The winds that swept the lower valleys were different from the icy ones of Kareth's Spine. They carried voices. Life. Fear.
Marcus walked alone beneath a gray sky, his hood pulled low. The villages near the River Gild were poor, but their walls still bore the faded sigil of Sapphire.
He kept his name to himself.
His sword stayed hidden beneath his cloak.
And his dragon—Veyrion—remained far away, deep in the mountains where he had been trained to sleep unless summoned by the old command.
The bond between them burned still. Silent. Waiting.
But Marcus had questions the Codex could not answer. He needed people. Books. Stories. He needed to understand what the world had become while he slept in flame.
—
In the heart of Sapphire, the palace's stone yard rang with the clash of steel.
Princess Alina Daemon stood across from Prince Cael, blades drawn, neither giving quarter.
Cael moved like a storm—brutal, fast. Alina was water—graceful, patient.
They had sparred since they were children.
But today, the fury behind Cael's blade was different.
"He's a threat to the crown," he said between strikes. "A bastard with a dragon. He needs to be put down."
"And if he's family?" Alina countered.
"He's not. He's a mistake."
Their swords locked.
"You're afraid," she said quietly.
He shoved her back. "I fear nothing."
But even as he said it, Cael knew it wasn't true.
The boy in the mountains had something he did not: the flame.
And now, the realm whispered of Marcus Daemon more than they did the prince.
—
At a small tavern near the Gild, Marcus sat at the edge of the room, listening to merchants speak of rising tensions. Of strange lights in the skies. Of Sapphire knights searching borderlands without explanation.
He said nothing.
But as he turned to leave, an old man near the fire called out to him. "Boy," he rasped. "You walk like a sword still sheathed."
Marcus paused.
The man smiled, toothless. "You're not from here. But fire follows you."
He tossed something across the table—a sealed scroll bearing the sigil of the royal family.
"Messenger dropped it two days ago. Said it was meant for one with dragon-blood."
Marcus stared at it.
His hands trembled as he broke the wax.
It read:
> *"I do not know your face, only the shape of the stories whispered in these halls. But if you are my brother—if blood binds us—know that I do not seek your end.
Come to the coast of Eldmere. Alone. I will wait beneath the old lighthouse, seven days from now.
Alina Daemon."*
He read it twice.
Then a third time.
And for the first time in weeks, Marcus spoke aloud.
"...sister."
—
High in the Sapphire tower, Cael stood at the map table, surrounded by generals.
"Send scouts to Eldmere. Quiet ones. If he shows up, I want eyes on him."
He touched the hilt of his blade.
"And if he speaks to Alina… I want it to be their last conversation."
—
Far away, in the cold silence of the mountains, Veyrion stirred in his hidden cave. His golden eyes opened slowly, sensing the change in the world.
His master had taken the first step.
The ember had begun to burn.