The ceremony was unlike anything Aric had imagined. Serenya led him deep into the heart of the ruins, to a chamber carved with ancient runes.
"This is where the Courts crowned their kings," she said. "Tonight, you will swear your Oath—to me."
Aric stood, weary but unbroken. "And if I refuse?"
Her golden eyes locked on his. "Then the bond devours you, and you die."
Flames rose around them, forming the shape of a dragon. The mark on Aric's chest pulsed violently, demanding surrender.
"Speak the Oath," Serenya commanded.
Aric's heart pounded. He hated chains. He hated being bound. Yet something deep within whispered that this bond was more than slavery—it was destiny.
He drew his blade, pressed it against his palm, and let his blood drip into the flames. "I swear… not as your servant, but as your equal. If I burn, I burn beside you."
The chamber erupted in light. The dragonfire surged into him, reshaping his soul.
When the flames faded, Aric stood taller, eyes glowing faintly like hers. Serenya smiled—not cruelly, but with something almost tender.
"Then you are mine, Aric. Not a pawn. Not a slave. My chosen."
But far above, in the storm-wracked skies, a roar shook the heavens. The Dragon Courts had heard.
The true war was about to begin.