The forest didn't care who Icaris was. It didn't care about his god blood, his secret fire, or his siblings waiting back at the cave. It was just there—ancient, thick, and loud with life.
He stepped carefully, claws sinking into the mossy ground that smelled like damp earth and decay. Every breath tasted wet and sharp, the air heavy with things growing and dying. No magic blasts or explosions here. Just nature, doing what it had done long before dragons learned to breathe fire.
Icaris kept his flames small, flickering low on his claws. Not because he was scared—he wasn't—but because showing off out here was stupid. Loud flames drew eyes, and eyes in the wild usually meant trouble.
The fire twisted around his claws, bending the air slightly. That was the god blood waking up, the weird part of him that no one else had. His secret edge.
He crouched low, claws digging into the dirt. There was something under his scales, something alive and pulling at him. Not magic like mages used. Something older. Aether. The thread running through everything—trees, rocks, even the air.
"Affinities," he muttered, testing the word like it was new but right. Like a key fitting a lock.
Icaris reached out with a thin ribbon of flame and flicked it at a low branch in his way. The branch cracked and dropped with a soft thud.
"Not bad," he said, smirking. No one was around, so the confidence was just for himself.
A noise made him freeze—a rustle in the leaves nearby. His head snapped toward it, eyes sharp, claws tightening.
Nothing moved.
Good. The forest was watching, but not ready to show itself.
He stood, muscles ready. Somewhere far off, a bird called out—a quick, sharp cry that broke the quiet.
Icaris took a deep breath and pushed forward.
This was just the start.
The ground was uneven and tangled with roots, but Icaris didn't slow. Movement mattered more than comfort. He felt the subtle pulse of Aether beneath his scales, a quiet hum that pulled at his senses. It wasn't magic like the flashy stuff the mages used. This was raw energy flowing through the world itself.
He flexed his claws, feeling that pull stronger. The flame on his claws bent with it, curling and flickering. It was like pulling a thread in a tangled web, careful not to break it.
His siblings could throw fire like bombs. Brass blasted rocks to dust, and Whisper's flames cut clean through branches. Icaris's fire didn't roar or snap. It whispered and twisted, bending reality a little. That was the god blood's gift—a secret weapon he had to keep hidden.
He'd learned to keep it locked tight. Letting it loose was dangerous, and dragons who showed too much risked becoming targets.
His mind flicked back to the scraps of memory—colors, shapes, feelings that didn't belong to any hatchling. Hints of the Moth, the outer god whose blood made him different.
But now wasn't the time for dreams or questions. He had a world to explore.
Icaris paused near a small stream, the water clear and cold. He knelt and dipped a claw in, feeling the cool rush. The Aether pulsed stronger here, weaving through the water and stones.
He tested his flame again, this time just enough to warm the tip of his claw. The water rippled, but didn't boil. Control, he reminded himself. Power without control was just destruction.
He looked up, eyes sharp. Somewhere deep in the forest, something moved again. A flash of fur, the snap of a twig. Predators, or worse, mages hunting dragons for their blood and bones.
Icaris's jaw clenched. The world had changed. Dragons weren't untouchable anymore.
But he wasn't about to roll over.
He pushed deeper into the shadows, the pulse of Aether growing stronger with every step. It wasn't just energy—it was the world's lifeblood, and he could feel it calling him.
Learning how to pull that thread, how to use it, was the next step.
After a few more careful steps, Icaris stopped. He closed his eyes and let the world fall away. The wind shifted, the forest breathing around him. His mind reached out, feeling for the currents of Aether.
It was faint, but it was there. A web of power connecting everything.
He saw flickers of colors, shapes shifting just beyond sight. His flame stirred, bending with the currents.
"Come on," he whispered. "Show me."
Nothing happened at first. Then a small breeze curled around his snout, carrying the scent of pine and earth. The flame on his claws flickered brighter, responding.
His eyes snapped open.
This was no ordinary fire. This was something else. Something tied to the world itself.
He could feel it—his power growing, raw and dangerous, but promising.
The sun dipped lower, turning the forest dim. Icaris didn't slow. The cave felt far behind, like another life. This was the real world now.
And he wasn't just going to survive it.
He was going to burn his own path.