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Chapter 2: Rebirth in the Flame of Vengeance
The first thing Kael felt was heat.
Not the gentle warmth of sunlight, nor the searing agony of open flame — but a primal, devouring fire that burned from the marrow outward. It was alive. Breathing. Roaring.
His eyes snapped open to darkness.
Then, with a sound like a dragon exhaling after a millennium's slumber, black fire erupted around him, swallowing the void.
> "Awaken, my heir," came the deep, resonant voice of Vaelzareth, thundering through the emptiness. "This is not your grave. It is your forge."
Kael's breath caught. His last memory was of cold steel through flesh, of siblings' faces lit by greed. His body had been broken, pierced, and drained of everything — his mana, his will, even the Shadow itself.
But now…
His fingers curled into a fist.
He was whole.
No — more than whole. His veins thrummed with a new, alien power, heavier and darker than before. Each pulse of his heart was a drumbeat of war. The flames surrounding him shimmered between crimson and pitch, a color that defied mortal sight.
"What… happened?" His voice was low, ragged.
The dragon's vast silhouette loomed in the darkness — wings unfurled, eyes like twin suns in an eternal night.
> "They took your life, but not your soul," Vaelzareth rumbled. "I have bound your essence to the First Flame — the heart of my being. You will return to the mortal realm. You will carry my Shadow. But Kael Drakarys…"
The air quaked.
> "You will no longer be the same."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You mean—"
> "Your path as heir is gone. They will not see you coming. You will walk among them as one forgotten… until the day you take everything."
The fire dimmed — not in weakness, but in focus — drawing inward, pouring into Kael's chest like molten metal filling a mold. His heartbeat slowed, then struck once more with the weight of a war drum.
Knowledge flooded his mind. The Shadow Art — complete, perfect, and unshackled. Forbidden forms no heir was ever meant to know bled into his consciousness. Movements that could silence a god. Flames that could burn a soul from its vessel.
Kael clenched his jaw. The image of Eira's eyes — cold, resolute — seared itself into him. The sound of his siblings' blades slicing through his flesh echoed like a chorus in his memory.
> Eight blades.
Eight debts.
Eight graves.
"I understand," he said at last, his voice steady — too steady. "Send me back."
Vaelzareth's maw curved into something like a draconic smile.
> "Go, my heir. Burn the false blood from our line. Let the world learn what becomes of those who betray the Shadow."
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The darkness tore open.
Kael's eyes flew open again — but now there was air, cold and biting. He lay in a bed he recognized, though it had been years since he'd seen it: his chamber in the western wing of Drakarys Keep.
Outside the window, the banners of his house fluttered in the dawn wind. The day was quiet, peaceful — the kind of peace that concealed rot beneath its surface.
He exhaled slowly, watching the faint wisp of black-crimson smoke coil from his lips.
He had returned.
Not to the day of his Ascension… but two years before it.
Plenty of time.
Plenty of rope for his siblings to hang themselves with.
Kael rose from his bed, every movement precise, deliberate. His crimson-rose eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light.
The boy they remembered was gone.
The thing that stood in his place was sharper, darker, patient.
And somewhere deep in the keep, eight futures had already been written — in blood.
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Next Chapter Tease:
Chapter 3: The Wolf Among Hatchlings
"Kael plays the obedient younger brother once more… but every smile hides a blade, and every word carries the weight of execution."
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