The cave was small, dark, and suffocating. Safe, but boring. Icaris stood at the mouth of it, claws gripping the rough stone edge, staring out into the vast green sea of the forest. The trees stretched in every direction, thick trunks and dense leaves blotting out the sky. The wind rattled branches, whispering secrets he couldn't yet understand.
He should feel fear. The world beyond was full of hunters—mages thirsty for dragon blood, monsters lurking in shadows, dangers no dragon could outrun. But fear didn't come. Instead, a fire kindled inside him, hotter than any flame his siblings could throw. It wasn't just heat. It was something deeper. A pulse, a presence in his veins—a god blood twisting the rules.
Icaris flexed his claws, feeling the ember flicker on his fingertips. The flame didn't roar or snap; it danced and shimmered, distorting the air around it. Like reality was bending slightly to his will.
Behind him, Brass's lazy drawl broke the silence. "Been staring at the trees all day. You gonna stand there like a statue, or actually do something?"
Icaris glanced back. Brass lounged with that cocky grin, tossing small sparks into the air. Whisper lay curled nearby, eyes half-closed but alert, her tail flicking with impatience.
"Not scared," Icaris said, voice low and steady. "Just thinking."
Brass scoffed. "Thinking won't keep you alive out there. The forest's no place for daydreamers."
Icaris didn't argue. He knew the truth better than anyone. Power wasn't just about throwing fire. The world outside was cruel, and the hunters were relentless. Dragons didn't just burn—they survived by knowing when to strike, and when to hide.
He stepped forward, claws scraping stone, the heat inside him pulsing stronger. He let the fire coil around his claws, tendrils of flame curling and twisting like smoke caught in a breeze. The air near him rippled.
"Damn," Brass muttered, eyes wide. "What the hell was that?"
Icaris kept his gaze steady. "Nothing."
Whisper sat up, eyes sharp and calculating. "That's not nothing. You're hiding something."
Icaris smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe I am."
The god blood inside him stirred—slow, steady, but relentless. It wasn't just fire. It was a power older than dragons themselves. A power that could bend the world if he learned to control it.
"Careful," Whisper said, voice soft but serious. "That kind of fire burns more than just flesh."
Icaris flexed his claws again, the flame flickering with subtle distortion. "I know."
Outside, the forest breathed and shifted. The calls of unknown creatures echoed in the distance. The world beyond was vast and unforgiving, but it was also full of possibilities.
Icaris took a deep breath, feeling the cool wind wash over him. This was the moment. The moment to stop hiding and start moving.
He stepped off the ledge, talons digging into dirt and moss. The fire inside him flared quietly, steady and sure.
He was ready.
The forest swallowed him.