The morning after the prophecy was laid bare, Kael Valari found himself on the road to Elarion—the Kingdom of the Elves—escorted by a caravan of diplomats and royal guards. The message from the High King was clear: there would be no war with the Elves, not while something darker stirred in the north.
But Kael knew the truth.
He wasn't being sent to keep the peace. He was being watched.
The King wanted to see what he would do now that he knew.
The Road to Elarion
The cold mist of dawn hung low over the Draganholt plains as the caravan rode east. Trees shifted from barren oaks to ancient firs, and the land became quieter, the kind of silence that breathed.
Kael rode near the rear, flanked by Ser Jareth and a handful of hardened guards. The diplomat leading the envoy was Lord Cedric Arren—a soft-spoken man with small eyes and large ambitions.
"Do not speak unless spoken to in the Elven court," Cedric had told Kael. "They respect silence more than boasts, and pride more than flattery."
Kael hadn't responded. He wasn't here to impress elves.
He was here for answers.
The dreams had returned. Flames licking across frost-covered corpses. A throne made of ash and bone. A dragon screaming into endless dark.
And eyes—blue as death.
The Edge of the World
Two days later, the trees grew impossibly tall.
This was Myrrhvale, the border forest of Elarion. Here, the light shifted green, and the wind smelled of lilac and steel. Tiny glowing moths drifted between leaves like embers. Birds did not sing here. Instead, the trees themselves seemed to whisper.
Kael could feel it.
Magic.
Living, breathing, watching.
A horn sounded above them—a note sharp and pure—and out of the branches dropped three Elven sentinels, landing without sound upon the trail. Cloaked in forest-green, silver circlets upon their brows, they held longbows carved from starwood.
The lead elf stepped forward.
"State your purpose in the Realm of Elarion."
Lord Cedric cleared his throat, bowing low. "By order of High King Varric Dragan, we come bearing terms of alliance. A message for Queen Seralyth of the Verdant Court."
The elf's eyes lingered on Kael. "And him?"
Kael met the stare. "Kael Valari."
The elf blinked once. "He may not enter the Court."
"He is under the High King's protection," Cedric protested.
"He is of fire," the elf said coldly. "We smell it on him. Fire scorches the Green."
Kael stepped forward, ignoring Cedric's hiss of warning. "If your Queen values peace, she'll hear us all."
A long moment passed.
Then the lead elf turned. "Follow."
The Verdant Court
The capital of Elarion was not built — it had grown.
Massive tree-structures arched over living platforms and twisting stairs. Waterfalls flowed through roots that glowed with runes. Elves moved like wind, their armor made of woven vines and silver thread. Music hung in the air — not played, but sung by the forest itself.
Kael could feel every step inside the city pulling at something deep in his chest. Not fear — but memory. Recognition.
He was being drawn here.
And she was waiting.
The Queen and the Heir
Queen Seralyth sat upon a living throne woven from the roots of a thousand-year tree. Her hair was silver and braided down her back, her eyes like winter moons. Around her stood ministers, generals, and advisors — all staring at Kael like he was a burning arrow on silk.
"We know of the undead stirring in Gravemire," Seralyth said to Cedric. "We've seen the frost creeping into our rivers. Do you come asking for our armies?"
"We come offering alliance," Cedric replied, carefully. "And... protection."
A hush.
"From what?" she asked, sharply.
"From the Chosen One," said a voice from the shadows.
Kael turned — and saw her.
Princess Elyria.
Tall and graceful, armored in silverleaf, a sword strapped to her back. Her skin was luminous, her eyes the color of dawn, her presence both regal and electric. Every step she took was measured, lethal.
"You bring him into our wood," she said, never looking away from Kael. "You bring him here."
Kael braced himself. "You know me?"
She stopped a pace away, studying him.
"I've seen you... in visions," she said softly. "And I hoped they were lies."
Then she struck.
Not with blade — but with words.
"You are fire. You are destruction. Your kind burns what it cannot hold. And your blood is cursed."
Kael's mouth opened, but no sound came.
Queen Seralyth raised a hand. "Enough, Elyria. We will not condemn a man for what he may become. Not yet."
Elyria stepped back. "He should not be here."
"He will remain," the Queen decreed. "Until we know what he is."
Nightfall and Whispers
That evening, Kael was quartered in the guest house carved into the roots of the central tree. It was lavish, but cold. The Elves had not given him a guard — only a warning.
He wandered the garden paths alone, unable to sleep.
And then — she was there.
Elyria stood beneath a flowering moon-bloom tree, staring out over the city of living wood.
Kael approached, slowly.
"I'm not your enemy," he said quietly.
"You might be everyone's," she replied.
He stepped beside her. "Why do you hate me?"
She hesitated. "Because I've seen what you'll become. I saw you in flame, standing over corpses. I saw your hands... covered in ash."
"I don't want that."
"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "The prophecy does not care what you want."
Kael stared at her, his voice rough. "Then help me fight it."
She turned to him at last, and something flickered in her gaze. Fear. Doubt. And something more dangerous.
Hope.
"You carry fire, Kael Valari," she said. "But not all fire destroys. Some protects. Some purifies."
Their eyes locked.
And for one dangerous, breathless moment, the world fell away.
She leaned in.
Then—
A cry shattered the stillness.
Horns.
Screams.
The sound of magic cracking through the air.
Kael and Elyria turned toward the city walls.
Above them — black wings blotted out the stars.
The Beast of Bonefire
From the sky came a dragon — but not of flesh.
It was bone and ash, stitched with shadow. Its eyes glowed cold blue.
An undead wyrm.
Elarion's sky-blades launched arrows. Mages summoned fire and shield. Elves leapt to platforms, shouting in the old tongue.
Kael grabbed Elyria's hand.
"We have to move."
She nodded, drawing her sword. "The Queen—!"
"Go," he said. "I'll hold it here."
He sprinted toward the main plaza where the beast landed, cracking stone beneath its claws. The crowd fled in panic.
Kael reached for the hilt of his sword — then stopped.
The scroll.
He pulled it free.
The dragon turned — its icy stare meeting his.
And then — Kael burned.
His veins lit with fire. Not pain — power.
His sword ignited.
The dragon roared.
And Kael screamed back — charging toward death and destiny.