The mountains were alive in ways humans could never understand. Winds howled through jagged peaks like ancient spirits, ice-coated cliffs gleamed under the pale sun, and shadows clung to crags and crevices where predators lurked. To Kael, the mountains were not simply home—they were his teacher, his battlefield, and his sanctuary.
At seventeen, he moved through the frozen terrain with the grace of a predator. Every step was calculated, every breath measured against the biting air. His golden eyes, cold and unreadable, scanned the horizon endlessly. The mountains demanded vigilance; one slip could mean death. And yet, Kael's mind was calm, precise, and undistracted. He had learned long ago that panic was weakness. Survival was all that mattered.
Before the sun had fully risen, Kael crouched atop a high ledge overlooking a herd of mountain goats grazing near a frozen ridge. The chill cut through his thin tunic, but he felt nothing. He watched the goats, noting their movements, listening to the faint sounds of hoofs on stone, the rustle of wind through frost-laden grass.
Then he moved. A single, silent leap carried him down the cliffs, landing with perfect balance on the rocky ground. The goats barely had time to lift their heads before Kael struck. Claws extended in flashes of gold, scales flickering briefly beneath his skin, his elemental fire teasing the air.
The first goat fell silently, the second immobilized before it could flee. Kael was fast, precise, efficient. The hunt was over almost before it began. He gutted and skinned the goats with practiced efficiency, using every part. Nothing went to waste. Survival had taught him to value every resource, every opportunity, every lesson.
As the morning light spilled over the peaks, a low growl carried on the wind. Wolves—six of them, massive and vicious, moving in coordinated formation—emerged from the treeline. Humans might have panicked. Kael did not. He crouched, invisible to them in the shadow of a cliff. Each wolf's movement, each breath, each flick of its tail was noted, cataloged, and anticipated.
When they lunged, Kael flowed. Fire licked the tips of his fingers, subtle enough to unsettle, not burn. He struck with precision. Claws, tail, and lightning-quick reflexes—every strike measured to incapacitate, not destroy. The wolves scattered, terrified. One let out a howl that echoed through the valley, a warning to anything that might dare challenge him. Kael's face remained unreadable. No pride. No thrill. Only the satisfaction of survival and dominance.
Kael had also begun to test himself against humans—not villagers, but the bandits, hunters, and greedy traders who ventured into the mountains hoping for easy plunder. One day, a group of five armed bandits crept toward a small homestead. Kael watched from a ridge, invisible, as they planned their raid. He did not hesitate. Moving like a shadow, he descended silently, leaving no trace of his approach.
A faint warmth radiated from his hands, golden sparks curling into the air—enough to make the bandits uneasy. Then he struck. They never saw him clearly; only glimpses of movement and flashes of gold. In seconds, they were disarmed, bruised, and terrified, fleeing into the forest with their tails between their legs.
The villagers later whispered about the "silver-eyed ghost," but no one saw Kael. No one knew his face, his name, or the true nature of his power. Even among dragons, none would have recognized his lineage. Kael's identity as the son of the Primordial Dragon Emperor remained hidden, even from himself at times.
When the sun sank behind the jagged peaks, Kael climbed to the highest cliff he knew. The wind shredded his hair and ripped at his thin tunic, but he felt nothing. He closed his eyes and sat cross-legged, meditating. Here, he tested the fire within him, bending it subtly, learning control.
Golden scales flickered across his arms and back in fleeting moments, flashes of his ancient bloodline. He focused on instincts, reflexes, and strategy, training every sense to be sharper than the keenest blade. He reflected on his mother, her gentle smile, and her untimely death. He allowed no sorrow, only the drive for survival. Emotion was a weapon he could not afford to expose, and he had already lost enough to weakness. Only when he would one day meet the dragon women, Selara and the others would he allow any warmth into his heart.
The mountains whispered secrets to him the paths of beasts, the hiding places of humans, the flow of elemental energies. He listened, he learned, and he grew stronger. Rumors reached distant villages about the ghost in the mountains. Livestock vanished, hunters fled, and faint scorch marks were found where no human had passed. Whispers of a silver-eyed figure untouchable, unreadable, unstoppable, spread like wildfire. Far beyond, in her tower of crystal and flame, Selara sensed the stirrings.
The whispers of magic, the traces of an ancient power awakening, reached her senses. "So… he exists," she murmured, eyes gleaming. "The stories are true. And he is… interesting." She did not know the full truth. She did not know he was the last of the Primordial Dragons, heir to a legacy older than kingdoms. That revelation would come only when trust, proximity, and destiny aligned. Until then, Kael remained a ghost, a legend, and a mystery.
Night enveloped the mountains. Kael crouched atop the highest ridge, the cold biting, stars sparkling overhead. He thought of nothing but survival, mastery, and the fire awakening within him. He had learned patience, control, and silence. He had learned to endure, to dominate without boasting, to survive without exposure. Every gust of wind, every flicker of movement in the shadows, every distant howl of a wolf or eagle became a lesson, a signal, a step toward mastery. He was learning to read the world as it truly was, to anticipate threats no one else could, and to sharpen his senses to the edge of perfection. Destiny waited. Selara and the dragon women would arrive one day. And when they did, the mountain ghost would remain a mystery… until he chose to reveal himself.
Kael exhaled, the cold air forming clouds around his face. His golden eyes scanned the peaks, distant forests, and valleys below. Every shadow was a threat, every gust of wind a lesson, every flicker of light a test. And with each passing day, the Primordial Dragon within him strengthened, preparing for the battles, the allies, and the love that would come, unknown to the world, hidden until the perfect moment. He was patient, unreadable, unstoppable. The mountain's ghost had become a legend, one that the world would never forget, and one that even Selara, powerful and cunning, had yet to fully understand.