The aftermath of the battle left Aramoor wounded but not broken.
Kael stood atop the battered ramparts of the city walls, surveying the once-proud skyline. Blackened towers loomed against the bruised sky, smoke still curling from the smoldering wreckage of homes, libraries, and temples. Teams of mages and healers moved tirelessly through the streets, raising wards, tending to the wounded, and recovering the fallen.
Rynn sat nearby, sharpening her twin daggers with methodical precision. Her expression was unreadable, her usual fire dampened but not extinguished.
"You ever think it would end up like this?" she asked, not looking up.
Kael shook his head slowly. "No. I thought we'd come here to learn, to compete... not to fight for our lives."
Rynn snorted softly. "Seems like we're learning plenty."
Kael couldn't argue.
His body still ached from the partial transformation. Even now, he felt the dragon's blood coiling beneath his skin, restless. The title the High Council had bestowed—Champion of the Realm—hung heavy on his shoulders, an honor, and a burden both.
The Council had offered him command of the Stormguard, an elite unit of warriors and mages sworn to defend the realm. But accepting that role would mean accepting everything that came with it: politics, war, betrayal... and the ever-looming prophecy whispering of chaos and fire.
And Kael wasn't sure he could trust the Council—or himself.
A soft touch on his arm jolted him from his thoughts. Rynn stood there now, her green eyes locking onto his with fierce intensity.
"Whatever you choose," she said, "you won't face it alone. I'm with you. Always."
Kael covered her hand with his own, grounding himself in her warmth.
A distant horn sounded from the inner city, a low, somber note. The council was summoning him—to the coronation hall where decisions would be made, alliances forged, and the future written in blood and oaths.
He turned back to Rynn.
"Come with me?"
She grinned, fierce and reckless. "Wouldn't miss it."
Inside the Hall of Crowns
The Hall of Crowns was one of the few places untouched by battle, its vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows still intact. But the air inside was heavy with the scent of incense, blood, and ambition.
The High Council awaited, arrayed in a semi-circle. Behind them stood the banners of the Five Great Houses of Aramoor—symbols of old power, some noble, some treacherous.
The lead councilwoman, Grand Magister Elowen, gestured for Kael to approach.
"You stand here not as a boy from Virestead," she intoned, "but as the heir to ancient blood. The Champion who has turned the tide of despair."
Kael said nothing, his heart pounding in his chest.
"There are forces gathering beyond our borders," Elowen continued. "Dark kings. Exiled sorcerers. Old gods stirring in their graves."
She raised the Scepter of Oaths, a relic older than the kingdom itself.
"We offer you command of the Stormguard. We offer you the right to sit among us—to shape the world to come."
A murmur of approval rose from the gathered nobles.
But Kael's eyes narrowed.
He remembered the visions—the betrayal at the heart of the Dragon King's downfall. Trusting the wrong hands, believing the wrong promises.
He glanced at Rynn, standing solid and silent beside him. Her nod was small, but full of conviction.
Kael took a breath.
"I accept," he said, voice carrying through the hall like a blade drawn from its sheath. "But know this: I will not be your pawn. I serve the realm, not your ambitions."
The silence was absolute.
Then, one by one, the councilors bowed their heads.
It was done.
Kael Stormborn, Champion of the Realm, was no longer a student.
He was a force.
The First Threat Emerges
That night, Kael could not sleep.
The visions had returned—this time clearer, more urgent.
A woman with hair of midnight and a crown of thorns.A tower rising from a sea of fire.And at the center of it all—a black egg, pulsing with malevolent life.
He woke with a gasp, Rynn immediately at his side, blade already drawn.
"Dreams?" she asked.
He nodded, rubbing his temples.
"Not just dreams," he muttered. "Warnings."
The next morning, a raven arrived at the Academy gates—bearing a letter sealed in black wax, marked with a sigil of a serpent devouring its own tail.
The enemy had declared themselves.
A new empire, born of dark blood and broken promises, was rising in the east.
And Kael Stormborn would be the storm that either stopped it—or fed its fires.