Lord of the realm

Three hundred leagues to the north, Taeryn stood in the central courtyard of Brynghar High, the knight school of the empire.

The children from across the lands come here to seek guidance from the masters and become knights. After they were knighted, they were picked by the witches as their guardians, companions, and bodyguards, or whatever the witches called them.

It was their duty to oblige the witches.

The tradition dates back hundreds of years.

Taeryn had also come here for the same purpose. After knowing that Jaenor was no more, he grieved the death of his friend and was in a dark place. Then came Darian, who said that his path had started, and he needed to be stronger to move forward.

Darian drilled sense into Taeryn, who wanted nothing but to drink away the rest of his life. He told him that Rena and Baren were training, and the next time they met, they would become stronger. If he doesn't want to be left behind, he needs to get stronger.

Taeryn then decided to train.

Right now, Taeryn was in the courtyard, his spear held in perfect formation as Master Madrian critiqued his stance.

The prestigious knight school had been his salvation after the forest incident, Darian's letter of recommendation opening doors that his common birth never could have.

Like his scattered companions, six months had wrought profound changes in the young man. Where once he had been merely quick with a blade, he now moved with the swift precision of a master weaponist.

His four-star talent had found its true expression not in power, but in the ancient martial disciplines of the Brynghar tradition.

"Your form improves, young lad," Master Madrian acknowledged, circling the practice ring like a hunting cat. "But technique alone will not serve you in true battle. Show me the Alignment of Starfang."

Taeryn's grip tightened on his weapon—no longer the crude spear he had once carried, but a masterwork of dwarven steel inscribed with runes of sharpness and durability.

The Alignment of the Starfang was a legendary technique, supposedly created by Saint Galaharan himself during the War of Six Thrones.

Most students require years to master even its basic forms.

He had learned it in three months.

The spear became a blur of motion, its point tracing patterns in the air that seemed to bend light itself.

Each thrust was precise, calculated, and devastating. The Seven Stars represented seven vital points on the human body, and the technique allowed a master spearman to strike all seven simultaneously through a combination of impossible speed and perfect angles.

As Taeryn completed the movement, all seven phantom strikes collapsed into a single, devastating blow that shattered the reinforced training dummy into a thousand pieces.

The courtyard fell silent.

Even Master Madrian, veteran of a dozen wars and slayer of the Crimson Drake, stood speechless.

The other students—sons and daughters of noble houses who had trained since childhood—stared in awe and no small amount of jealousy.

"Remarkable," Madrian finally managed.

"In thirty-three years of teaching, I have never seen the Starfang performed with such... completeness. You have not merely learned the technique, young man. You have transcended it."

Taeryn lowered his spear, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool morning air.

The forest incident seemed like a lifetime ago, but he could still feel the echo of that terrible power that had scattered him and his companions to the winds.

He had sworn that day never again to be helpless, never again to watch as forces beyond his control shaped his destiny.

"There is one more technique," he said quietly, his eyes meeting his instructor's. "Heavenpiercer's Ascent. I request permission to attempt it."

A murmur ran through the assembled students. The Heavenpiercer's Ascent was more myth than technique, supposedly used only once in recorded history by Saint Galaharan himself during his final battle with the Balak Emperor.

Master Madrian's face paled.

"That technique is forbidden, Taeryn. The last three knights who attempted it died in the process. The human body cannot contain such power."

"With respect, Master," Taeryn replied, his four-star talent beginning to resonate with the ancient runes carved into the courtyard stones, "I am no longer entirely human."

-

-

On the far northeast edge of the empire, there were several islands, including Rakk'moore Isle, the largest of the Beast Islands.

The islands are the habitat of the beastkin, dragonkin, and dwarves, also.

No humans could be seen around these parts of the lands. Few islands are connected to the mainland but mostly remain isolated and untouched by human civilization.

In one of the isles, under a huge mountain, Baren sat cross-legged beside a pool of molten lava, his weathered hands carefully scribing letters on paper.

At twenty-six, he was the oldest of the three companions and perhaps the one most changed by their separation.

The dragons of Rakk'amoore had accepted him with surprising ease, though he suspected Morgana the Enigmatic had played a role in that acceptance. Her letter of introduction had opened doors that mortal gold never could, earning him a place among the beast kin who served as the final line of defence against the horrors that periodically emerged from the Deep Seas.

Six months of training with the ancient wyrms and drakes had transformed not just his body but his very soul.

The Bond of Flames that connected him to Pyraksis, his dragon partner, allowed him to channel the great beast's strength and wisdom. His skin now bore the scale-pattern scars that marked him as Dragon-touched, and his eyes held flecks of gold that reflected his inner fire.

But it was evening now, and Pyraksis slumbered in the great cavern behind him, snoring with sounds like distant thunder.

This was the time Baren reserved for himself, for the memories of the life he had left behind.

My Dearest Ryanna, he wrote, the quill trembling slightly in his calloused fingers.

Six months have passed since I was forced to leave you, and not a day goes by that I do not think of you. I know my departure seemed sudden, perhaps even cowardly, but I pray that someday you will understand the necessity of it.

The incident in the village had changed me in ways I am only beginning to comprehend. The power that was awakened in me that night was not entirely my own, and if I had remained, I fear I might have brought danger to our doorstep. Better to face that danger far from home, where my failures cannot harm those I love most.

I write to you now from the summit of Rakk'amoore Isle, where the dragons have made me one of their own. It sounds fantastical, I know, but I have learned to fly, to breathe flames that can melt steel, and to see through her ancient eyes into realms beyond mortal perception. I am stronger now than I ever dreamed possible, but strength without purpose is meaningless.

Every power I gain, every technique I master, brings me one step closer to the day when I can return to you safely.

He paused in his writing, remembering the morning's training session.

Elder Qorthanos, the ancient red dragon who served as his mentor, had taught him the ways of the dragon kin.

He had helped him with the cultivation that dragons follow. And it brought a great change in him.

Baren's mortal flesh became capable of withstanding temperatures that would vaporize steel, his perception expanded to encompass electromagnetic spectrums invisible to human eyes, and his lifespan temporarily extended to match that of the great dragons.

A gentle rumble from the cavern behind him indicated that Pyraksis was stirring.

The great red dragon rarely slept for more than a few hours at a time, and Baren had learned to synchronize his own rest cycle with hers.

Soon they would take flight again, soaring over the moonlit seas in search of the sea serpents that had been plaguing the shipping lanes.

Until the day we are reunited, I remain your devoted husband.

With all my love, Baren

He concluded.

He sealed the letter with wax and whistled for the messenger bird to take this letter to his beloved wife.

Behind him, Pyraksis emerged from the cavern, her massive form silhouetted against the stars.

He can now transform into a fully grown dragon.

Though he lacked the towering bulk of the full-blooded dragons, his lineage and talent allowed him to assume the form of a mid-sized drake. In that shape, his scales shimmered like tempered steel under the sun, his wings wide enough to cast a shadow over an entire courtyard. The fire in his chest burned just as fiercely as his larger kin, and while he might not match their sheer size, the speed and precision of his strikes made him no less dangerous.

And ever since he came here, he has always wondered about his dragon lineage.

He still knew nothing of his parents—only fragments of rumour and unanswered questions that gnawed at him in the quiet hours. The yearning to uncover the truth burned deep, but for now, he forced himself to turn that fire inward, sharpening his own strength.

Answers could wait; survival could not.