The dense jungle of Tharnyx Ridge echoed with the growls of monsters and the screech of distant wyverns. Myrelion stood atop a cliff, his eyes scanning the thick mist below. He was hunting a rare alchemical herb—Moonmire Bloom—for a healing potion needed by a Thaelorian noble. But as he stepped deeper into the ancient forest, something else called to him.
It was faint at first. A pulse. A rhythm.
A heartbeat that wasn't his own.
Thump. Thump.
Then it grew louder.
Thump. THUMP.
Myrelion dropped to a knee, clutching his chest. A glowing, ancient rune on his left ribcage flickered to life—one he had never seen before.
Visions flooded his mind: a silver-haired woman, crowned in starlight armor, whispering to a giant obsidian-scaled dragon… His mother.
Princess Virelya Velgaeron—Crowned Princess of the Elytharan Empire.
The voice of a dragon echoed through his soul:
"Dracovita... The blood of the dragon-callers returns…"