Myrelion spent that night walking the halls of his manor, eyes distant, the letter clutched in his hand.
Lira approached him in the moonlight, concern filling her gaze. He held her gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead, whispering only, "I must leave for the Elytharan Empire."
She said nothing, only nodded and placed her hand over his heart.
By morning, he stood armored at the gates, Solaryth coiled in the skies above, casting a radiant glow. Lira handed him a satchel with food and a cloth bearing their daughters' scent.
He promised to return soon.
As he mounted Solaryth and soared eastward toward the Elytharan border, his thoughts churned.
What truth had been kept from him?
What secret was worth calling him home?
And what connection did it have to the dragon-bonding bloodline that now flowed wildly through his veins?
One thing was certain—House Brackwood's secrets were about to come to light.
And Myrelion was ready to face them, no matter the cost.