The black stone path twisted endlessly through the shattered landscape.
Eliar walked in silence, the bound dragon floating alongside him, its massive form partially obscured by tendrils of mist.
Every step he took, the weight of the world pressed harder on his shoulders.
He was in a place abandoned by gods and time — and yet, somehow, this creature had survived here, imprisoned.
Eliar stole glances at the dragon, unable to hide his awe.
It was unlike any beast he'd ever read about — majestic, terrible, and weary.
Its scales shimmered in shades of silver and black, and the chains of light wrapped around its limbs and wings seemed to hum with ancient magic.
Finally, after what felt like hours, they reached the base of a great ravine.
The ground cracked open before them, revealing a glowing lake of molten silver.
At the center of the lake stood a solitary stone platform.
The dragon landed heavily on the edge of the ravine, its chains rattling with a sound like broken bells.
It turned its burning gaze onto Eliar.
"Mortal."
"This is the Heart of Ashes. My prison for countless centuries."
"The curse that binds me can only be broken through the blood and will of one born in the Waking World."
Eliar narrowed his eyes.
"You want me to free you."
The dragon chuckled, a deep, resonating sound that shook the ground.
"Freedom... comes at a price."
"A Pact."
"If I bind myself to you, we share fate. Your life, your soul — entwined with mine. Should you fall, so shall I."
"But in return, you shall command power beyond mortal comprehension."
Eliar swallowed hard.
The enormity of it all crashed down on him.
He would gain a powerful ally — yes — but also inherit the dragon's burdens.
A risk... and an opportunity.
"Why?" Eliar asked after a long pause. "Why me?"
The dragon's eyes burned brighter.
"Because you bear the mark of the Forgotten Flame."
"Because you alone crossed the Rift."
"And because," — the dragon lowered its massive head until its snout was mere feet from Eliar — "you are more broken than you realize."
Eliar clenched his fists.
Selene.
The others.
The shame of being weak, of standing helpless while his world was torn apart.
He would not remain powerless.
Not anymore.
---
The dragon extended one of its colossal claws.
"Swear the Oath, Eliar Thorne."
"Forge the Pact in blood and flame."
"And together, we shall shatter the chains of this world."
A small dagger of silver light appeared in Eliar's hand — summoned by the dragon's magic.
Without hesitation, Eliar slashed across his palm.
Blood dripped onto the black stones, hissing as it touched the surface.
The dragon roared — a sound that tore through the skies — and lowered its massive claw.
Eliar pressed his bleeding hand against it.
In an instant, the world exploded around him.
Flames.
Shadows.
A roaring storm of memories and power.
The chains that bound the dragon cracked, one by one, until they shattered completely with a deafening boom.
---
When the light cleared, Eliar stood — gasping — with a burning mark etched onto his left shoulder: the Sigil of the Eternal Pact.
The dragon hovered beside him, now smaller — about the size of a large horse — though its presence was still overwhelming.
"You have done it."
"We are bound."
The dragon bowed its head — not in submission, but in recognition.
"I am Vael'thar, last of the Starborn Dragons."
"And now... your ally."
Eliar nodded, feeling strength flood into him.
Vael'thar's presence in his mind was like a roaring fire, fierce and wild — but oddly reassuring.
For the first time since stepping into the portal, Eliar didn't feel alone.
---
But their peace was short-lived.
The ground beneath them shuddered.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the obsidian floor.
From the depths of the Heart of Ashes, something stirred.
A colossal figure began to rise — all shadow and teeth and writhing tendrils.
Vael'thar snarled.
"No... it awakens."
Eliar drew his sword, now thrumming with newfound energy.
"What is that?" he demanded.
The dragon's voice was grim.
"A Sleeper. One of the ancient horrors left behind when this world was abandoned."
"We must flee, or be consumed."
Eliar glanced at the rising nightmare — its eyes like twin moons of blood — and back at Vael'thar.
Escape?
Or fight?
Before he could decide, the Sleeper's roar tore through the air, and a tidal wave of corrupted magic surged toward them.
---
[To be continued...]