Pryce rubbed sleep from his eyes as he stepped onto his balcony, the chill of Kaalm’s dawn raising goosebumps on his arms. Above, Skye circled with a pebble clutched in her beak, while below, Ash stalked through the training yard, his gray fur bristling as he tracked the bird’s shadow.

“Don’t you two ever get tired of this game?” Pryce called out, but neither pet paid him any attention.

Skye let out a mischievous squawk and released the pebble. It bounced off Ash’s head with perfect accuracy, causing the cat to yowl in indignation. Ash’s tail puffed up to twice its size as he batted at the air uselessly.

“Serves you right,” Skye seemed to say as she landed on a nearby weapon rack.

Ash hissed something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, if cats could curse, and slunk behind a practice dummy.

Pryce couldn’t help but smile at their antics. His muscles ached from yesterday’s training with Ragnarok, and the massive dragon’s roars filled his dreams. He touched his mother’s pendant, drawing comfort from it.

“Young master?” Jorr’s voice came from the doorway. The young handler’s earth-brown scales caught the morning light. “Master Kestrel expects you at the dragon caves shortly. He says he wants you alone to lead Ragnarok from the cave to the training ground. He says today is . . . important.”

“When isn’t it?” Pryce said, but he nodded to Jorr. “How’s Stormwing this morning?”

“Your storm dragon is doing well. She’s been fed and exercised already. Quite gentle for such a powerful beast.” He shifted his weight. “But Master Kestrel awaits. Best not keep him waiting.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

As Jorr left, Pryce caught movement in the corner of his eye. Princess Seren stood on her own balcony, her white dress rippling in the morning breeze. She raised a hand in greeting. The memory of their kiss still made his head spin.

A roar echoed from the dragon caves—Ragnarok, calling him to another day of training. Or perhaps warning him. Lately, the massive dragon’s cries had begun to sound less like mindless rage and more like . . . words. Almost as if . . .

“Stop it,” Pryce told himself. “Dragons don’t talk. They’re just . . .” But he couldn’t finish the thought. Not after what he’d seen in Ragnarok’s eyes.

The walk to the dragon caves felt longer each morning. Ash trailed behind Pryce, still shooting dirty looks at Skye, who glided overhead. The volcanic stone was warm beneath Pryce’s boots, and steam rose from cracks in the ground, carrying the ever-present scent of sulfur.

Master Kestrel waited at the cave entrance. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, I was—”

“Save your excuses.” Kestrel’s voice carried the cultured accent of Dragonkin nobility, but there was an edge to it today. “Ragnarok grows restless. Perhaps he senses your . . . distraction.”

Pryce followed Kestrel into the cave. Other handlers moved about, carrying feed and water to the injured dragons still chained in their cells. One young fire drake with a splinted wing whimpered as they passed.

Ragnarok’s chains rattled as he turned to face them, and Pryce felt something brush against his mind—like fingers trailing through water.

“Begin,” Kestrel commanded, stepping back to observe.

Pryce approached Ragnarok slowly, maintaining eye contact.

“Easy,” Pryce said softly. “We’re not enemies, you and I.”

Ragnarok’s head snaked down, bringing one fierce eye level with Pryce’s face. The dragon’s breath was hot against his skin.

Then it happened.

A flash of memory—not his own—crashed through Pryce’s mind. He saw Dragonkin warriors with burning brands, heard the screams of younger dragons being “trained.” Felt chains biting into scales for the first time, tasted blood and fury and helplessness.

Pryce stumbled backward, gasping. “What was—”

They break us, a voice rumbled in his head. Break us, bind us, make us weapons for their war.

“Ragnarok?” Pryce whispered, too softly for Kestrel to hear.

The dragon’s eye fixed on him with intelligence. You hear me, young one. As she did, before they broke her too.

“Who—”

“Is there a problem?” Kestrel’s voice cut through the moment. “Perhaps you need more motivation.”

“No, Master Kestrel,” Pryce said. “Ragnarok and I are . . . understanding each other.”

Kestrel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you? Then perhaps it’s time for the next phase of training.” He gestured to someone in the shadows. “Thane, join us.”

Pryce’s stomach clenched as Thane stepped into the torchlight, his scarlet scales gleaming like fresh blood. The older trainee carried a cruel-looking prod—the kind used to “encourage” difficult dragons.

“Remember,” Kestrel said, “some beasts only understand pain.”

Ragnarok’s muscles bunched beneath his scales. They come with their burning sticks, thinking pain breeds loyalty.

“We don’t need that,” Pryce said quickly. “He’s responding well to—”

“He?” Thane sneered. “It’s a beast, nothing more. My father understood that before your kind killed him.” He jabbed the prod toward Ragnarok’s flank.

Without thinking, Pryce grabbed Thane’s wrist. “Don’t.”

The cave went silent except for the rattling of Ragnarok’s chains. Even the injured dragons in their cells seemed to hold their breath.

“Take your hand off me, Shorling,” Thane said.

“Enough.” Kestrel’s command cracked like a whip. “Thane, wait outside. Pryce . . . continue with your training. Show us this special bond you claim to have.”

As Thane stalked away, Pryce turned back to Ragnarok. The dragon’s eyes held a new light—something almost like approval.

You are not like them, the voice whispered in his mind. But be careful, young one. They will try to make you so.

“I won’t let them hurt you.”.

It is not my pain you should fear. Ragnarok’s mental voice said. The princess with dragon scales speaks with a forked tongue. Her mother’s blood runs cold as the depths.

“Seren? But she—”

“Stop whispering to it and show me progress,” Kestrel interrupted. “The dragon must be ready when the Seadrake Corsairs attack Crystal Shores.”

Ragnarok’s thoughts flooded with images of battles long past. They twist truth like they twist dragons. Listen with your blood, not your heart.

Pryce touched his mother’s pendant. Everything he’d dreamed of was within reach—glory, power, Seren’s love. But at what cost?

“The chains,” Kestrel said. “Remove them.”

Pryce’s hands trembled as he worked the heavy locks.

Careful now, Ragnarok’s voice whispered in his mind. They expect violence. Let us show them something else.

The final chain fell away with a thunderous clang. Kestrel stepped back, his hand moving to the weapon at his belt. But Ragnarok simply stretched, his massive wings unfurling like storm clouds, and lowered his head to Pryce’s level.

“Impossible,” Kestrel said.

“Mount him,” came Seren’s voice from the cave entrance. She stood like a vision in white. “Show them what you can do, my prince.”

Pryce’s heart soared at her words. He placed his hand on the dragon’s scales, feeling the heat beneath. With practiced grace, he swung onto Ragnarok’s back.

They see what they wish to see. A weapon tamed. A boy seduced by power. Let them believe.

Pryce gripped the riding harness as Ragnarok moved toward the cave’s exit—a predator playing at being tame. Outside, dawn had given way to full morning. Ash and Skye watched from their perches as dragon and rider emerged into the training yard.

Thane stood with the other trainees. “This proves nothing. A true test requires combat.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Seren smiled. “A demonstration then?”

She plays her game well, Ragnarok observed. But remember who you are, son of Crystal Shores.

“I accept,” Pryce said.

Thane mounted his shadow drake and took to the air first, climbing into the volcano-warmed thermals above the training yard.

“Show them all,” Seren called up to Pryce. “Show them what we can accomplish.”

Ragnarok’s muscles tightened beneath Pryce. Ready, young one?

“Ready,” Pryce whispered, and they launched into the sky.

The wind rushed past as Ragnarok climbed, his powerful wings cutting through the air. Below, the training yard shrank to the size of a game board, the watching Dragonkin mere pieces upon it. Thane’s shadow drake circled above, almost invisible against the morning clouds.

He will strike from behind, Ragnarok warned. It is their way.

Sure enough, the shadow drake seemed to vanish completely. Pryce felt rather than saw Thane’s approach—a disturbance in the air, a shift in the wind.

“Now!” he called, and Ragnarok rolled just as Thane’s drake slashed through the space they’d occupied.

“Lucky dodge,” Thane said, his voice carrying on the wind. “But luck won’t save you, Shorling.”

Ragnarok’s response was a roar that shook the air, sending nearby birds scattering. They gave chase, matching Thane turn for turn. The shadow drake was faster, more agile, but Ragnarok’s raw power made up the difference.

Watch his pattern, Ragnarok instructed. Like all Dragonkin, he repeats himself.

Pryce studied their opponent’s movements. Three beats up, fade to shadow, strike from above. Again and again, like a dance whose steps never changed. On the fourth repetition, Pryce was ready.

“Dive!” he called, and Ragnarok plunged toward the earth. The shadow drake followed, just as predicted. At the last moment, they pulled up, using their momentum to loop behind their pursuers.

“What—” Thane’s shock was visible as Ragnarok’s tail swept past his drake’s wing, sending them tumbling through the air.

They recovered quickly, but something had changed. The confident sneer was gone from Thane’s face, replaced by something darker. He drew a blade from his saddle—not a practice weapon.

He means to end this permanently, Ragnarok warned.

“Thane, stand down!” Kestrel’s voice carried from below. “This is a demonstration only!”

But Thane wasn’t listening. His drake vanished again, and this time Pryce felt the killing intent behind Thane’s approach.

Ragnarok moved with great speed for something so large. His wing caught the shadow drake’s attack, and for a moment, the two dragons grappled in midair. Pryce could feel Ragnarok’s muscles straining, feel the heat building in the dragon’s chest.

Trust me, Ragnarok’s voice filled his mind.

Pryce nodded, gripping the harness tighter. Ragnarok’s jaws opened, and a blast of flame hot enough to melt stone erupted—not at Thane and his drake, but at the air around them. Steam exploded outward as the moisture in the clouds flash-boiled.

The shadow drake’s camouflage vanished in the superheated air, leaving them exposed. Before Thane could recover, Ragnarok’s tail swept his blade away, sending it spinning toward the earth.

They landed in the training yard, Ragnarok’s claws leaving deep marks in the volcanic stone. Steam still rose from his scales, and small electrical discharges crackled between his teeth. Thane’s shadow drake touched down moments later, its sides heaving with exhaustion.

“Treachery!” Thane shouted, leaping from his saddle. “He used forbidden magic!”

“The only treachery was your blade,” Pryce said, sliding from Ragnarok’s back. “This was supposed to be a demonstration.”

Seren came forward, placing herself between them. “Enough. Pryce has proven himself beyond question.” She turned to face the gathered Dragonkin. “Here stands a true dragon rider, worthy to join our ranks . . . and perhaps more.”

Her hand found Pryce’s. Ash wound between their legs, purring, while Skye landed on Ragnarok’s horns with a triumphant chirp.

“Well done,” Kestrel said. “The boy has talent, Your Highness. With proper guidance—”

“My guidance,” Seren interrupted. “Pryce will train with me from now on.”

She moves her pieces across the board, Ragnarok observed silently. And you, young one, are her queen’s gambit.

But Pryce barely heard the warning. Seren’s touch, her smile, the admiration of the crowd—it was intoxicating. This was what he’d dreamed of, wasn’t it? Power, respect, a place among the mighty.

“Come,” Seren said softly. “There’s much to discuss about your future. Our future.”

As she led him away, Pryce glanced back at Ragnarok.

Remember, that deep voice sounded in his mind. Remember who you are, when the time comes.

Thane’s voice carried across the yard: “This isn’t over, Shorling.”

But Pryce was already following Seren, past his old room in the trainee barracks where he’d spent his first night on Dragon’s Fang Island. Her dress rippled like dragon wings as they walked beyond the weathered building toward the grand stone residence where she had moved him.

The corridors grew darker as Seren led him deeper inside. Their footsteps echoed off volcanic rock walls, and the luminous crystals cast strange shadows through steam that seeped from nearby vents. Finally, she drew him into a secluded alcove overlooking the dragon aeries.

“You were magnificent today,” she said, her violet eyes reflecting the crystal light. “Everything I knew you could be.”

“The blade Thane drew—it wasn’t practice steel.”

“Thane will be disciplined.” She stepped closer, her hand finding his cheek. “But let’s not speak of him. There are more important matters to discuss.”

“Like what?”

“Like your future. Our future.” Her fingers traced his jaw. “The Dragonkin need new blood, Pryce. Fresh perspectives. Those like Thane cling to old hatreds, but you . . . you could help forge a new path.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother grows old. Soon, the Dragonkin will need new leadership.” She smiled. “Imagine it—you and I, ruling together. Crystal Shores would prosper under our protection. No more empty nets, no more struggling to survive.”

The scent of storm winds always seemed to cling to her. “Your mother wouldn’t approve.”

“Mother sees your value. Why else would she have sent me to find you?” Seren’s lips brushed his ear. “You’re special, Pryce. Meant for greater things than fishing.”

Greater things, Ragnarok’s warning filled his mind. Or greater chains?

But Seren was kissing him, and the dragon’s voice faded beneath a wave of desire. Her scales were smooth beneath his fingers as he pulled her closer.

“Say yes,” she whispered against his mouth. “Be my prince. Rule with me.”

“Yes,” he breathed, though somewhere deep inside, a voice that sounded like his mother’s urged caution.

Seren’s smile held triumph. “Then let’s begin.”

Seren pulled away slowly, her fingers lingering on his chest near his mother’s pendant. “How are you finding your new quarters? Much better than that dreadful trainee room, isn’t it?”

“It’s perfect,” Pryce said. “Though Ash and Skye are still adjusting to the change.”

“Oh, darling.” She laughed softly, but the sound held no warmth. “You still insist on keeping those common creatures? I thought we discussed this. A prince of the Dragonkin has no need for such . . . pets.”

Something cold settled in Pryce’s stomach. “They’re not just pets. They’re—”

“Family?” Her voice held gentle mockery. “You have a new family now. One worthy of your gifts.” She gestured to the dragons in their aeries below. “These magnificent creatures will be your true companions. Your weapons.”

Listen, Ragnarok’s voice whispered in his mind, though the dragon was far below. Listen to what she does not say.

“The Seadrake Corsairs,” Pryce said. “When will they attack Crystal Shores?”

“Soon enough.” Seren’s hand found his again. “But don’t worry about that now. Come, there’s someone I want you to meet. Someone who can help unlock your full potential.”

She led him through twisting corridors until they reached a door carved with dragon motifs. Inside, an elderly Dragonkin sat at a desk covered in ancient scrolls. His scales were dull with age, but his eyes burned with intensity.

“Pryce, meet Master Vex,” Seren said. “He’s going to help you . . . evolve.”

The old Dragonkin smiled, revealing teeth filed to points. “Welcome, young prince. Shall we begin your transformation?”

Remember who you are, Ragnarok’s voice came again, urgent now. Remember before it’s too late.

But Seren’s hand was warm in his, and the promise of power thrummed in his veins like dragon fire. As Master Vex approached with a crystal vial filled with swirling darkness, Pryce thought he heard his mother’s pendant pulse once, like a warning heartbeat.

The vial’s contents reflected like oil on water. Master Vex held it up to the light, and for a moment, Pryce thought he saw shapes wiggling within—dragons in miniature, fighting against their crystal prison.

“One small drink,” Vex said, “and your transformation begins. The dragon blood in your veins will awaken fully.”

“You know about my bloodline?”

“Why do you think the princess chose you?” Vex’s laugh was dry as old scales. “You’re already part dragon. This will simply . . . complete the process.”

Seren squeezed his hand. “Think of it as stepping into your destiny.”

The pendant grew warm against his chest—almost hot enough to burn. From somewhere far below, Pryce felt Ragnarok’s consciousness brush against his mind. They offer power, but at what price? Look closer, young one.

“What exactly will this do to me?” Pryce asked, studying the vial.

“Your scales will emerge first,” Vex said, running a finger along his own facial ridges. “Then the other changes. Strength. Power. You’ll be one of us completely.”

“And if I refuse?”

Seren’s grip tightened painfully. “Why would you refuse such a gift?”

Because gifts from serpents often bear poison, Ragnarok whispered in his mind. Choose wisely. Your mother’s blood or their poison. But know this—you cannot be both.