Chapter 4 – Shadows in the Trees
The figures moved like smoke, slipping from the forest with unnerving silence. Their armor was blackened as if forged from night itself, and their blades glimmered with a sickly, green light. There were at least a dozen, maybe more, advancing steadily toward the village square.
The dragon growled, low and thunderous, its body coiling as though ready to unleash fire. Villagers screamed and scattered, doors slamming shut, windows shuttering. But Ash remained, his legs locked with fear—and something else.
“They’ve found him,” the dragon muttered. “The heirs are never safe for long.”
Ash turned sharply. “Stop saying that! I’m not an heir—I don’t even know what you mean!”
The nearest shadow-warrior raised his blade, pointing directly at Ash. The air seemed to tremble, as though Ash himself were the target of some invisible force. His chest flared with that same unbearable heat, and he dropped to one knee, gasping.
“Ash!” Lira cried, pulling at him, desperate to drag him away.
But before the blade could fall, the dragon roared—a sound so powerful it shook tiles from rooftops. Flames burst from its jaws, a torrent of gold fire that swept across the advancing shadows. For a moment the night lit up as bright as noon.
Several of the shadow-warriors dissolved into ash and smoke. But others—too many—marched through the fire unharmed, their armor glowing faintly as though warded by some dark enchantment.
The dragon snarled. “They bear the Seal of Night… I cannot destroy them alone.”
Ash’s chest burned brighter still, and suddenly he knew—somehow, impossibly—that the fire inside him wanted to answer the dragon’s flames. His hand lifted, trembling, and he felt heat swirl into his palm.
A flicker of light sparked between his fingers.
Lira’s eyes widened. “Ash… what are you doing?”
“I… I don’t know!” Ash shouted. The spark grew into a small flame, alive and writhing, yet it did not burn him. It danced in his hand like it had been waiting all along.
The dragon’s voice rumbled, fierce and commanding: “Do not fear it. The fire is your birthright. Let it free!”
The shadows charged.
Ash’s fear twisted into something else—anger, defiance. He thrust his hand forward.
The flame burst from his palm in a wave of fire that roared across the square, slamming into the nearest attackers. Their dark armor hissed and cracked under the heat, and several fell, writhing before dissolving into smoke.
Ash staggered back, stunned. His hand still glowed faintly, though the flame had vanished.
The dragon’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Yes. The bloodline awakens.”
But the fight was not over—the surviving shadows regrouped, circling like wolves. And in their midst, a taller figure stepped forward, cloaked in black, its face hidden by a mask of bone. The air around it seemed to bend, heavy with power.
The dragon lowered its head and growled. “A Nightbinder…”
Ash’s stomach twisted. Whatever that masked figure was, it wasn’t like the others. It was stronger. It was here for him.
And it would not stop until he was either dead—or claimed.
