Chapter 5: Bonds and Blades

There's always a moment after a fire dies — when the world exhales, calm and silent.

Cairen had learned to hate that moment.

Because quiet didn't mean safe. It meant something worse was waiting.

The Sword That Thinks

Ever since the trial, his sword had changed. Not just in shape — in presence. It pulsed faintly at his back, as if it had a heartbeat. A silent voice at the edge of thought.

It nudged him when he was lying to himself.

Buzzed gently when someone nearby wasn't saying the whole truth.

And once — just once — it sent a sharp jolt up his spine when he flirted with that red-haired herbalist in Velmora who turned out to be married. To a mage. With a temper.

Now, walking through the upper corridor of the Vault, Cairen glanced at Lyrix and muttered, "So… swords aren't usually judgmental, right?"

Lyrix didn't look up. "Yours is bonded to dragonfire. If it weren't judgmental, I'd be concerned."

Tessia joined in without missing a beat. "It's probably just reflecting you."

Cairen scowled. "You wound me."

"Not as much as Kaelor will if you don't take this seriously."

He groaned. "Is he really that bad?"

Lyrix finally looked up, eyes unreadable. "Worse."

The Wall of Fire

They led him deeper into the Archive of Embers — past locked gates and molten glass doors. Down, always down, where the walls sweated magic and memory.

In the last chamber stood an ancient mural — worn, cracked, but powerful.

Dragons danced in looping spirals with humans. Some fought, some embraced, others stood hand-in-hand, casting runes into the sky.

"These were the First Bound," Lyrix said, voice low. "The original pact-bearers. Not chosen. Not noble. Just people. Brave, afraid, and willing to burn."

Cairen stepped closer. The paint still shimmered faintly in places. He reached out. The dragon eyes almost looked alive.

"They weren't scared."

"They were," Lyrix said. "But they didn't run."

She looked at him.

"That's what this bond is. Not power. Marriage. Pain. Sacrifice. You don't command a dragon. You become something it respects. Or you die trying."

That sat heavy in his chest.

He thought of the heat in his veins. The dreams. The brief flashes of a massive winged shape, watching him.

Then Tessia said something he didn't expect.

"My brother didn't make it."

Cairen turned. Her voice had gone quiet, rough.

"He tried to bond when we were kids. He wanted it so badly. Thought if he was chosen, our family would be respected again." She shrugged. "The flame took him."

"I didn't know," Cairen said.

"You do now."

She looked away.

Lyrix nodded to the mural. "Most Bloodmarked don't survive past the second trial."

He blinked. "Second?"

She smiled faintly. "One at a time."

Then she turned. "Come. Kaelor is waiting."

The Arena of Ash

The arena was carved into a mountainside — half-collapsed, ringed in silent statues of dragons. Wind howled through the broken arches.

And in the center stood a man.

Kaelor.

Tall. Pale. Silver-haired. His coat was dark and heavy, stitched with something that shimmered like scale. He held no weapon — not yet.

But his eyes…

His eyes glowed gold. Not faintly. Bright as suns.

Cairen stepped forward, unease crawling up his neck.

"You're the new pact-bearer," Kaelor said, his voice smooth and resonant.

"You're… terrifying," Cairen replied, then immediately regretted it.

Kaelor chuckled. "Good. Better scared than arrogant."

Tessia muttered, "I say that every day."

Kaelor finally drew his blade — longer than Cairen's arm, blackened with old runes and a faint red sheen at the edge.

"Draw yours."

"Why?"

"Because if you hesitate now, you'll bleed later."

Flame Against Flame

The first blow nearly took Cairen's head off.

He blocked by reflex — barely. Kaelor moved like lightning. Every strike was precise, measured, and merciless.

Cairen fought back, and for a moment, something clicked. His blade pulsed, shifted weight — guided him.

He felt the dragon in his blood stir.

Kaelor grunted. "Good. It's waking."

They moved faster — clashing steel ringing through the arena. Sparks flew. At one point, Cairen leapt off a crumbled statue, swung wide, and nearly landed a hit.

Kaelor disarmed him in the next move.

Cairen hit the sand, coughing, half-burned, aching.

Kaelor stood over him — then extended a hand.

"You'll do," he said.

"That's your version of a compliment?"

Kaelor smiled, barely. "You're not dead. That's enough."

The Fire Remembers

That night, Cairen sat outside the training quarters, holding his blade across his lap. The runes were glowing — dim, flickering.

He thought of Kaelor's speed. The way his dragonfire moved.

He thought of Tessia's brother.

And then, a memory not his own flickered through his mind.

A dragon — massive, black-scaled, screaming across a battlefield.

Another beside it — gold and crimson, roaring in reply.

Two shapes. Twins.

The Scroll

Lyrix found him just past midnight. Tessia followed, arms crossed.

"Something happened," Lyrix said.

Cairen nodded. "Yeah. I… saw something. During the fight."

"The runes," Tessia said. "They changed. Flared red and gold."

Lyrix handed him a burned parchment. The fire had nearly eaten it, but one name remained:

Kael'dros.

Cairen blinked. "Who—?"

"Kaelor's dragon," Lyrix said. "But Kael'dros had a twin."

Cairen felt the sword throb once in his hands.

"No. You're saying…?"

Tessia answered. "Your dragon. The second twin."

There was a long pause.

Then Lyrix said, "You're not just a Bloodmarked, Cairen. You're bonded to something older. Something that's been waiting."

He looked between them. "Waiting for what?"

And from the depths of the Vault, a roar — not imagined, not memory — thundered up through the stone.

Something had awakened.