Before Adrien, before Nightshade, before the world forgot what dragons truly were—there was a kingdom suspended in the clouds.
The Draconis Sovereignty, ancient and radiant, was hidden from mortal eyes. Its towers were carved from obsidian and skyglass, floating above storm-wrapped mountains. The air shimmered with magic, thick as breath, and dragons of all sizes soared like living constellations between spires wreathed in celestial fire.
At the heart of it stood the Dragon Court, a council of royals and mystics who ruled with both wisdom and flame. And among them, the youngest prince—Aurenis, Adrien's direct ancestor.
Where others mastered battle and ritual, Aurenis was a Weaver, born with an affinity for Soul-Flame so rare it had only manifested once every five centuries. He could do more than control fire—he could speak through it. Heal the dying. Reflect the truth. Reveal lies.
Some called him a gift. Others, a threat.
In secret chambers beneath the Skyhold Citadel, whispers echoed between highborn mages and envious generals. They feared Aurenis's growing influence over the people. And most of all, they feared what his Soul-Flame could uncover—secrets long buried in ash and lies.
One of those whispers took form in the shape of a woman: Nytherra, an exile of the magical houses, and a brilliant sorceress consumed by obsession. She believed dragonkind had grown weak, dulled by peace, and that only a cleansing fire could return the world to its rightful order—with her at its head.
And so the first pact was made.
In the dead of a solar eclipse, Nytherra allied with the Dark Circle, a rogue conclave of vampires, shadow mages, and forsaken beastkin. Together, they created a new order: the Obsidian Hand.
Their first act was swift and surgical. They assassinated the eldest dragon councilor, replacing her with a shapeshifter. Then another. Then another. Within a year, half the council had been infiltrated—and Aurenis, though gifted, was still young, still learning.
But he was not blind.
In a hidden sanctuary beneath the ancient Wells of Flame, Aurenis met with a handful of trusted allies: his twin sister Selendra, the last Dragonbinder Commander, a gargoyle oracle, and a woman with silver hair and eyes that burned like coals. She was not of dragon blood—but marked by dragonfire. Her name was Lysaria Vael, ancestor of the Lys Adrien had just met.
"She's your bond," the oracle had said, her wings curled around her. "Not of your blood—but of your fate."
Aurenis didn't yet understand what that meant. But Lysaria fought beside him when war ignited.
The Fall of Draconis was sudden and violent. The Obsidian Hand struck on the eve of the Convergence—a celestial alignment that heightened dragon magic tenfold. Dragons, manipulated and bound through corrupted Soul-Flames, turned on their own kin. Cities crumbled into stormclouds. Skyglass shattered. The Sovereignty fell from the heavens, raining fire and blood on the lands below.
In the final hour, Aurenis used the last of his power to seal the Dragonheart Gems, scattering them across the world and burying their locations in prophecy and bloodlines.
He died protecting the last remaining egg—one that never hatched.
Or so they thought.
Adrien awoke with a gasp, the vision retreating like flame into embers.
He sat up in the dormitory, drenched in sweat, the Dragonheart Gem burning hot against his chest. Kaelen jolted awake—or rather, phased into visibility with a panicked expression.
"You okay? You were glowing. Again."
Adrien didn't answer right away. He saw Aurenis in his mind. Saw Lysaria. Saw the fall.
"That wasn't just a dream," he whispered. "That was real. That was his memory."
Kaelen hovered closer, more serious than Adrien had ever seen him.
"What did you see?"
Adrien stood, shaky but certain. "I saw how the Obsidian Hand began. How they brought down my ancestors. And I saw her—Lys's ancestor. She was part of it all."
He turned toward the window, staring into the night sky. A storm was forming over the distant mountains, unnatural and silent.
"They're trying to do it again," he said. "But this time… they're not after a kingdom. They're after me."
Kaelen looked grim. "Then I guess history's already repeating itself. What do we do?"
Adrien clenched his fist, golden light flickering between his fingers.
"We find the others. The ones the Hand couldn't reach. There have to be more out there—descendants, Guardians, Binders… even if they've forgotten who they are."
He turned back to Kaelen.
"Because if I'm the last dragon, then I'm going to need an army."