**ARC 1: The Binding (Ch. 1–20)**
*Theme: Duty, Secrets, Awakening*
**Chapter 1: The Wedding**
Elira stood in her chamber as the storm screamed outside the palace. Lightning licked the sky, thunder shaking the stone walls of Ryvenhold. The wind howled through the cracks like a warning. She wore a ceremonial gown the color of mourning snow, stitched with dragonbone thread. It felt like a shroud. Her maids dared not speak. Her mother did not come.
She was eighteen today. Old enough to bind. Old enough to burn.
The Great Hall had been transformed for the rite. Banners of both realms hung in tense stillness: the gold-crested flame of House Ryvenhold and the ember-black wing of the Dragon Brood. The air buzzed with fear and incense. At the center of the hall, a circle of obsidian was carved into the marble floor—the old seal of the Pact.
Kiran stood on the far side of the seal. The dragon prince. Cloaked in crimson and shadow. No horns, no scales—not in this form. But his eyes gave him away: golden and slitted, like coals trying not to flare. He was taller than she expected, quieter, stiller.
A priest began to chant.
Elira stepped forward as instructed, barefoot across cold stone, her spine rigid with defiance. She would not kneel. Not for him. Not for this.
"Elira of Ryvenhold, do you offer yourself to the Pact of Flame?"
"I do," she said. Her voice did not shake.
"Kiran of the Brood, do you accept this offering?"
"I do," the prince replied. His voice was low and strange, not human, not beast.
A blade was brought forth. Not gold, but black as regret.
"Blood for peace. Blood for flame."
She did not flinch when they cut her palm.
She stepped into the seal and let her blood drip onto its center. The moment her blood struck the obsidian, the air cracked.
A deep rumble groaned through the chamber like something ancient waking.
The seal pulsed red. Then white. Then black.
Pain lanced through Elira's wrist. She staggered back, clutching her arm as fire coiled beneath her skin. A symbol carved itself into her flesh—not drawn, not branded, but *written* by something unseen.
Gasps echoed through the hall. Nobles whispered. The priest dropped his scroll.
"What is this?" Elira hissed, backing away. "What have you done to me?"
Kiran did not move. His golden eyes locked on hers.
"You have not been cursed," he said. "You have been claimed."
And far below the castle, deep within the sealed caverns of the earth, something *answered* the mark with a whisper of flame.
**crown her... or destroy her.