the light, staring at Kairo as if seeing him for the first time. "You—what did you just DO?"
"I… don't know," Kairo murmured, lowering the Tear. The light faded, the dragon's colossal shadow dissolving into the night sky.
By the time Kairo looked around, the mercenaries were gone—fled or collapsed, their fear outweighing their greed.
Ashen stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "You didn't 'do' that, boy. The Tear chose to defend you. It means you are more to it than just its thief."
Kairo glanced down at the shimmering sphere in his hands, the warmth now gentle again. And, faintly, he felt the dragon's presence lingering—a silent watch in the corners of his mind.
He realized something deep within his chest:
This wasn't just about surviving anymore.
It was about *why* the Tear had chosen him… and what it wanted him to become.
Lyra sheathed her sword. "Then we keep moving. Whatever that was, it just painted a bigger target on your back."
Kairo smirked, trying to hide the tremor in his hands. "Good. Let them come."
In the distance, lightning flashed over the mountains. War was still coming—and now, they had a weapon that could change its fate.