A thunderous roar split the sky, rolling like distant thunder across the kingdom. Kaira, the White Dragon, broke through the clouds, her massive wings casting sweeping shadows over fields and rooftops. Scales of pale silver and frost gleamed under the midday sun, each one larger than a knight's shield, refracting light in sharp, blinding flashes. The air turned crisp with the scent of winter wind and ancient ozone as she banked toward Castle Draven, her talons extended like curved ivory blades.
Below, the people froze in streets and markets, heads tilting skyward. Shouts erupted in waves.
"It's the great white dragon! The Patriarch has returned!"
Hooves clopped steadily along the wide stone road leading to the gates. Among the elite guards of Draven kingdom—black cloaks edged in silver, helms bearing the coiled-dragon crest—the Patriarch rode at the center, tall and armored in dark plate etched with faint runes. He raised a gauntleted hand in measured waves to the cheering crowds, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his helm.
Kaira descended with deliberate grace into the vast courtyard of Castle Draven. Her landing shook the flagstones; dust swirled upward in lazy spirals, and the banners overhead snapped taut. Steam curled from her nostrils in thin white plumes. The elders of the house already stood in a solemn line, heavy robes of deep crimson and gold pooling around them, heads bowed low.
"The elders of House Draven greet the Familiar of the First Patriarch," one intoned, voice carrying over the settling wind.
Kaira's enormous head lowered slightly, golden eyes sweeping over them like judgment. She did not pause. With a slow, deliberate stride that made the ground tremble faintly, she moved past, tail coiling behind her like living smoke.
Seraphiel dismounted in one fluid motion, boots ringing on stone. His gaze immediately found Kaira weaving through the open space, then the elders waiting with rigid deference. He approached, cloak billowing slightly in the dragon's residual wind.
"What brings the elders of Draven together in the courtyard?" he asked, voice steady and low.
"Greetings, Lord Seraphiel," replied the elder of House Thalos, inclining his head. "We trust your journey has met with success."
"Yes, Elder Thalos," Seraphiel replied. "Let us not linger here. Head inside; I shall join you shortly."
"Lord Raphiel," said the elder of House Dravenir, stroking his iron-gray beard, "Kaira seems… displeased, from what I can see."
"You know she still does not fully listen to me," Seraphiel said, eyes tracking the dragon's slow circuit. "I was not the one she first chose as Patriarch, after all."
"It may be so, Lord Seraphiel," Elder Elyndor said, "but your brother's strength was never meant to rule alone. He understood that. Which is why he entrusted the kingdom to you." He inclined his head slightly. "Strength can conquer. Judgment is what preserves."
Seraphiel's lips curved in a brief, humorless smile. "You flatter me, Elder Elyndor."
The elders filed inside, robes whispering against stone. Seraphiel paused, gaze lingering on Kaira's distant form, before turning toward the towering double doors of the keep.
"They praise me too much, don't they, Lucas?"
"Elder Elyndor likely hopes you grant his son a place in the Black Squad," Lucas replied dryly.
"The Black Squad is for the strongest alone. If he wishes to join, let him earn it by his own strength, not by his name," Seraphiel said, voice cold and firm.
Seraphiel entered the castle. Torchlight flickered along high vaulted corridors, casting long shadows across tapestries that depicted ancient battles and the First Patriarch riding Kaira into storm-wracked skies. Elarys, his wife, stood waiting in the arched doorway ahead, her dark hair bound in silver threads, expression calm but watchful.
Vlad, his youngest son, broke from her side and ran forward, small boots echoing.
"Father, welcome back!" he called, eyes bright with desperate hope.
Seraphiel looked down, head held high, the lines of his face carved from stone.
"Move."
Vlad froze. The light in his eyes guttered out. He lowered his head slowly, small fists clenching at his sides as he fought the tremble in his lip and the sting behind his eyes.
Seraphiel advanced without another glance. Lucas stepped back, resting a gentle hand briefly on Vlad's dark hair in silent comfort.
"Greetings, Father," Cassian and Maelis said in unison, voices smooth and practiced.
"Has Lysera not returned?" Seraphiel asked.
"No, Father. Elder sister remains on her patronage," Cassian replied.
Vlad watched from a distance, shoulders hunched.
"Let's eat, then."
The family moved to the long oak table in the hall, where servants had already laid platters of roasted venison, dark bread, and spiced wine. Torch flames danced in iron sconces; the scent of herbs and smoke filled the air. Cassian spoke of his latest achievements in the training yard, voice carrying confidence. Maelis shared how she had mastered a new weave of advanced magic, blue sparks flickering at her fingertips as demonstration.
Vlad remained silent, staring at his untouched plate, thinking to himself, If I join the Black Squad, maybe Father will speak to me too.
The heavy doors creaked open. Seraphiel's older brother entered, cloak dusted with road dirt.
"Raphiel, we need to talk," Aldric said.
"The elders are waiting for me in the courtroom. We'll talk later," Seraphiel replied.
Aldric stepped closer. "You'll meet me in the courtyard after you've finished eating."
Seraphiel continued his meal without reply.
"Uncle, will you not eat with us?" Vlad asked quietly.
"Sorry, Vlad. I have something important to do. I'll join you for dinner, I promise," Aldric replied, offering a small, warm smile.
"Sucking up to Uncle as always," Cassian muttered. Maelis giggled in agreement.
Aldric walked out. Seraphiel finished, rose, and followed, Lucas at his side.
"Lucas, you should stay here," Seraphiel said.
In the courtyard, Aldric waited beside Kaira. The dragon lowered her massive head; Aldric reached up and patted her snout gently, scales cool and smooth under his palm.
"What is it, Aldric?" Seraphiel asked.
"It's about Valeren," Aldric replied.
"Did the Black Squad report any movements?"
"Erik went alone this time. Valeren has made a pact with the fire dragon Kaiser."
"So they are gathering power," Seraphiel said, frowning.
Aldric and Seraphiel stood side by side. Kaira nudged Aldric's shoulder with surprising gentleness.
"Kaira is quite affectionate with you, isn't she, brother?" Seraphiel remarked.
"Everyone treats Kaira as Aurelion Dravenir, the First Patriarch's Familiar," Aldric said. "But Aurelion never made a pact with her. She stayed with the family to protect the descendants of her dear friend. Her loyalty is love, not obligation."
"Not knowing that everyone tries to control her, she will never bow to power. I suggest you stop wasting your time trying, brother," Aldric added.
Seraphiel sighed. "I shall address this matter to the elders then."
"No! Not now. I do not fully trust the elders," Aldric warned.
"Do you realize what you are suggesting?" Seraphiel said quietly.
Does anyone among the Five Families dare to oppose Aldric Dravenir?
"Do nothing unnecessary, brother," Seraphiel said, sighing.
"Worry about yourself," Aldric replied.
Seraphiel nodded and walked toward the courtroom.
"Raphiel," Aldric called after him, "you should be a little nicer to Vlad."
"You know the situation, Aldric," Seraphiel replied without looking back.
He pushed open the heavy courtroom doors. The elders were already seated around the long table, voices low.
"Forgive me for being late," he said.
"No, my lord," they chorused.
"Then let us speak."
The doors shut with a resonant thud.
After Seraphiel left, Aldric wandered through the quiet corridors, a worn leather book tucked under his arm. The castle gardens opened before him—twilight deepening, the scent of night-blooming jasmine drifting on cool air, stone paths silvered by early moonlight.
There, on a low stone bench beneath a gnarled oak, Vlad sat alone, knees drawn up, small frame hunched.
"Vlad, what are you doing sitting alone?" Aldric asked as he approached.
Vlad slowly turned. "Uncle Aldric…"
Fresh cuts streaked his cheeks—thin red lines, some still beading with blood. A bruise was already blooming along his jaw.
Aldric crouched in front of him, tilting Vlad's chin gently to examine the wounds under the fading light.
"What happened to your face?"
"It's nothing… I just fell down the stairs," Vlad said, voice small.
Aldric's eyes narrowed. He knew the lie.
"Let me heal you. Look straight at me."
Vlad obeyed. Aldric placed a palm near the cuts; soft golden light pulsed from his fingers, warm as sunlight. The edges of the wounds knit slowly, pain easing into a dull throb.
"Thank you, Uncle," Vlad whispered.
"I'll teach you some healing magic. Your mana is low, so you won't be able to fully close wounds yet, but it'll come in handy," Aldric said.
Vlad managed a faint smile. "I'll join the Black Squad and get stronger, so you won't have to worry about me all the time, Uncle."
Aldric laughed softly, ruffling Vlad's hair. "Oh! Is that so? Then I'll look forward to giving you missions."
He held out the book. "Here. Take this. It's about the First Patriarch's journey."
"No… I can't take it. It's yours. If I take it, what will you read?" Vlad said, hesitating.
"It's a gift from me. Take it," Aldric insisted.
"I will cherish it, then," Vlad said, grin breaking through. He clutched the book to his chest and ran off laughing down the path.
Aldric watched him go, then muttered to himself,
"If only you weren't of Dravenir blood… you might have been happier."
He looked up at the sky. The night had fully settled, stars sharp against velvet black.
"Come out," he said calmly.
"I can't hide my presence from you, can I?" Erik stepped from behind a thick yew tree, shadows clinging to his black uniform.
"Did you speak with the Patriarch?" Erik asked.
"Yes."
"Then the mission?"
"Put it on hold for now."
"As you command, Lord Aldric."
Aldric paused. "Erik… do you know what happened to Vlad?"
"You mean his wounds?"
"Yes."
"Young Master Vlad was beaten by Cassian's followers at the training grounds this evening."
"So he's been going there," Aldric muttered.
"Yes. I've been watching him. Young Master Vlad has remarkable stamina, but his mana is still weak for a Dravenir."
Aldric let out a long sigh. "You may return to the quarters."
Erik vanished into the darkness without a sound.
Night deepened.
Vlad ran through the torch-lit corridors, book pressed tight to his chest, heading toward his mother's room.
He stopped outside her door, hesitating, then knocked softly.
"Come in," Elarys called.
Vlad entered. The room was warm, lit by a single low fire and candles on the writing desk. Elarys looked up from her parchment, quill still in hand.
"Mother… are you busy?"
"Never for you."
Vlad stepped closer and carefully placed the book on her table.
"Uncle gave me this. He said it's about the First Patriarch."
Elarys's gaze softened as she picked it up, fingers tracing the worn embossed dragon on the cover.
"Aurelion Dravenir," she said quietly. "Your uncle always favored this story."
"Will you… read it to me?" Vlad asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Elarys smiled and patted the cushion beside her. Vlad climbed up, leaning against her side. She opened the book and began to read, her voice calm and steady, weaving the tale of ancient journeys and unbreakable bonds.
Vlad listened, eyes wide, small hand resting on the open page.
"Mother," he asked softly during a pause, "will I become strong too, like the First Patriarch?"
Elarys looked down at him and smiled. She rested a hand on his head, fingers gentle in his hair.
"Yes, my dear," she said quietly.
She continued reading until Vlad's grip on the book loosened, his breathing slowed, and his head grew heavy against her shoulder.
Elarys closed the book softly and brushed his hair back.
"Sleep well, son," she whispered.
"Will you be standing outside all night?" Elarys asked softly.
Seraphiel stepped into the room from the shadowed doorway. His gaze fell on Vlad, asleep on his mother's lap. He crossed the room quietly and reached out, brushing a strand of hair from the boy's forehead with surprising gentleness.
"He probably hates me, doesn't he?" Seraphiel asked, voice low.
Elarys shook her head. "Vlad wouldn't hate anyone. He's so kind."
"I don't want to see him getting hurt," Seraphiel said, lowering his eyes.
Elarys pulled him into a quiet embrace.
"Everything is going to be okay."
Morning light slipped through the heavy curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
Vlad stirred, blinking slowly. For a moment he looked around—his mother's room, her steady breathing beside him. He slipped out carefully, not wanting to wake her, and padded barefoot into the corridor.
The castle was already awake. Servants moved briskly, carrying trays and linens. From somewhere distant came the rhythmic clash of steel on steel from the training grounds.
Vlad tightened his grip on the memory of his mother's words and headed toward the sound.
The training ground was nearly empty at this early hour, dew still glistening on the packed dirt.
Vlad stood alone near the edge, closed his eyes, and placed one hand over his chest. He focused on his breathing—slow, deliberate. Mana stirred inside him, weak and uneven, like a thin thread fraying in the wind.
He tried again. And again.
From the balcony above, Erik watched, arms folded. The boy's control was poor, his output small. But he didn't stop.
Just as Erik turned to leave, footsteps approached.
Cassian stepped onto the field, Riven Thalos and Maeric Elyndor flanking him. They stopped when they saw Vlad sitting cross-legged at the edge, eyes closed, hands trembling slightly as he coaxed the faint blue glow of mana between his fingers.
"Look who's training again," Cassian said, voice dripping mockery.
Riven snorted. "He really doesn't know his place, does he?"
Maeric laughed openly.
Vlad didn't respond. His breathing stayed steady, shoulders tense, jaw set as he forced the thin stream to obey.
Cassian's smile faded. He tilted his head slightly. Riven and Maeric moved at once.
A kick slammed into Vlad's back.
Pain exploded white-hot across his spine. He flew forward, breath knocked out, body tumbling through the dirt. Grit filled his mouth; sharp stones scraped his palms and knees. Laughter rang harsh in his ears.
"Look at him," Riven said.
"Pathetic," Maeric added.
They closed in, voices piling on, cruel and gleeful.
Erik dropped from the balcony, landing lightly between them.
"Attacking someone from behind is a bit cowardly, young master," he said calmly.
The laughter stopped.
Cassian crouched in front of Vlad, leaning close enough that Vlad could smell the mint on his breath.
"Stop embarrassing yourself," he whispered. "No matter how much you train, nothing is going to change when your mana is so weak."
Vlad looked up at him, dirt streaked across his face.
"But Mother said… I can also become strong."
Cassian burst out laughing.
"My apologies," he said casually to Erik.
He stood and turned away.
"Let's go," Cassian said.
Riven and Maeric followed him out.
Vlad remained on the ground, chest heaving.
"You should leave as well, Young Master Vlad," Erik said after a moment.
Vlad slowly pushed himself up, brushing dirt from his torn clothes.
"Thank you, Captain Erik," he said quietly.
"I'll go back after I finish training."
Erik studied him for a long second, then turned and walked away.
Vlad sat down again, stared up at the brightening sky for a moment, then closed his eyes and resumed.
From the shadows near the gate, Riven lingered.
Once Erik disappeared around the corner, Riven slipped back to Cassian and the others.
"Is the captain gone?" Cassian asked.
"Yes," Riven replied. "Vlad's still there. Training alone."
A smirk formed on Cassian's face.
"Good. Let's go teach him a lesson," he said. "A lesson he won't forget."