The skies above Morvain turned black—not with storm, but with shadow. A shadow that circled once, then descended like a falling star.
The people ran from the streets, their eyes wide with terror and awe, for they had never seen such a beast. Its wings spanned the width of the palace courtyard, its scales shimmered like onyx soaked in flame, and its eyes—deep gold and ancient—glared down upon the world with the fury of forgotten gods.
The dragon had returned.
And on its back stood Marcus Daemon.
Beside him on the sandstone steps of the Morvain palace, Princess Alina Daemon—his sister by blood. She wore the armor of a warrior, her blade at her hip, and her gaze locked on the skies as the dragon landed. The firelight kissed her features with strength and sadness. She had remained hidden from the world, like Marcus, until the time was right.
That time had come.
The Morvain King, long skeptical of Marcus's lineage, now knelt without a word. For in the presence of a dragon, even kings knew their place.
"This is Veyrion," Marcus said, stepping off the beast's back as it curled its wings behind him. "He is the last of the fireborn. The last ember of the old world. And he answers only to me."
Silence filled the courtyard.
And then, the people of Morvain knelt. Every man, woman, and child bowed their heads—not just to the dragon, but to the man who bore it. A bastard no longer. A prince reborn.
---
Far across the sea of sand, deep in the sapphire halls of the royal court, Prince Cael, now King Cael of Sapphire, sat upon the throne once warmed by his father's presence. The weight of the crown had made him cruel. Bitter. Since the death of King Levi and the disappearance of his sister Elira, Cael had grown colder, more paranoid, more desperate for control.
And in that desperation, he found an ally.
Prince Alric of Velmora, the cold-blooded conqueror, had arrived under the guise of diplomacy—but it was war he promised.
"Marcus is rallying the south," Alric said, swirling his wine as he stood across from Cael. "The Morvain have sworn fealty. Soon, others will follow. But you and I… we have the strength to crush him before the others even know he's risen."
Cael narrowed his eyes. "And what do you want in return, Velmoran?"
"A crown," Alric said simply. "Not Sapphire's. You may keep that. But when the dust settles, I want Thalorywn. And I want Marcus's head."
Cael hesitated. Deep down, he knew Marcus was his half-brother. A bastard. A threat to his birthright. But he also remembered a time when Marcus was a boy, quiet and thoughtful, watching them from the shadows of the court before being cast out.
That boy was gone. In his place stood a man with a dragon.
"Agreed," Cael said at last. "We strike before he gains momentum. Sapphire and Valmora will stand together. Let the rest of the kingdoms choose their side—or fall with him."
---
Back in Morvain, Marcus stood beside Alina as Veyrion roared into the dusk sky, his fire splitting the heavens like a warning to the world.
Marcus turned to his sister. "It's time. We ride for Sapphire. Cael will not yield. Alric will not stop. But I will not let the realm fall into the hands of tyrants."
Alina placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then let the kingdoms remember who you are. Not a bastard. Not a shadow. But a storm."
And so, with fire and steel, the battle for the realm moved into its final phase.
The dragon had awakened.
The kingdoms had chosen their champions.
And the Last Ember burned brighter than ever.