As soon as Viorel stepped into the room, he knew he was in trouble.
His brother Tamil stood in the center, waiting, a smug expression plastered across his face.
"Welcome home, brother," Tamil said smoothly, his voice laced with mockery.
Viorel chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Brother! What a pleasant surprise. I was just..."
"Going on a lovely stroll, were we, Viorel?" Tamil cut in, his tone sharp.
Viorel sighed, realizing there was no point in pretending. With a flick of his hand, his mortal form melted away, revealing his true self. His crystal-like glass skin shimmered under the dim light, and his violet eyes glinted harshly.
"Yes," he replied casually, "I went to train my lower dragon."
Tamil smirked knowingly. "Father isn't going to buy that excuse. He's furious. You're in for quite the earful today, dear little brother. Usually, you're his favorite golden child."
Viorel rolled his eyes, already exhausted by Tamil's gloating. "If you're done basking in my supposed downfall, please leave," he said flatly.
Tamil's smirk vanished, his expression darkening. "I wonder," he mused, his voice low and venomous, "if Father will chain you at the bottom of the bottomless abyss for your disobedience."
Viorel met his gaze, unflinching, but before he could respond, Tamil disappeared into thin air, leaving a chilling silence in his wake.
----
Viorel made his way down the grand hallway of the heavenly castle, his footsteps echoing in the vast, silent expanse. His heart pounded with every step, each beat a reminder of the confrontation awaiting him.
Facing his father after such blatant disobedience felt akin to walking into a storm bare-handed. But to hide? That would seal his fate. His father would perceive it as treason, a concession to the humans, and execute him without hesitation.
The towering white doors groaned as they parted, allowing him entry into the throne room. A suffocating wave of power radiated from the golden-eyed figure seated atop a mountain of clouds, his aura as blinding as it was oppressive.
"Insolent child, kneel!" his father roared, his voice a crack of thunder.
Before Viorel could move, an invisible force crushed him to his knees, his limbs trembling under the weight of his father's power.
"Father, I have disobeyed you," Viorel pleaded, his voice strained. "I beg your forgiveness!"
"Forgiveness?" His father's booming voice shook the golden pillars. "A prince must never set foot in the human realm unless on trial. You have lowered yourself to the rank of a lesser dragon! For this insolence, you shall be punished."
Viorel's head hung low. "I accept your punishment, Father."
The king's gaze turned cold, his next words cutting like shards of ice. "Then hear your sentence: You will return to the human realm and kill the mortal named Aiden."
Viorel's head snapped up in shock. "What?"
"His reign of terror against our kind must end, and I have chosen you to carry out this task. Do you refuse?" His father's glare was sharper than any blade, his golden eyes searing.
Viorel swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "No, Father."
A sudden burst of lightning lit the room as a powerful feminine voice echoed through the chamber. "You send my only son to his death, not for his transgression but because he is half-mortal!"
Viorel turned to see his mother descending, her fury palpable as sparks danced around her. "I will not forgive you!" she thundered, her words crashing against the walls like waves against a cliff.
Viorel seized the moment to slip out of the throne room, avoiding the fiery clash of his parents. His fate had been decided.
Sent to the human realm to face Aiden—a warrior feared across realms—his father had as good as signed his death warrant. Viorel clenched his fists. He hadn't even mastered the basics of swordsmanship, let alone faced an opponent of Aiden's caliber.
Standing before the shimmering gate to the mortal realm, the portal between the dragons' heavenly kingdom and Earth, he sighed deeply.
"This is it," he muttered to himself before stepping through the portal, letting its swirling energy pull him into the unknown—toward his likely demise.
Viorel crashed into the jagged mountainside, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He groaned, coughing as he struggled to his feet, his full robe heavy with dirt. His healing powers worked swiftly, knitting torn flesh, but the brief pain reminded him how fragile his mortal form could be.
He glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning the unfamiliar terrain. The towering peaks surrounded him like silent sentinels, and the dense forest below whispered ominously in the breeze. He realized with a sinking feeling that he had no idea where he was.
Lost.
How was he supposed to find Aiden when he had no clue where to even begin?
The sound of approaching hooves shattered the uneasy silence. Viorel's breath hitched, and he instinctively pressed himself against a nearby tree, hiding in the shadows.
The earth was damp, the air thick with the pungent scent of blood and metal. The forest seemed to hold its breath as the riders emerged.
Through a parting in the brush came Aiden, his presence commanding. A dead deer hung over one broad shoulder, his armor gleaming with streaks of blood, and his stride exuded a predator's grace. His men followed closely, their voices rising in a haunting ballad:
"Oh, hail the destroyer of beasts,
The conqueror of men,
The ender of dragons!
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
Viorel's chest tightened as he watched Aiden. The man moved with the confidence of a god, his broad shoulders squared, dark stubble shadowing his angular jaw. Blood trailed down his armor, painting a picture of relentless violence.
Suddenly, Aiden stopped.
Viorel froze, his heart pounding louder than the soldiers' chanting. He crouched further into the bushes, hurriedly masking his dragon scent with the damp leaves around him.
Aiden turned his head slightly, then began walking directly toward him.
Viorel's breath caught, terror coiling in his chest. He summoned a cloaking spell, enveloping himself in dragon magic to turn invisible. Yet, despite the spell, Aiden's piercing eyes seemed to zero in on his exact location.
Viorel didn't move, barely daring to breathe.
Aiden stopped in front of him, his face unreadable. Slowly, he extended a hand, brushing against something—Viorel's hair.
Viorel nearly choked, the effort to stay utterly still pushing him to the brink of collapse.
And then, as if nothing had happened, Aiden turned and walked away, his men falling back into formation.
Viorel collapsed against the tree, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His heart felt like it might burst from his chest.
How was he supposed to kill such a terrifying man?
His lips trembled as he whispered to himself, "What have I gotten myself into?"