Within its core chamber, a woman of porcelain skin and ink-black hair opened her eyes. Her gaze turned toward the ripple—the claiming of the Rune Stone.
"So... another rises," she whispered. "And he bears the mark of defiance."
Behind her, a tapestry of glass mirrors reflected not her face—but Ethan's, standing proudly in the Dragonkin Sanctum.
"Shall we greet him, Mistress?" a voice slithered from the dark.
"Not yet," she murmured, smiling faintly. "Let him gather his pieces. The game has only just begun.
---
Back at the Dragonkin Sanctum
Ethan stood atop one of the high spires, wind howling around him. He watched his people below—Claimants, as they now called themselves—working together to build, to secure, to survive.
But his eyes were fixed beyond.
Toward the next sanctum.
Toward the unknown.
And in his chest, the Rune Stone he had claimed pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat.
Calling others to rise.
Challenging him to contin
