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Caelan's question hung in the air, as fragile and heavy as the silence that followed it.
Theron didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then exhaled deeply, as if releasing the weight of years long buried.
"This tale," he said quietly, "was meant to be revealed only when you became the clan head. But since you've awakened the dragonblood... you deserve to know."
Caelan nodded slowly, saying nothing, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity and respect. Theron could see the hunger for truth in his son's gaze, the same hunger that had once lived in his own.
Theron began, his voice lower now, softened by the weight of memory.
"His name was Caeldrin Virelith... the first of our bloodline. He lived in a time when Elarion had barely taken its first breath—a world not yet a million years old. The Evolution System had only just arrived, reshaping life as we know it."
A hush seemed to fall over the training hall, as if the very walls leaned in to listen.
"Caeldrin had already reached the Saint Stage—a pinnacle of strength in those early years. But it wasn't enough for him. He yearned for more. Hungered for it. And so, he did what no one else dared. He searched for a way to travel beyond Elarion, to other worlds."
Theron's eyes gleamed, almost wistfully.
"Eventually, he succeeded. He opened a gate—not with spells, but through sheer will and sacrifice. And on the other side, he found a dead world."
Caelan leaned forward. "What's a dead world?"
"A place where life has vanished," Theron answered, gaze distant. "Civilizations gone. No empires, no gods. Just ruins, cursed relics, and forgotten power... but also unimaginable danger."
He continued.
"Caeldrin ventured there in search of the Everlasting Flame. A mythical fire said to enhance any flame affinity to its highest form. But the journey wasn't kind. He faced beasts twisted by time, ruins that tried to devour his mind, and terrain that itself was hostile to life. Still, he pressed on."
Theron paused, letting the silence carry the weight of what came next.
"One night, he stumbled upon a cave and took shelter. But within that cavern... was something beyond belief. A dragon."
Caelan's eyes widened.
"Not just any dragon," Theron said softly. "She was massive. Her golden scales shimmered like sunlight on a sea of treasure, even dimmed by injury. She lay broken, her body festering with black rot, a wound gouged deep into her side. It was clear she had been hunted... and nearly killed."
Theron looked up, locking eyes with Caelan. "And yet, even in that state, when she opened her eyes... Caeldrin felt as if he stood before two golden suns."
Caelan felt his breath catch in his throat.
"She didn't speak. Not aloud. But a voice echoed in his mind. Weak. Distant. She asked for help."
A strange sadness crossed Theron's face then.
"Caeldrin could have fled. Should have, maybe. But he didn't. Instead, he acted. From his ring, he took out something precious: a vial of Phoenix Tears. A relic he'd won in blood and hardship. With only three drops, the black rot began to vanish. Slowly, painfully... she began to heal."
"He stayed by her side," Theron continued, voice nearly reverent. "Days passed. He hunted for her, shielded her, watched over her. And when she recovered... she gave him a gift."
He straightened.
"Her name was Draenora. And she gave him a portion of her bloodline. Not to make him a dragon. Not to change his destiny. But to say thank you."
Theron's voice grew quieter.
"But she warned him. The blood would fade. With every generation after him, it would grow weaker. Until it was nothing but a whisper, buried in the soul."
Caelan sat in silence, each word carving itself into his memory.
"The integration changed him," Theron said. "He broke through the Lord Stage... and reached the King Stage. But that wasn't enough. Not for Caeldrin. He still yearned for more."
Caelan's fists tightened slightly.
"He found the Everlasting Flame. Tamed it. Fused with it. And with that, he rose into the Emperor Stage—a realm untouched by most mortals in that era."
Theron smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"When he returned to Elarion... he found his home overrun. Otherworlders had invaded, burning cities and enslaving people. So he hid his strength. He trained others. Taught them the path of power."
He looked down at his hands.
"And when the time came to fight back... he rose like a flame reborn. His strength. His fire. His presence. It earned him a name across the continent."
Theron looked back at his son.
"Flamewalker."
Caelan whispered the name under his breath. "Flamewalker..."
Theron nodded. "He became a symbol. Not just of strength, but of salvation. And when peace returned to Elarion... he disappeared quietly. Settled down. And founded the Virelith Clan."
Caelan sat still, absorbing it all. The silence afterward wasn't empty—it was sacred. Like sitting in the ashes of a great fire, still warm.
A slow breath escaped him.
And then he asked, softly, "Why did no one remember his name?"
Theron closed his eyes for a moment. "Because legends become myths. And myths... fade."
Caelan nodded.
But in his heart, the flame had been lit.
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