Six years had carved new lines onto the world, but nowhere more profoundly than on Kael. The raw youth who had sought refuge in the Solaran Royal Academy had been reforged in the crucible of the Zunian sanctuary. Under Master Lorien's ancient tutelage, Kael had become a living conduit of the elements. He no longer struggled; he commanded. Fire danced at his fingertips, a controlled inferno. Water obeyed his whims, flowing or solidifying as he desired. The air was his whisper, carrying him with impossible speed. And thunder, once elusive, now crackled with devastating force from his very core. His movements were fluid, precise, a blend of ancient Zunian combat forms and elemental prowess.
Aether, too, had undergone a magnificent transformation. The wyrmling was now a formidable young dragon, its scales a kaleidoscope of iridescent blues, fiery oranges, verdant greens, and crackling golds. It stood taller than Kael, its powerful wings capable of eclipsing the sun. Their bond was absolute, a silent symphony of thoughts and intentions that moved them as one. Kael often found himself soaring on Aether's back, feeling the wind in his hair, the world a distant tapestry below, their minds intertwined in perfect harmony.
The day of Kael's departure from the sanctuary was marked by a quiet solemnity. Master Lorien, his ancient eyes twinkling with pride and a touch of melancholy, led Kael one last time to the Stone of Reckoning. The Blade of Aethel, its dark blade now gleaming with Kael's elemental energy, pulsed with a latent power that hummed in perfect resonance with his heartbeat. Kael approached the stone. No hesitation. No straining. His hand wrapped around the hilt, and with a silent breath, he exerted his will. The stone offered no resistance. With a soft, resonant shing, the Blade of Aethel slid free, humming as Kael lifted it. Its elemental colors flared, dancing across his armor, and he felt an ancient, cold power settle into his bones. He was worthy.
"The blade is yours, King Kael," Master Lorien murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Your spirit, your power, your purpose—they sing with the ancestors. Go. Zuna awaits." It was a farewell steeped in respect, final and absolute. Kael had learned all he could from the master and the sanctuary.
Kael's journey back to Solara was swift, marked by the exhilaration of Aether's powerful flight. The wind whipped past them as Aether soared above the clouds, the familiar mountains shrinking below. As they descended from the higher altitudes, following a well-traveled trade route that wound through a wide valley, Aether's keen dragon eyes spotted them first. A glint of metal, too numerous for merchants. Kael felt a jolt of ice in his stomach. Below, a column of over twenty brutish men on horseback, heavily armed, herded a long line of shackled figures. Slave traders.
The sight ignited a cold fury in Kael that surpassed even his usual control. Memories of Zunian citizens dragged through the streets, of Lyra's final moments, flashed through his mind. They will not pass, Kael thought, his voice sharp in Aether's mind. Aether's mental roar resonated with his master's fury, a low growl rumbling deep in its chest.
Kael slid from Aether's back as the dragon landed silently in a concealed copse of trees ahead of the column. Drawing the Blade of Aethel, its obsidian blade now gleaming with his elemental energy, Kael moved. He struck like lightning, a whisper of air carrying him silently among the rear guards.
The slavers, arrogant in their numbers, were taken completely by surprise. Kael was a blur of lethal motion. He unleashed a focused burst of fire into a group of startled thugs, forcing them to scatter, their screams echoing. As one brute lunged with a rusted axe, Blade of Aethel met his weapon, channeling thunder that shattered the man's arm and sent him sprawling. Kael used water to create slick patches beneath horses' hooves, sending riders tumbling into the mud, then solidified it into sharp projectiles that embedded themselves harmlessly, but painfully, into their armor. A flick of his wrist, and a precise gust of wind disarmed three men simultaneously, their swords clattering to the ground. He was efficient, deadly, and utterly merciless against their cruelty, moving with a grace that masked devastating force.
Aether joined the fray from above, a dark, soaring silhouette of power. It didn't engage directly with crushing blows, but instead unleashed controlled bursts of multi-elemental breath—a stream of superheated steam from its fire and water affinity, followed by a concussive blast of thunder-infused air that scattered the remaining slavers like leaves in a storm. Their horses panicked, trampling their own masters. Within minutes, the brutal column was in utter disarray, scattered, disarmed, or unconscious. Not a single slave was harmed.
Kael quickly moved among the freed captives, his gaze assessing. Most were terrified, huddled together, but one young woman stood out. Despite the grime and fear, her clothes, though torn, hinted at fine lineage, and her posture, though weary, carried an unmistakable air of defiance. Her eyes, a striking emerald green, met Kael's with a mixture of terror and nascent hope.
"You are free," Kael stated, his voice resonating with quiet authority, Blade of Aethel still humming faintly in his hand.
The young woman slowly rose, a tremor in her voice. "Who... who are you? And what is that... that magnificent beast?" Her gaze darted to Aether, who had landed nearby, its scales shimmering.
"I am Kael. And this is Aether," he replied. "Who are you?"
"I am Lady Lyraia, daughter of Duke Valerius of the Valenor Duchy," she said, her voice regaining a touch of its natural regal bearing. "We were captured by these… monsters… two days ago. My family will pay any price for my return."
Kael felt a flicker of recognition. Valenor Duchy. A powerful, neutral realm bordering Solara, known for its strategic trade routes and formidable cavalry. Rescuing her was more than just an act of justice; it was an unexpected gift. He scanned the remaining freed slaves, selecting a quiet, grateful young man who looked barely older than himself.
"Aether can carry three of us quickly," Kael announced. "You two." He gestured to Lady Lyraia and the young man. "Aether can take us directly to the Solaran capital. From there, you can arrange your return home. It will be swifter and safer than traveling by foot."
Lady Lyraia's eyes widened at the thought of riding a dragon, but her desperation and newfound trust in Kael quickly overcame her apprehension. The quiet young man simply nodded, tears of gratitude welling in his eyes.
Under Kael's calm instruction, they carefully mounted Aether's broad, powerful back. With a magnificent beat of his wings, Aether ascended, leaving the scene of shattered chains and routed slavers behind. As they soared over the mountains, the cold air rushing past, Lady Lyraia gasped, her face a mixture of awe and sheer exhilaration. Kael looked down at the world, now laid out beneath him like a map. He had returned, stronger than ever, with the Blade of Aethel in hand, a dragon by his side, and a noble daughter in tow. His destiny was calling, and Solara was just over the horizon.