"This is your birthright," Damian said quietly, his voice steady but threaded with conviction. "Your destiny. Your duty. Say the word, and I will kneel before you for the rest of my life. All I ask in return is peace, the true kind, born of justice."
For a heartbeat, Leroy simply stared at him. Damian, the proudest man he knew, too arrogant and filled with hatred, to bow even to kings, was offering his fealty. The thought unsettled him. Was it admiration? Desperation? Or something deeper? Was it his faith in a prophecy that Leroy had long refused to claim?
Something stirred within him. A pulse of fire, old and fierce, coiled in his blood. It whispered of crowns and birthrights, of thrones carved from the bones of history. His heart beat faster, and for one reckless moment, he could see his people free, the dragon standard flying high once more.
But then he closed his eyes. Drew in a breath. When he exhaled, the flame died, swallowed by the cold, unyielding truth.
