Ronan shook his head once and said, “No.” One step forward. Then another. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Callum Hale.” He leaned in, smoke clinging to him. “If one of mine is harmed, I’ll drag your death out for centuries. I hold a grudge. And I’ve the patience to savor it.”
Callum didn’t retreat. Didn’t so much as blink. His hand stayed outstretched, steady in its challenge.
“Good,” he murmured. “As do I.”
At last, Ronan clasped it. Smoke surged between their palms, scorching where skin met skin.
A deal.
“Well then,” Ronan lowered his face until his words grazed Callum’s cheek, “traitor to traitor... bring me my sword, and Imayspare your kingdom.”
Their grips locked harder, until Callum hissed from the heat, rubbing at the mark left behind as he stepped back.
Elysian’s hand clamped around Ronan’s arm, ready to tear them both away before the cabin collapsed under the weight of too much arrogance.
“Three days,” Ronan said. “If those spears remain, Csolenia burns.”
He turned to leave, but Elysian’s whisper cut through the smoke. “Did you know?” His eyes roared bright. “Who he truly was, Ronan. Did you know?”
Silence. Then— “Yes.”
Ice tightened around Elysian’s hold, breath dragging deep like he might shatter apart.
“Another time, Ely,” Ronan promised, running a hand over his face.
And with that, the prince and his hound sifted into shadow.
Only the heat remained. Only the promise of fire.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ronan
THE ROCKY EXPANSE OF RYUU SPRAWLED beneath a veil of gloom; terrain painted in muted sand and silvered stone.
Above it, stitched into the bruised sky, lay the fortress of Sahfyre—the heart of Ryuu.
From afar, it looked abandoned. Almost forgotten. A lone tower clawing against endless clouds, its spine twisted and unyielding.
To the world beyond, it was a palace of bleak misery. Where the sun never shined, where flame burned in place of warmth.
But to the dragons, whose legends were forged from within its fire, and wings were free to rise above the sea’s madness where fear couldn’t touch them, it was sanctuary.
Colossal statues jutted from the walls, beasts frozen mid-snarl, keeping watch. Their teeth were blades, swords stolen from the hands of warriors who had tried, and failed, to lay claim to dragon territory a lifetime ago.
Ronan moved across the sands of Sahfyre’s hidden shore, each step sinking heavier than the last as he closed in toward his throne. The breeze tugged at his sleeves, a warm, salty contrast against the crisp pine air he had been breathing these past weeks.
He paused and looked up at what his father had built.
The mountain fortress glowed from within, shafts of aureate light cutting through carved-out windows.
His arms hung at his sides, useless, while memory climbed onto his shoulders. He remembered standing here as a boy, dreaming of crowns, of swords. Of futures worthy of the name he carried.
Now he stood here as a man, facing the truth of it all. Every light inside that mountain felt like a pair of eyes, watching,judging.
The dead had long since gone to ash, yet he could still feel their disgust seeping through.
And Ronan D’Vyre, the unworthy heir, could only look down.
