That night, they camped by the ruins of an old watchtower. Aric's body was still trembling from the battle, veins burning as though a dragon coiled within.
Serenya sat opposite the fire, her silhouette regal against the flames. She hummed an ancient tune, one that seemed older than kingdoms themselves.
Aric finally spoke. "You're using me. "She raised an eyebrow. "You only realize this now?" "I'm no one's pawn." He forced himself to his feet, glaring down at her. "Break this bond."
For a moment, silence. Then laughter, low and melodic, spilled from her lips. "Break it? Foolish human… the bond can only break with death. Yours, or mine."
Aric's grip tightened on his sword. A heartbeat passed—then another. The firelight flickered across her face, and he realized she wasn't mocking him. She was daring him.
His hand shook, but he lowered the blade. Not out of mercy, but because something deep within—the same flame scorching his chest—refused to let him.
Serenya's eyes softened, just slightly. "Good," she whispered. "You'll need that resolve. Because soon… the Dragon Courts will know I've chosen you."
The night air grew heavier. Somewhere in the distance, a roar split the sky. Another dragon had awoken.