Kieran's soul drifted into a vast, endless void—a place of neither light nor darkness, a place where time did not exist. He felt nothing and heard nothing. His body was gone, and his mind was hollow as if he had never existed.
In a realm beyond the mortal world, the ancestors of the Drakalon gathered. They stood in a circular chamber that was woven from golden mist. It was a sacred place where only the souls of the fallen leaders, the Drakhaals, could tread.
They were the last remnants of an extinct race and powerful beings who had once ruled the skies and land. Now, they were nothing more than whispers in eternity.
"The Drakalon bloodline must not end here," An elder spoke with a deep and commanding voice. "The Drakhaal fought until the very end, but our enemies have won. We cannot allow this defeat."
Another ancestor, a woman with silver scales tracing her arms, nodded. "We have dragonfire, the essence of our kind. We can send him back. We can make him rise again."
The others murmured in agreement. They could still feel the remnants of Kieran's power. It was faint but present. If they acted now, they could reignite the fire within him.
They turned to where Kieran's soul lay, floating between existence and nothingness. His body had perished, but his spirit remained. Unfortunately, something was wrong.
His soul was fractured.
On one side, his cougar lay silent and unmoving, and on the other side, his dragon rested with its dark wings folded in slumber. Both lay apart from him, detached from his essence and refusing to stir.
The ancestors exchanged uneasy glances.
"The witches bound his beast and dragon before he died," Another murmured. "Even in death, the magic holds."
A heavy silence fell.
If his dragon and cougar remained dormant, not even dragonfire could bring him back. He would remain in this void with his soul forever divided.
"There is another way," The eldest of them all finally spoke. "The great dragon, his family's eternal companion. It has always answered the call of our bloodline. Perhaps it can breathe life into him."
A wave of agreement swept through the chamber and together, they called out to the mighty beast. Their voices echoed through the realm as they summoned the ancient dragon that had stood beside Kieran's ancestors for centuries. If anything could reignite his soul, it was this creature.
But there was no response.
They called again, pouring their combined strength into the summon. But still, there was silence.
"The dragon does not answer," One elder whispered. "It is as if it has died with him."
Defeat washed over them as they realized their last hope had failed.
"There is nothing left for us to do," The eldest said with a sigh. "We cannot awaken him, we must let him rest."
And so, they guided Kieran's soul to the resting place of fallen warriors, an ethereal sanctuary where golden fields stretched endlessly beneath a dark sky.
There, his soul would sleep, undisturbed.
HOURS LATER...
There was a shift in the air and a tremor in the void.
Kieran stirred.
The ancestors, sensing the sudden change, rushed to the sacred resting place. There, they found Kieran's soul trembling as if it was struggling to wake up.
"He is trying to return," One of them whispered. Seeing that, the elders gathered around and called to him, urging him to wake.
"Kieran," The eldest said with a steady voice. "You must rise."
Slowly, Kieran's soul became aware of their voices. Memories flooded back—his people slaughtered, his mate lying in a pool of blood, his enemies standing over him as he choked on his final breath.
Rage flared within him and with that, he regained consciousness and looked around. What was this place? And how did he get there? Reading his thoughts, the eldest responded.
"You are in a sacred place, the realm where souls of fallen Drakhaals tread. You got here after being killed in a war that destroyed our kind."
"Our kind... Lysandra..." He muttered to himself, his voice hoarse.
"You were not meant to fall. Your death has left a wound upon our people that may never heal."
"I fought until the end. I did all I could." Kieran replied with his fists clenched. "I want to return. My soul will not rest while they still live."
"And that is why you are here. We cannot accept defeat. The blood of the Drakalons must not fade into history, you must return."
The ancestors nodded in agreement.
"But your cougar and dragon still lie dead. The dragonfire was meant to revive you, to restore what was lost. But your soul remains fractured. Your other selves remain bound."
Kieran turned and looked at his two halves lying beside him. He couldn't feel them.
"They were locked away by powerful magic," Another Elder explained. "We called upon your family's dragon, hoping its fire could awaken them, but it did not answer. Without them, you're nothing"
On hearing that, Kieran looked up at them. He couldn't believe his family's dragon and guardian had abandoned him. "It refused?"
"It did refuse."
Silence hung heavy in the air.
"What does that mean?" Kieran finally asked.
"It means that you must fight for them," Another Elder explained. "You must reclaim what was lost and force your soul back together. Only then can you return."
Kieran turned back to his two halves and reached out, trying to pull them into himself, but the moment he touched them, a sizzling pain shot through him as if his very essence was being torn apart.
He gritted his teeth and tried again. And again.
Each time, the pain worsened and each time, he failed. The elders watched in silence. They could not interfere because that was his battle alone.
Even though time did not exist in the realm, Kieran struggled for what felt like hours—but in the real world, years had passed.
He fought against the invisible chains that bound his cougar and dragon and clawed at the magic that had sealed them away. He kept failing, but every failure only fueled his determination. He refused to be powerless, he refused to remain dead.
Finally, after an endless struggle, something shifted. The bindings weakened, if only slightly. Kieran pushed harder, roaring in defiance as he forced his soul to reclaim what had been taken. At long last, the dragon and the cougar returned to him. They were still silent, still dormant, but they were his once more.
Exhausted but victorious, Kieran turned to the ancestors. "Send me back."
The elders exchanged glances, then nodded. They had waited too long for this moment. Gathering around him, they started chanting in an ancient tongue, binding their forces with that of the Eclipse Spirit.
Power whirled through the golden fields and wrapped around Kieran's soul, weaving it back into existence. As the magic reached its peak, the eldest ancestor stepped forward.
"You will return, but be warned—your true strength is still locked away. Until you awaken them, you will not be what you once were."
Kieran clenched his fists. "Then I will find a way to wake them."
With one final surge of energy, the ancestors completed the ritual. The golden fields dissolved around him, and darkness swallowed his soul.
•••
PRESENT DAY~
{TEN YEARS AFTER THE FALL OF DRAVENTHALL}
•••{PYROS' EMBER}•••
Thunder crashed above and heavy rain poured down, soaking the ground as Kieran's body jolted back to life. It was as if he had just woken from a terrible nightmare.
His eyes fluttered open, but the blinding storm around him made it impossible to see clearly. Cold, wet earth pressed against his skin and the scent of soil and ancient roots filled his lungs, leaving something heavy, weighing on his chest.
He tried to move, but his body felt strange like it didn't belong to him. His limbs were stiff and unsteady, but still, he sunk his fingers into the mud and managed to push himself up to a kneeling position.
The world spun around him, distorted by flashes of memory that turned out to be a complete massacre.
The memory of it all sent a deep ache through him and his breathing quickened. He tried to focus, but the memories came in disjointed flashes and fragmented pieces that offered no clarity.
On all fours, he stared at his hands. They looked... unfamiliar. The old markings on his right hand were gone—the ancient sigils that showed he had been chosen by the Eclipse Spirit as the true Drakhaal.
His body felt different, lighter, yet heavier in the wrong ways. The markings on his chest were also gone and it felt empty like a part of him was missing. But he couldn't remember what.
Reaching inward, he searched for the presence of his other halves—his cougar and dragon. But there was only silence, a terrifying, suffocating silence. Just as his strength, they were gone, buried so deep that even he could not reach them.
Panic clawed at his chest.
With trembling hands and ragged breath, he pushed himself up as the storm raked across the sky. It was as though the heavens themselves were angry.
Just then, the memories struck him again—the war. The betrayal. His death...
Kieran's heart pounded in his chest as he focused on the familiar land. This was where he had fallen, where he had died. But something was different. The ground, the air, nothing felt at peace.
As the rain fell harder, Kieran staggered backward, instinctively trying to shield himself from the deluge. He didn't know what had happened before he woke up or how he had returned.
His mind was blank with no memory of what had happened in the realm and it was as though that knowledge belonged to another world, one that had closed its doors behind him.
The only thing he knew was this—He was alive and the battle was far from over.