The dead dragon’s blood was thick, smelling of scorched earth and heavy metals. It pooled in the cracks of the volcanic glass, sizzling quietly against the cold ash.
Goran was the first to approach, his massive boots making heavy *crunching* sounds in the gravel. He stopped at the base of the drake’s neck, looking up at Kaelen, who was still perched on the snout. The northern giant slowly lowered his massive iron club, his expression a mixture of profound shock and a deep, ancestral awe.
"You killed a mountain," Goran rumbled, his voice shaking the ash from his tattoos. "In the Frost-Peaks, the men who slay drakes are made chieftains. They are given songs."
"Save the singing for later, Goran," Kaelen said, his voice a bit raspy as he gingerly touched his bruised ribs. He slid down the side of the beast's massive jaw, landing lightly in the ash. He winced, a sharp breath catching in his throat, but his confident smirk never wavered. "Right now, I need a new sword. Mine looks like a half-eaten lightning rod."
He held up the iron blade. The top six inches had completely melted into a distorted, jagged lump of slag from the sheer intensity of his core's output.
Sylvia stepped out from the shadows of a nearby ridge, her amber eyes scanning the massive carcass before settling on Kaelen. Her usual sharp, venomous posture had completely vanished, replaced by a tense, cautious reverence. "You didn't just kill it, Kai," she whispered, her silver hair catching the dull light of the wastes. "Look at the core."
Kaelen turned.
From the wound beneath the dragon's golden eye, a faint, rhythmic pulse of amber light began to glow. It wasn't the volatile, chaotic purple of the corrupted Blood-Howlers. This was pure, ancient earth mana. The light grew brighter, condensing until a basketball-sized orb of solid, crystalized earth energy floated slowly out of the skull, hovering over the dragon's snout.
"A Dragon Core," Jax gasped, creeping out from behind a boulder, his eyes practically turning into the shape of gold coins. "The merchants in the capital would trade an entire duchy for that. We're rich. We can desert right now, cross the sea, and live like kings!"
"We're not selling it, Jax," Kaelen said smoothly, stepping toward the hovering orb.
"Are you insane?!" Jax cried, throwing his hands up. "That thing can power a fortress barrier for a century!"
"Exactly," Kaelen said, a wild, ambitious spark igniting in his eyes. "Which means it can power something much better."
Before anyone could stop him, Kaelen reached out and wrapped his bare hands around the glowing amber core.
The moment his fingers touched the crystal, a violent shockwave of pure gravity mana erupted from the stone. Jax was thrown off his feet, and Goran had to slam his club into the ground to anchor himself. The earth beneath Kaelen’s boots violently sank three inches, the immense gravitational pressure trying to force him to his knees.
*Thump. Thump.*
The dragon's heart wasn't beating, but the core was. A deep, ancient consciousness brushed against Kaelen’s mind—heavy, stubborn, and furious at being subdued by a fragile creature of flesh and bone.
*Bow,* the mountain demanded.
Kaelen ground his teeth, his jaw locking as the azure lightning inside his blood violently flared to life to fight the gravity. He didn't pull back. Instead, he forced his consciousness straight into the core, his rebellious, unyielding soul slamming against the dragon's residual will like a thunderbolt.
*I don't bow to my brothers,* Kaelen fired back through the mental link, his thoughts sharp and lethal. *And I certainly don't bow to a dead lizard. You want a master who sits on a gold chair? Go find one. But if you want to see the empires of this world fall, you fly with me.*
The core violently shuddered. The amber light turned a deep, fiery gold, and the crushing gravity pressure suddenly vanished.
With a soft, melodic ring, the basketball-sized core rapidly condensed, shrinking until it became a flawless, fist-sized amber gemstone that dropped perfectly into Kaelen’s palm.
At the same time, the massive, lifeless body of the Iron-Scale Drake let out a deep, structural groan. The overlapping plates of obsidian-like armor across its back began to peel away smoothly, shedding from the flesh like loose bark. The scales stacked themselves neatly in the ash, perfectly preserved and ready to be forged.
Kaelen turned to his squad, tossing the condensed dragon stone lightly in his hand before slipping it into his rucksack. His smirk was wider than ever, entirely unbothered by the fact that he had just tamed the essence of a mythical beast.
"Sylvia," Kaelen commanded, his voice taking on that natural, royal authority. "Pack the scales. We’re going to find a forge in these wastes, and we're going to build an armor that can take a kingdom."
Sylvia stared at the neat stacks of indestructible scales, then up at the young prince. She slowly dropped to one knee, her dark cloak pooling around her in the ash. For the first time, her head was bowed in genuine, unforced submission.
"As you command, Captain," she said softly.
## Chapter 8: The Echo in the Palace
Three hundred leagues away, the rain had stopped over the Capital, but the atmosphere inside the Royal Council Chamber was colder than any mountain storm.
A massive, circular table carved from weirwood occupied the center of the room. Prince Kenneth sat at the right hand of the empty throne, his heavy gold armor gleaming under the crystal chandeliers. Across from him sat Prince Kian, casually spinning a silver quill between his fingers, though his eyes were completely devoid of their usual warmth.
"The border garrisons have reported nothing," Kenneth growled, slamming his fist onto the table, causing the tactical maps to jump. "A prince of the blood doesn't simply vanish into thin air. Reinhardt is hiding something at the Iron-Garrison. I should march the First Legion down there and tear that fortress apart brick by brick."
"Do keep your voice down, Kenneth, the servants are gossiping enough as it is," Kian said smoothly, though his jaw tightened. His silk robes were new—the wine-stained ones from three weeks ago had been burned. "Marching a legion to the border would signal weakness to our neighbors. Besides, Kaelen didn't get kidnapped."
Kenneth narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"He left his signet ring on his balcony. He left his royal daggers. He took a commoner's rucksack and a rusted iron stick," Kian said, leaning back, his expression darkening as he recalled the blue lightning that had shattered his glass. "Our little brother didn't run from danger. He ran from *us*. He’s playing soldier somewhere."
"A fool's errand," Kenneth sneered. "He has no tactical training, no army, and no political backing. If he enters the wild lands, the tribes will have his head on a pike within a week."
Before Kian could respond, the heavy iron doors of the council chamber burst open.
A breathless royal messenger stumbled into the room, his uniform covered in dust from a hard ride, holding a sealed leather cylinder. He bypassed the ministers and dropped directly to his knees before the two princes.
"Your Highnesses! An urgent report from the Eastern border intelligence!" the messenger gasped out.
Kenneth snatched the cylinder, tearing it open and pulling out a single sheet of rough parchment. As his eyes scanned the lines, the arrogant smirk on his face slowly froze. His fingers tightened around the paper until the thick parchment began to tear.
"What is it?" Kian asked, his eyes narrowing as he watched his brother's reaction. "Did a border tribe raid a village?"
"No," Kenneth whispered, his voice suddenly sounding hollow. He looked up, staring blankly at the empty throne. "A new independent rogue unit has emerged past the wall. They’ve successfully crossed into the Ash-Wastes."
Kian let out a soft, mocking laugh. "A bunch of criminals and deserters. Why do we care?"
Kenneth threw the paper onto the weirwood table, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and a sudden, creeping terror.
"Because according to the scouts, two days ago, that unit encountered the Iron-Scale Drake of the Black Peaks. The monster that slaughtered our entire Third Vanguard Vanguard ten years ago." Kenneth pointed a shaking finger at the report. "The drake is dead. And the scouts report the unit is now led by a teenage boy who fights with azure lightning... and he’s currently marching deeper into the unconquered lands."
Kian’s silver quill snapped perfectly in half between his fingers. He stared at the report, the color slowly draining from his face as the image of Kaelen's cocky, rebellious smile flashed in his mind.
The fourth prince wasn't playing soldier. He was building an army.