The sky over the eastern horizon had begun to clear. The storm was dying, its howling winds reduced to a whisper, its black clouds slowly dispersing into pale silver mist. The land itself seemed to breathe again, as if released from an ancient grip. Virestead was safe — for now.
Kael stood in the ruins of the battlefield, Veyrion's blade dripping with the dark essence of the Hunger. Around him, the earth was scorched and torn, but the air felt lighter, the oppressive weight that had clung to everything now lifting like morning fog.
Rynn approached from the side, brushing dirt and blood from her tunic. Her eyes were tired but alive, burning with a fierce pride as she looked at him.
"You did it," she said softly. "We did it."
Kael nodded, though he barely heard her. His senses were still heightened — the aftershocks of the battle stirring something deep within his blood, something restless and primal.
Before he could answer, a ripple spread through the air. The very fabric of reality seemed to hum, and from the mist emerged three figures, cloaked in robes of deep azure and gold. Their faces were hidden, but their presence radiated power, ancient and undeniable.
Kael's hand instinctively went to Veyrion's hilt, but the lead figure raised a hand in a gesture of peace.
"Be at ease, Dragon's Heir," the figure said, its voice like the ringing of a great bell across a valley. "We are not your enemies. We are the Keepers."
Kael exchanged a quick glance with Rynn, whose expression said she had never heard of such beings — and she knew more ancient lore than anyone in Virestead.
"The Keepers?" Kael repeated cautiously.
The second figure stepped forward, holding in their gloved hands a small object: a glass bottle, sealed with intricate silver wire. Inside, a dark crimson liquid swirled slowly, gleaming with an inner light that pulsed like a living heart.
"It is your right," the Keeper said solemnly. "The Blood of the Dragon King."
At the mention of it, Kael's entire body tensed. He felt Veyrion pulse in his grip, a soft vibration of recognition.
The third Keeper spoke now, a voice softer but no less powerful. "Long ago, before the Hunger was even named, before your world fractured, the Dragon Kings ruled the skies and seas. Their blood is pure strength, pure will. Few are worthy of even touching it. Fewer still of claiming it."
The lead Keeper extended the glass bottle toward Kael.
"You have faced the Hunger. You have fought not just with sword and skill, but with heart. You have earned this gift."
Kael hesitated. The glass bottle seemed to hum in resonance with him, as if it already recognized him.
Rynn whispered, "Kael... this could change everything."
Kael reached out, his fingers brushing the cold glass.
The moment he touched it, the world shuddered.
Visions flashed through his mind — a thousand dragons soaring across endless skies, titanic battles between gods and monsters, flames that burned oceans into mist. At the center of it all, a colossal dragon, scales black as night but rimmed with gold, staring down at him with eyes that saw through all time.
"My blood calls to you," the dragon's voice echoed inside him. "Claim your birthright, Stormborn."
Kael stumbled back, gasping, clutching the glass bottle tightly. The blood inside it had begun to glow brighter, responding to his heartbeat.
The lead Keeper inclined their head. "You are bound now. What you do with this gift will shape not just your fate, but the fate of all the realms."
Kael swallowed hard, feeling the bottle's warmth seep into his skin. It was more than power. It was history. Responsibility. Destiny.
He tucked the glass bottle carefully into a leather pouch at his side, feeling its weight — and its promise.
"Thank you," Kael said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.
The Keepers offered a slight bow.
"When the time comes," the lead Keeper said, "you will know how to use it. Until then... beware. There are others who can sense the blood now. Others who will seek to claim it — and end you."
With that ominous warning, the Keepers stepped back into the mist. Within seconds, they were gone, leaving only silence — and the faint smell of ozone in the air.
Later, as Kael and Rynn returned to Virestead, the village was already stirring with cautious hope. Word of their victory against the Hunger had spread like wildfire. Villagers who had once looked at Kael with suspicion now bowed their heads respectfully as he passed.
At the center of the village square, the elders awaited them. Elder Mavren, ancient and sharp-eyed, approached.
"You have done what many believed impossible," Mavren said, his voice carrying over the gathered crowd. "Virestead owes you its life."
Kael shook his head. "I didn't do it alone."
Mavren smiled. "Perhaps. But you led the charge. You bore the burden."
Another elder, Teyla, stepped forward, holding a small, polished medallion. She pressed it into Kael's palm.
"A token of our gratitude," she said. "And a reminder that Virestead will always stand with you."
Kael accepted it quietly, but his mind was elsewhere — on the glass bottle at his side, and the future it promised or threatened.
As night fell and the village celebrated, Kael found himself at the edge of the woods, away from the noise, staring up at the stars.
Rynn found him there, slipping through the trees like a whisper.
"You thinking about the blood?" she asked.
Kael nodded. "I don't know what it means yet. But I can feel it. Like... something's waking up inside me."
Rynn sat beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest. "You're not alone, you know. Whatever's coming... you've got me."
Kael looked at her, gratitude unspoken but clear.
"I know," he said simply.
A quiet moment passed between them, broken only by the soft night sounds of a world finally at peace — for now.
But far to the east, beyond mountains and seas, shadows were stirring.Others had felt the awakening. Others had heard the call of the Dragon King's blood.
And they would not sit idle.