[Kael's Perspective — White Willow Room]
The amber glow of late afternoon filtered through the worn curtains of the old study, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The floorboards creaked beneath Kael's feet as he knelt in meditation, surrounded by open scrolls, torn maps, and remnants of dried ink. The light gently touched the draconic book before him, whose once-blank pages now pulsed with living inscriptions.
His chest rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. Each time he invoked the draconic language, it felt as if time and space wavered around him. The letters seemed to dance, shaped by the sound of unspoken thoughts.
"The traitor wears the skin of the ally."
The newly-revealed phrase was etched in flaming script, as if the words themselves had been drawn by fire. As Kael touched them, he felt the heat of truth — and the weight of betrayal.
[Kael's Memories — The War of a Thousand Years]
Flames. Screams. Lightning.
The memories hit him like a raging river, dragging him into forgotten times. He was once more in the body of the war's hero — or rather, in his own forgotten shadow.
Battlefields stretched as far as the eye could see, littered with the corpses of men, elves, and magical beasts. In the sky, dragons clashed in deadly duels with demonic mounts. The blare of horns mixed with arcane chants. It was the apex of the conflict.
Kael, or his former self, stood before a fortress. Above it flew two banners: one black with the silver serpent of House Virelios; the other, scarlet with the golden dragon of House Eryndor. Both fluttered in the winds of war.
At his side marched warriors in enchanted obsidian armor — the Virelios Wardens. They weren't merely soldiers; they were zealots devoted to an ideology that sought absolute balance between the physical and arcane worlds. Kael now remembered.
The lord of House Virelios — Thamior Virelios — was a man of iron convictions. His face, carved like granite, bore scars from the Cathedral Wars. His eyes burned with dangerous wisdom, twin blue embers. He had two children: Arthen, a military strategist and aura prodigy, and Lysena, a mage of the draconic tongue, one of the few able to write it in blood.
House Virelios and House Eryndor fought side by side, united by an ancestral pact. Together, they led the resistance against the demonic forces and the traitorous houses. But something had changed.
Inside the fortress, Kael once again saw the gathered nobles. Shadows veiled their faces. Whispers of betrayal slithered through the stone walls. The decision had been sealed there: to sacrifice Virelios in exchange for power. The voice that led the pact was familiar… but the memory refused to reveal the face.
Kael felt the pain. Not physical, but spiritual. The pain of failure. Of betrayal. Of not preventing the fall.
[Lyara's Perspective — East Tower Terrace]
The wind played with Lyara's brown hair as she gazed at the horizon. In the distance, the golden mountains dyed by dusk held ancestral secrets. A growing unease had settled in her since Kael began diving into visions of the past. It wasn't just concern for her brother's health — it was a dark premonition.
"He's seeing more than he should…" she murmured to herself.
Sir Osric approached, chest plate unfastened and a jug of wine in hand. "The boy's progressing too fast. It's like reigniting a long-extinct flame with gunpowder."
Lyara frowned. "It's not just the speed. It's the kind of power. The words he reads… they're not ordinary. He's getting lost in these ancient echoes."
"Or finding himself in them," Osric replied with a somber nod. "Heroes aren't born in times of peace, Lady Eryndor."
[Explanation — Draconic Language]
Created by the ancestral dragons themselves, the draconic language was not merely a form of communication but a way to rewrite reality. Each word held magical weight, capable of altering matter, consciousness, and even the flow of time. Ordinary humans who studied it went mad. Those who dared to speak it aged decades in minutes, their bodies corrupted.
But Kael was different. Since his awakening, his body didn't resist — it adapted to the language's energy. It was as if the language recognized in him an ancient inheritance.
[Kael's Perspective — Training Grounds]
The next morning dawned with fog and the metallic scent of dew on earth. Kael breathed deeply, sword in hand, as Sir Osric observed with arms crossed.
The training followed a new structure:
1. Physical Reconstruction:Running on sloped terrain, balancing on floating logs, resistance against heavy training puppets. The goal was to strengthen tendons and joints damaged by the coma.
2. Aura Focus:Kael practiced enveloping his blade with aura, extending the invisible threads until they vibrated in harmony with his intent. He was still in the first stage — Low Knight — but his aura already possessed an unusual shimmer, a dark, glimmering blue unlike the norm.
3. Magic and Draconic Language:He wrote runes into the ground using diluted blood. With each symbol activated, the earth trembled or the air condensed. But the effort came at a price: fatigue, nosebleeds, and strange visions.
Kael looked at his hands.
"My body isn't the same… and neither is my mind."
He remembered Lysena Virelios's face. He had her eyes — or was it the other way around? There was a connection between them, as if their souls shared a fragment.
[Elene's Perspective — Inner Garden]
Elene was gathering night-blooming flowers under the moonlight. Her fingers, though delicate, did not hesitate before thorns. Suddenly, she stood still. Her eyes drifted to the sky. The breeze stopped.
"Someone…"
The word escaped as a whisper.
Elene stumbled backward, as if a silent thunder had pierced her spine. Her eyes, now glazed, reflected constellations that didn't belong to this sky.
"…has awakened in the North."
[Vancor's Perspective — Hidden Tower]
In a subterranean hall, concealed beneath a distant city, men and women in noble robes debated.
"He has awakened. The heir…"
"No. He is only a fragment of what he once was."
"Even a fragment of Kael Eryndor can change the world."
The leader stood. He was tall, with white hair and amber eyes.
"Deploy the sweepers. And reinforce the seals. We cannot allow the truth to surface."
[Kael's Memories — Final Moments of Virelios]
One last memory.
Thamior Virelios, drenched in blood, held the bodies of his children. The castle crumbled behind him.
Kael, the hero, knelt before him.
"You… tried to stop them?"
Kael nodded, tears in his eyes.
"Then take what remains of us. Our story, our honor. The world will need it… once it forgets."
Thamior's hands dissolved into light. And something was sealed within the hero — within Kael.
[Kael's Perspective — Back to Reality]
When Kael opened his eyes, he was crying. He didn't know if it was...