It was pain that woke him. Not the dull ache of a scraped knee or a stubbed toe, but the kind that gripped every inch of his body and gnawed at his bones like a starving animal.
Kael's breath came in ragged bursts. Smoke coiled in his lungs. His eyes stung. He tried to scream but only coughed, his body convulsing as volcanic ash invaded his throat. He rolled onto his side, gagging, blinking through tears.
He lay in the center of a scorched crater, cradled by blackened stone and flickering embers. Flames danced across the edges of what might've once been a temple. Now, it was rubble. Melted spires. Broken runes. A shattered statue of something serpentine with wings—massive wings—collapsed near the edge of the pit.
"Where... am I?" he croaked, his voice hoarse.
A presence stirred within the ruin. Warm. Ancient. Not just heat, but the kind of heat that carried memory, like sunlight on an old battlefield.
Then came the voice. Soft at first, like a lullaby carried by wind over lava.
"You were not meant to hatch, Kael."
Kael's head snapped to the side. A shape emerged from the fire. It shimmered, ever-shifting, like a flame given form. A woman, or the impression of one, carved in magma and smoke. Her eyes burned with suns.
"You... know me?"
"I know what you are," she said. "You are the Dracovault's last egg. The forbidden one."
Kael blinked, the words bouncing uselessly inside his brain. He tried to sit up but his limbs trembled like twigs.
"I'm... Kael. Just Kael. I was—" His voice choked. "I died."
He remembered the fire. The collapsing building. The little girl screaming under fallen wood. He remembered pushing her out. Then heat. Blinding. Crushing. Then nothing.
"Yes," the woman said. "You died. In your world. But death is not the end in a realm shaped by blood and flame."
The air vibrated around him. Then came a sound—low, resonant. A pulse.
[Dracovault Protocol: Initiated.]
A system voice. Clear. Echoing directly into his mind.
[Subject: Kael. Classification: Hybrid Anomaly. Status: Unsealed. Time to Collapse: 89 hours.]
"Collapse?! What does that mean?!"
"Your blood was sealed for your protection," the fire-woman said, circling him. "But your rebirth broke the seal prematurely. You will burn from the inside out if you do not stabilize."
Kael swallowed. The words barely meant anything. None of this made sense. Hybrid? Protocol? What was this place?
Then something moved in the shadows of the crater. A hiss. A skittering.
The woman turned sharply. "They come. The Ash Beasts."
Kael's heart pounded. He squinted toward the sound and saw them—lanky creatures crawling from fissures in the stone. Charcoal skin. Glowing mouths. Three-fingered claws twitching. Ash slugs? No—too fast. Too coordinated. Too hungry.
The first leapt at him.
Instinct took over.
Kael raised his hand, and fire erupted. Not conjured, not summoned. It burst from his palm like he was the volcano itself. The beast screamed as it vaporized midair.
More came. Dozens.
Kael staggered to his feet. His muscles screamed. He couldn't even walk—but something deeper moved. A rhythm. A beat within his ribs.
His back ached. Bones shifted. Something was changing.
[Draconic Awakening: Stage I]
His skin cracked. Light poured through. Wings—not fully formed—tore from his shoulder blades. Smoke curled from his mouth.
He roared.
The beasts scattered but not fast enough. Fire swept out, engulfing them in a radiant wave.
When the flames cleared, he stood alone.
Panting. Shaking. Barely conscious.
The fire-woman approached.
"You have only hours before the collapse begins. If you wish to live, you must go to the Aetherion."
"The... what?"
She leaned down and touched his brow. A burning sigil flared across his skin.
"The academy of the damned. Where the misborn gather. There, you may find a cure—or a grave."
Kael's vision dimmed.
He slumped forward, and the world went black.
But just before darkness claimed him, a new voice—cool, melodic, and female—cut through the haze.
"Is this the one? The 'Last Egg' they whispered about? He looks pathetic."
Bootsteps.
Kael opened his eyes one last time to see a girl in silver armor standing over him, violet eyes glowing.
She scoffed. "Tch. Guess I'll drag him before something eats him."
Kael dreamt of dragons.
Not the majestic, winged titans from storybooks, but something ancient—primordial. He floated in a sea of molten stars, drifting toward a creature so large its breath moved mountains.
"Do you hear it, Kael?" a voice echoed in the flames. "The Pulse of Flame? The language of our kind?"
He turned to find himself surrounded by mirrors of himself, each bearing horns, tails, wings—some monstrous, some divine.
"You are fractured. You are all of us. And none."
Then the vision shattered. He fell.
Kael awoke on a cart, bouncing along a dirt path. Trees—real trees—arched overhead, their golden leaves shedding like forgotten time. The smell of smoke still clung to him.
"You're awake," the armored girl said without looking back. She sat at the front, reins in hand.
Kael tried to speak. His throat ached. "Who... are you?"
"Elira Vaelthorn," she replied. "Silver Fang of House Vaelthorn. Aetherion Elite. Also your unwilling babysitter."
Kael squinted. "Aetherion... that place?"
"The academy. It's where freaks like you go."
"Freaks. Right."
"You reek of fireblood. No wonder they told me to pick you up. The forest's been burning since last night."
Kael sat up slowly. His back ached. Wings—half-bone, half-flame—twitched and vanished beneath his skin.
Elira glanced back. "Don't flap those things in here. I like my face attached."
He chuckled, then winced. "How long was I out?"
"Two days. You've got eighty-six hours left."
Kael froze. "The Collapse..."
She nodded. "And if you don't pass your first binding trial at Aetherion, you'll explode into something worse than an Ash Beast."
Great. No pressure.
He looked at her again—silver hair, perfect posture, a sword too big for her strapped across her back. Her violet eyes caught his gaze.
"You better survive," she said flatly. "I hate wasting my time."
Kael grinned. "I'll try not to die. For your sake."
She rolled her eyes. "Tsundere banter already? You're definitely dragon-blooded."
The cart rolled onward. Toward Aetherion. Toward whatever nightmare—or destiny—awaited.