Chapter 3: The Awakening of Azaroth

The days that followed Damian's encounter with the spirits of his ancestors were marked by a new sense of purpose. His explorations of Peverell Castle grew bolder, driven by an insatiable curiosity that was now fueled by the knowledge that he had barely scratched the surface of his family's legacy. The castle, with its endless corridors, hidden chambers, and secrets whispered through the ages, was his world—a world that had only begun to reveal its mysteries.

One crisp morning, as the castle basked in the dim light of dawn, Damian felt a strange pull within him—a feeling similar to what he had experienced before discovering the secret chamber where he met his ancestors. It was an ancient, deep-rooted call that he could not ignore. This time, it led him to a part of the castle he had never ventured into, a section where the air seemed thicker, laden with untold magic.

The path was not straightforward. He had to move through narrow passageways that twisted and turned, leading him further underground. The deeper he went, the more the atmosphere changed. It grew cooler, the stones underfoot damp, and the air carried a scent that was both earthy and metallic.

Finally, he reached a set of heavy iron doors, their surface covered in intricate engravings that seemed to pulse with a faint, golden light. With a deep breath, Damian pushed them open. The doors creaked ominously as they swung inward, revealing a cavernous chamber that took his breath away.

The room was massive, far larger than any space he had seen in the castle so far. The ceiling was lost in shadows, and the walls were lined with enormous crystals that glowed softly, casting eerie reflections that danced across the floor. But what truly caught Damian's attention was the creature that lay at the center of the room.

Azaroth.

The dragon was enormous, far larger than Damian had imagined a dragon could be. His scales were blacker than the deepest night, with golden accents that shimmered like molten metal. His wings were folded close to his body, but even at rest, they radiated immense power. His head was resting on his massive claws, and his eyes—burning like molten gold—were closed, as if he were sleeping. But Damian could sense the consciousness within, ancient and aware, as though the dragon had been waiting for this moment.

Slowly, Damian approached, his heart pounding in his chest. He had read about dragons, seen pictures in his books, but nothing had prepared him for the awe-inspiring sight before him. Azaroth was not merely a dragon; he was a living embodiment of ancient magic, a creature that had existed long before Damian was born, and would likely exist long after he was gone.

As he neared the dragon, the golden eyes snapped open, fixing Damian with an intense, almost probing gaze. For a moment, the boy and the dragon stared at each other in silence. Damian could feel the weight of the dragon's age and wisdom pressing down on him, and yet, he felt no fear. Instead, he felt a connection—a bond that transcended words, something deep and elemental.

"You… you are Azaroth," Damian whispered, his voice trembling slightly, though it was unclear whether it was from fear or awe.

The dragon's head lifted slightly, and a low rumble filled the chamber, reverberating through the very stones. It took Damian a moment to realize that the sound was not threatening, but rather a deep, ancient form of communication.

**"Peverell..."** The voice echoed in Damian's mind, resonant and powerful. **"The blood of the ancients flows within you. You have come."**

Damian nodded, not quite understanding how he was able to hear the dragon's thoughts, but knowing instinctively that he needed to respond. "I… I felt a pull, something guiding me here."

Azaroth's eyes gleamed, and the dragon's immense form shifted slightly, settling into a more upright position. **"It is time."** The dragon's voice was both a statement and a command. **"Time for the heir of Peverell to awaken the magic that has lain dormant for too long."**

Damian took a step closer, feeling the warmth emanating from the dragon's body. "What do you mean?"

Azaroth lowered his head until he was eye level with Damian. The boy could see the intricate patterns on the dragon's scales, the way they shimmered with an inner light that seemed to pulse in time with the heartbeat of the earth itself. **"You are not like other wizards, Damian. You carry within you the legacy of an ancient bloodline, one that has been intertwined with magic since before the founding of Hogwarts. The dragon blood within you is strong, but it must be awakened fully."**

Damian's eyes widened. "Dragon blood? I… I didn't know."

Azaroth nodded slowly, the motion surprisingly graceful for a creature of his size. **"Yes. Your ancestors were bonded to dragons, and that bond runs in your veins. I am the last of the true dragons, and I have waited for the day when the heir of Peverell would come to claim his heritage."**

The dragon then turned his gaze toward the far end of the chamber, where a large stone pedestal stood. Upon it rested a massive golden chalice, adorned with ancient runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Azaroth's voice took on a more solemn tone. **"You must drink from the Chalice of Dragons. It contains the essence of dragon blood, the last of its kind. Only by doing so will your true power be unlocked."**

Damian hesitated for a moment, the gravity of the situation weighing on him. But he knew, deep down, that this was his destiny. Taking a deep breath, he approached the pedestal, his small hands grasping the heavy chalice. The liquid inside was thick and dark, with an otherworldly glow that seemed to beckon him.

Without a second thought, Damian raised the chalice to his lips and drank deeply. The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, filling him with a warmth that spread through his entire body. He felt his magic surge, expanding and growing stronger, as if a dam had been broken and the full force of his power was finally being released.

As he finished, Damian set the chalice back on the pedestal and turned to face Azaroth. The dragon was watching him intently, a hint of approval in his golden eyes.

**"The bond is complete,"** Azaroth said, his voice softer now, more reverent. **"You are now truly one with the Peverell bloodline, with the magic of dragons. And soon, you will not be alone."**

Before Damian could ask what the dragon meant, the ground beneath the pedestal began to tremble, and a section of the stone floor slowly slid away, revealing a hidden compartment. From it, a large, black egg, adorned with faint golden patterns, rose into the air, floating gently before settling into Damian's outstretched hands.

"This…" Damian whispered, his voice filled with awe, "this is a dragon egg."

Azaroth nodded, his expression unreadable. **"It is. And it will hatch soon, bonding with you as its master. You must care for it, protect it, for the dragon within will be your companion, your protector, and your guide."**

Damian cradled the egg close to his chest, feeling the warmth and life pulsing within. He could already sense the connection forming, a bond that would only grow stronger once the dragon emerged.

**"What will I call it?"** Damian asked, looking up at Azaroth.

The dragon considered for a moment before replying, **"Azreal. It is a name that carries great power, a name worthy of the bond you will share."**

Damian nodded, feeling the weight of the name settle around him. "Azreal," he repeated softly, feeling the dragon within the egg stir in response.

Azaroth watched him with a mixture of pride and something else—something ancient and sorrowful. **"You have begun a journey that will take you to great heights, young Peverell. But know this: power is a double-edged sword. Wield it wisely."**

With those final words, the dragon settled back into his resting position, his eyes slowly closing as if returning to a long-forgotten sleep. The chamber grew silent once more, leaving Damian standing alone, the egg still warm in his arms.

As he made his way back through the twisting corridors of the castle, Damian's mind buzzed with the events of the day. He had awakened something within himself—something powerful and ancient, and he had forged a bond with a creature that would shape the course of his destiny.

When he finally returned to his room, he placed the egg on a cushion beside his bed, watching it with a mix of anticipation and reverence. He knew that the path ahead would be challenging, but with Azreal by his side, he felt ready for whatever the future might bring.

For the first time since his parents' death, Damian Peverell felt truly alive, his heart filled with a newfound sense of purpose and belonging. He was no longer just the last heir of an ancient family; he was something more—something that the world had not seen in centuries.

And so, with the faint glow of the egg lighting his room, Damian drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with visions of dragons, magic, and the incredible journey that lay ahead.