"I am glad to see you are well."
Thalric's aged voice echoed through the throne room.
Caspian kept his expression neutral, but the faint tension in his posture betrayed how little he trusted that sentiment.
The old king sighed.
"Caspian, things are more complicated than you realise. I could not act hastily. Individual strength alone is not always enough."
His dim crimson eyes unfocused for a brief moment, as if drifting through old memories.
"To rule an empire as vast as mine requires a careful balance of interests," Thalric continued. "I cannot allow it to fracture—even for my precious daughter."
Caspian understood that his grandfather's hands had been tied.
That didn't mean he was ready to forgive him.
Not when his mother's suffering was still fresh in his mind.
"Thank you for the wisdom, my king," Caspian replied, his tone balanced carefully between respect and something sharper.
A small smile tugged at Thalric's lips.
"You know," he said, "this may be our first proper meeting, but the way you carry yourself reminds me of who I was at your age."
He chuckled softly.
"I was brash. Convinced I knew better than everyone else. I believed the world existed to be conquered."His gaze sharpened slightly. "And to an extent, I was right. For dragons especially, might does make right."
Then his voice lowered.
"But time teaches lessons strength alone cannot. When you live as long as I have, that fire tempers into caution."
"My king," Caspian said evenly, "may I ask a question?"
Thalric waved a hand, granting permission.
"Why did you summon me?"
The bluntness caught the old king off guard.
Thalric was silent for a moment.
"Perhaps," he said slowly, "I wished to speak with you at last. Perhaps I wanted to offer advice."
His expression softened—just a fraction.
"Or perhaps I am trying to quiet regrets that have lingered far too long."
The vulnerability was fleeting—but real.
"Be careful," Thalric continued. "You are not yet in a position—politically or personally—to make enemies without consequence."
He leaned back against his throne.
"Temper your spirit. That is my advice."
"That is all. You may go."
Caspian rose, bowed, and turned to leave.
Behind him, Thalric's voice followed.
"I will be watching you closely from now on."
______
Outside the throne room, Caspian finally released a slow breath.
Watching me closely…
That kind of sentence would put someone on a list back on Earth.
It reminded him uncomfortably of the entity that had granted his wishes—power never came without expectations.
There was no way any of this had been free.
"Temper my spirit, huh…" Caspian muttered internally.
Did he even need to?
A faint smirk crossed his face.
He wasn't like the inhabitants of this world.
He was an anomaly.
Someone with the potential to eclipse them all.
He had no intention of slowing down on his path to standing above every dragon.
Lost in thought, a familiar, poisonous voice slid into his ears.
"Oh? If it isn't my dear cousin. Back from the dead—and looking better than ever."
Caspian stopped.
"I suppose even half-breeds can clean up nicely," the voice continued smoothly. "You have your royal blood to thank for that. Even if it's a bit thin."
A tall man approached—slightly shorter than Caspian, with short red hair and sharp blue eyes. Handsome by royal standards.
But utterly overshadowed.
What stood out most wasn't his appearance—it was his swagger. He moved like the palace belonged to him. Like everyone else existed beneath his notice.
Confidence.
Or rather… false bravado.
He was five years older than Caspian and had only evolved once.
For a dragon, that wasn't alarming.
They measured time differently than lower races.
But to Caspian, that lack of urgency was a flaw.
One he intended to exploit.
Caspian recognised the type immediately.
The kind that mistook pedigree and time for inevitability.
Vorgath would have fit that mould perfectly
A young master, Caspian thought, the smirk returning.
Looks like this one volunteered to go first.