The Dragon’s Covenant
The sharp taste of ash burned Kael’s tongue as he gasped for breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He crouched behind the jagged wreck of a fallen basalt column, his boots sliding on loose shards of volcanic glass. The ground trembled again, shaking his perch and sending blackened debris cascading down the slope.
The dragon roared, a guttural thunder that rattled his teeth. The sound reverberated through the wasteland, each echo bringing it closer. Too close.
Kael gripped the leather-wrapped vial beneath his cloak. The glass was cool and fragile against his palm, its faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat. His heartbeat. He was supposed to be ready—destined to be ready. That’s what the Council had told him. But now, with the shadow of Drakthar circling above, every breath felt like a betrayal of that belief.
“Find Corwin. Retrieve the elixir. Prove yourself, Your Majesty,” the Elders had said. Their voices had been smooth and confident, their words a clever mask for their true intent. If Kael failed, the Council would keep control of the kingdom. If he succeeded, they would still find a way to wield him as their puppet king.
He knew the stakes, yet he had come anyway.
The wind shifted, carrying the acrid tang of sulfur that stung his eyes and throat. A massive shadow swept over him, blotting out the ash-choked sky. He pressed himself against the basalt, his breath shallow, his thoughts racing. The Council wanted him to fail. The dragon wanted him to burn. His people—his people—needed him to survive.
The roar came again, shaking the ground beneath his knees. Kael glanced upward, his breath catching. Drakthar—the shadow of the Wastelands—descended from the sky, his black scales shimmering with an oily, iridescent sheen. The dragon’s claws sliced into the slope, sending shards of volcanic rock skittering toward Kael’s hiding place. Smoke curled from its nostrils as its golden eyes scanned the desolation, unblinking.
Kael swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He couldn’t run. Running meant death—swift and certain. Staying might mean death too, but slower, crueler. Yet he couldn’t afford to die here. Not when his kingdom was slipping further from his grasp with every passing day.
This isn’t about me. It never was.
The thought steadied him, just enough to act. He tightened his grip on the vial and darted from his cover, boots crunching over brittle rock as he sprinted toward the narrow canyon ahead. Drakthar’s roar split the air, a wall of sound that shook his bones. He didn’t look back.
The dragon’s shadow loomed closer, the ground trembling with each thunderous beat of its wings. Heat licked at his back, and Kael dove forward just as a blast of fire scorched the ground where he had stood. He hit the ground hard, volcanic glass slicing into his palms. A sharp hiss of pain escaped his lips, but he scrambled to his feet and plunged into the canyon, the narrow walls closing around him like a shield.
Kael staggered to a stop, his chest heaving. The canyon’s eerie silence enveloped him, broken only by the soft hum of magic that emanated from the walls. The surfaces were etched with glowing runes, their patterns shifting and pulsing faintly, as though alive. Ahead, an iron gate loomed impossibly tall, its surface covered in twisting, golden patterns that seemed to ripple like molten metal.
He took a step forward, wincing as his bruised muscles protested. Every step felt heavier, as though the weight of the crown he didn’t yet wear pressed down on him. He had been raised in courts and councils, taught the etiquette of kingship, but none of it had prepared him for this.
The gate flared with light, and a voice boomed, deep and resonant. “State your purpose.”
Kael forced himself upright, his fingers brushing the vial for courage. “I am Kael Ardrian,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “King of Aralith. I seek Corwin.”
The gate remained silent for a moment, then groaned as its massive doors began to part. A faint glow spilled out, carrying with it a wave of warmth that was almost too much after the frozen desolation of the Wastelands.
Kael stepped forward into another world. Galt’s Hearth was alive—a sprawling forge of invention and magic. Glass globes floated midair, casting flickering light over robed mages and grim-faced inventors. Steam hissed from pipes as intricate mechanisms clicked and spun in rhythmic symphony. The air smelled of heated metal and alchemical fumes, sharp yet oddly comforting.
For the first time in days, Kael felt a flicker of awe. This was the kind of power he had been taught to revere—a kingdom of creation, innovation, and mastery. But the awe was short-lived. The ground trembled as a familiar shadow swept over him.
Drakthar landed with a deafening crash, his claws gouging into the polished stone. The dragon’s golden eyes locked onto Kael, unblinking.
“You reek of them,” Drakthar growled, smoke curling from his nostrils. “The Council. Their lies cling to you like rot. Why should I not incinerate you here, boy?”
Kael’s throat tightened. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. But he had run through fire and ash to get here, and he would not falter now.
“I’m not here for the Council,” Kael said, his voice steadier than he expected. “I’m here for my people.”
Drakthar tilted his head, his gaze unrelenting. “Your people? Or your crown?”
Kael flinched. He wanted to say both, but he knew the dragon wouldn’t accept lies. He wasn’t even sure he could accept them himself.
The dragon’s claws struck the ground, and fire erupted in a searing ring around Kael. The flames coalesced into three shapes: a cauldron of molten gold, a rippling mirror, and a sword embedded in stone.
“Choose,” Drakthar commanded. “Your choice will reveal your truth.”
Kael’s gaze lingered on the mirror. Its surface shifted and shimmered, alive with possibility. When he stepped closer, his reflection sharpened—not the boy standing in rags, but a vision of power. A crown rested on his head, his face cold, his hands bound by golden chains. The reflection smiled, its eyes filled with cruelty.
Kael took a step back, his chest tightening. He didn’t want to look, but the image seemed to pull him closer. The reflection whispered promises of strength, glory, and vengeance.
“No,” Kael said, his voice trembling but resolute. He turned to Drakthar. “I don’t want to be their puppet—or yours. I’ll rule my way, or not at all.”
The mirror shattered, its shards dissolving into smoke. The flames vanished, leaving the dragon’s gaze heavy with approval.
“You speak as though you believe it,” Drakthar rumbled. “We shall see.”
Kael never saw the explosion coming.
One moment, Galt’s Hearth buzzed with frenetic energy. The next, the gates were obliterated, molten fragments scattering across the courtyard. The Council’s forces stormed through the breach, their silver-armored ranks gleaming in the firelight.
“Idiot,” Corwin muttered, gripping a staff as he shoved past Kael. “They’ve hunted us for years. And now you’ve led them right to us.”
Kael’s stomach churned. “I didn’t—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Corwin snapped. “The fight’s here now.”
Lightning arced from mages’ hands, shattering barriers. Automatons collapsed in sparking heaps as soldiers advanced. Above, Drakthar unleashed torrents of flame, his massive wings stirring up clouds of ash and smoke. Kael stumbled through the chaos, gripping the vial as if it were a lifeline.
He turned, spotting a girl pinned beneath a fallen beam. Without thinking, he ran to her, gritting his teeth against the heat as he grasped the beam. His muscles screamed, his palms blistering, but he heaved the beam aside, freeing her. She scrambled away, her wide eyes locked on his for a brief moment before she disappeared into the fray.
Kael rose, blood dripping from his hands. His grip tightened on his staff as he turned to face the soldiers. For the first time, he wasn’t running.
By dawn, the Council’s forces had retreated, their banners abandoned among the rubble. Drakthar perched atop the shattered gates, his golden eyes scanning the horizon.
Kael approached, battered but unbowed. He held the vial aloft. “The Council sent me to take your elixir,” he said. “But I won’t give it to them.”
Drakthar tilted his head, smoke curling from his nostrils. “And what will you do, little king?”
Kael’s voice was steady, unyielding. “I’ll decide who it saves.”
The dragon’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment. Then, with a rumbling laugh, Drakthar spread his wings. “Perhaps you are worthy after all.”
As dawn broke over the Wastelands, Kael turned toward the horizon. The burden of the vial was no lighter, but for the first time, he carried it willingly.
I love dragons......and I love this story