He did not lead me to hidden dungeons or secret cells, but to the top of the tower where he resided. Every step along the spiral stone staircase felt like an ascent toward my unknown fate.
His hand never released my arm, and although his grip was firm, it carried no cruelty—more like the hold of a guide in a storm, preventing me from losing my way.
We climbed into his chamber. It was not a luxurious hall, but rather something closer to a den—wide and dim, illuminated only by the fire of a massive stone hearth.
The air was thick with the scent of smoke, leather, and something else… something wild and mysterious.
The scent of a dragon.
Along the walls hung swords and spears that looked like relics from ancient battles.
In one corner stood a massive bed of dark wood, draped with the furs of enormous beasts. But my eyes settled on the open balcony, where the call of the night and the wind slipped in freely.
Kiernan closed the heavy door behind us, the sound of the wood sealing our isolation. Then he turned toward me, his face shifting beneath the flickering shadows of the fire. There was no longer any place to hide—neither for him nor for me.
"The truth…" he began, his voice rougher than usual. "Is that I am not the one you should fear."
"I was never afraid of you," I lied, though my voice trembled slightly.
He smiled bitterly. "You should be. Because what I am about to reveal will turn your entire world upside down."
He turned toward the hearth, his back to me.
"The feud between our tribes. The war that has lasted for so long. All of it was nothing but a lie."
"A lie?" I asked.
He turned suddenly, his gray eyes reflecting the firelight.
"The lie that the Amber tribe tried to steal the white dragon… and that the Nevis tribe retaliated by attempting to steal Nyktis."
"That is not a lie. That is our history!" I protested.
"History is written by the victors," he said quietly. "Or in our case, by the liars."
He stepped closer with calm confidence.
"There was no attempted theft. There was an agreement. An agreement between the Prince of Amber and the Princess of Nevis… an agreement of peace. And an agreement of marriage."
I fell silent, trying to absorb his words.
"This… this is madness. If such an agreement existed, everyone would know about it."
"It was buried," he replied. "Because the ones who orchestrated the betrayal killed the prince and the princess before they could reveal it."
His eyes carried the weight of centuries.
"They were killed by their advisors. My father's advisor… and your father's."
My heart nearly stopped.
"Falkar…"
"And my father's advisor, whom I killed long ago," he finished. "They killed those who sought peace to keep the flames of war alive. War served their interests. It granted them power and wealth."
It felt as though the ground had split open beneath my feet.
Everything I had known—everything I had been raised to believe—was a lie.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because Falkar knows the truth. And he knows that I know it."
He looked toward the balcony where the glow of distant fires still burned against the night.
"And he knows there is another secret. One that concerns you… and me."
"What is it?" I whispered, fear tightening my chest.
He looked at me, and in his eyes I saw the shape of our shared fate forming.
"That we are like them—bound by a destiny older than our hatred."
He paused before continuing.
"And before you refuse, remember this… why didn't Nyktis kill Glacir in the battle? And why didn't I kill you?"
As his final words echoed through the chamber, I realized a hidden thread had been binding us from the very beginning.
And that the war we believed we were fighting had only been a veil hiding a truth that would change everything.
"Bound?" My voice nearly broke under the weight of his words. "What are you talking about? This is madness!"
He showed no irritation at my reaction.
Instead, he slowly turned and began pacing across the chamber, his shadow dancing along the carved walls like a ghost chasing him.
"The dragons Nyktis and Glacir are not merely beasts."
He stopped before an old painting hanging on the wall—a depiction of two dragons, black and white, entwined in a perfect circle.
"They are two ancient souls, complementary to one another. When one tries to harm the other, both weaken. But when they are together, their power multiplies beyond imagination."
"That's nonsense!" I said, though even to my own ears my protest sounded weak. "We have fought for centuries."
"Have we truly fought?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Look closely at the history of our battles. Few losses. Border skirmishes. Plenty of smoke and noise… but very little real bloodshed."
He took another step closer.
"Even our last battle. Do you truly believe a warrior of my skill could not have killed a wounded dragon?"
My lips trembled.
He was right.
At the height of the battle, when Glacir stumbled, Nyktis had the perfect chance to kill him.
But he didn't.
"Why?" I whispered.
"Because the war was merely a performance," he answered. "We continued playing the game our ancestors began—to satisfy ambitious advisors like Falkar."
He stepped closer again until he stood right in front of me.
"But now Falkar has broken the rules. He no longer wants a performance. He wants real power. He wants control of both dragons."
"And by controlling me as well," I realized suddenly.
"Exactly."
His gray eyes flashed with approval.
"This is where the bond I mentioned comes in. Our blood—the blood of the princes of both tribes—is the key. The key to achieving true balance between the dragons."
The room seemed to spin around me.
Everything began to connect in terrifying ways.
The old legends I had heard as a child about the chosen guardians.
The dragons.
The strange rarity in Kiernan's eyes.
Even the unusual calm Glacir had shown before the battle.
"What exactly do you want from me?" I asked, struggling to gather what remained of my composure.
"An alliance," he said simply, as if asking for a cup of water.
"Not an alliance of kingdoms. An alliance of fate. You and I together can stop Falkar. We can reveal the truth and end this endless war."
I laughed—a bitter, involuntary sound.
"You're asking me to ally with the man who captured me, destroyed my army, and hides a dragon inside his body?"
"Yes."
He did not smile.
His seriousness was almost terrifying.
"Because the only other option is to let Falkar destroy everything we love. And he will. He has already begun."
He nodded toward the fires still burning in the distance.
In that moment, a violent knock struck the door.
Malakai's desperate voice cut through the tension.
"Kiernan! You need to come now! They found something at the base of the mountain."
Kiernan looked at me for a long moment, as though weighing my soul.
"Think about it. But don't take too long. Time is a luxury we no longer have."
Then he left, leaving me alone in his den, surrounded by shadows—and by a truth far more terrifying than any legend.
I couldn't stay in his chamber.
The air there was thick with secrets and threats, heavy with the scent of smoke and leather.
I made my way to the wide balcony, where the roar of the wind drowned the chaos of my thoughts.
The view from above was horrifying.
Orange and red flames devoured the pine forests along the mountain's slope, and even from this height the smell of burning reached me.
Falkar was not bluffing.
This was a clear message: if he could not control the dragons, he would destroy everything.
"It seems the third lesson has begun… without a word being spoken."
I turned suddenly to find Malakai standing at the entrance to the balcony, leaning against a stone pillar, watching me with a look that was difficult to decipher.
"Where is Kiernan?" I asked, trying to hide my worry.
"Down there."
He gestured with his chin toward the mountain's base, where torchlights moved like glowing insects.
"We found the bodies of the dragon hunters. None survived to answer our questions."
"They're all dead? But… Nyktis was injured."
Malakai laughed bitterly.
"Nyktis didn't kill them. We found them already dead. Precise knife wounds in their backs."
I froze.
"What?"
"Yes," he said, stepping closer. "It seems someone wanted to silence them forever. Someone who doesn't want us to know why they were sent."
A chill ran through my bones.
"Falkar."
"Or perhaps someone else," he replied, looking at me challengingly.
"Perhaps they were agents of your tribe. Perhaps you ordered one of them to eliminate the others after they completed their task."
"That's absurd!" I snapped, stepping toward him. My anger overcame my caution. "I didn't—we didn't send them!"
"And how am I supposed to believe that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You're standing in our fortress while members of your tribe try to kill our legendary dragon."
"If you truly believed that, you would have killed me already!"
At that moment, the powerful beating of wings filled the air.
We looked up to see Nyktis soaring high across the sky, heading toward the flames.
And on his back sat Kiernan, his silhouette carved against the moonlight.
They dove toward the fire like dark comets.
The sight was both magnificent and terrifying—a living embodiment of power and fury in a black dragon and his rider.
"Do you see?" Malakai whispered.
"This is what we protect. This is what your uncle threatens."
I watched Kiernan guide his dragon above the blazing flames like an angel of war and darkness.
And in that moment, I realized that Malakai was right—at least in one way.
This was not merely a war between kingdoms.
It was a clash of visions of the world.
Fire and ice.
Darkness and light.