Chapter 1

Young Egorh

Eight years later...

The morning air bit sharply against Egorh’s skin, carrying the dry heat of summer’s peak. Sunlight glared off the chestnut stallion’s flanks, and with the rough reins in his calloused hands, Egorh swung himself onto its back with the ease of a boy who knew how to fall and no longer feared it. His scuffed boots nudged the horse forward, sending up a scatter of dust and dry leaves as they cantered away from Old Falcon Place.

The Thickheart lay ahead, its mist curling low and clinging to root and rock, and beyond it, the Gray Gonzo Mountains rose—its earth’s sharp teeth, as his father always said. Egorh barely spared them a glance. The stream called to him, its thin ribbon of water cutting into the shallows and marking the forest’s heart.

This was a place he felt knew him. Where trees seemed to lean as he passed, beasts stared a moment too long, and the ground beneath his boots pulsed in time with his blood––this is where he wanted to name his horse.

Soon, the breeze swept through his untamed hair—a tangled brown mess, proof of his refusal to put up with the village barber’s shears. His eyes, brown like the shadows under the big oak tree, focused on the winding path ahead. He felt a sudden release with his white sleeves flapping, the smell of pine and wild ginger, and the stallion’s mane whipping across his face. Inside, it was as if a dam had given way. Throwing his head up, he laughed, shouting out into the world—and to his horse.

“It’s my birthday. Not the mark, not the amulet, not even the stupid secret can stop me. Eight years, and you’re my gift...”

When they both breathed in the air with the force of bellows, Egorh eased the steed into a trot and rested his hand on the horse’s neck in quiet wonder. “You’re fast,” he said, his large grin nearly splitting his face.

He veered left onto a narrow trail bordered by towering maple giants, their long shadows stretching across the way. The path was scarcely wide enough for horse and rider, but he knew it would lead him to a woodland stream. He dismounted, guiding the animal further over the tangled tree roots where the trail grew even narrower.

A foul stench hit him—fox flesh, half-rotten and writhing with maggots, and he tensed, something else could be on the hunt. But he relaxed when skittish rodents darted to hide among the ferns and cattails. He nudged it aside with his boot and grimaced. Foxes were scarce these days—his father would have valued this one's fur. I could have given it to him, he thought.

As the path widened, birds scattered into the sky, and a clearing opened before him, spilling bright sunlight over a chuckling stream.

He always felt the soft pulses of nature vibrate through the earth, as though the land breathed with quiet magic, waiting for him to claim it. Strange tingling crawled up Egorh’s spine as he neared the stream, his heartbeat kicking faster. He was going to name his first stallion.

Across the water, a deer stood at the edge, dark pupils locked on him in wordless recognition before it slipped away into the trees. Egorh guided his steed to where the water had carved into the earth near a scatter of rocks, forming a small pool in the shallows.

He brought his horse to the running current to drink and crouched beside him. “Only a sip now,” he whispered, letting his fingers glide over the stallion’s neck. It’s coat rippled, and Egorh’s brown eyes sparkled with golden flecks as he admired the creature. When he stood, he nodded. “Vector... yes, I’ll call you Vector, and...”

Somewhere, a twig snapped. The mount’s ears twitched. A whirr of wings followed as small birds flew up.

Egorh pivoted, a flicker of panic rushing through him. For a moment, everything was quiet—too quiet.

Then two young men stepped out of the underbrush—taller than him, with pale skin, deer-like ears, and cobalt eyes. Their arms were covered in tangled tattoos, like a wild forest in ink. Egorh’s stomach tightened.

Slave traders... His father had warned him they were about. He glanced over his shoulder and thought of a hasty escape. But what of Vector? He couldn’t abandon him.

“A fitting name for a warm-blooded animal,” the front one said.

A chill sweat beaded on Egorh’s forehead; he badly wanted to run but backed off, almost losing his footing and stumbling in the muck by the water’s edge. He grabbed a stone, then another, glaring at them both, ready to hurl them, but doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.

What if I miss? What if it only makes things worse?

“Come any closer, and you’ll regret it,” he warned, his voice steady despite the urge to throw.

Then suddenly, it came again—his fingers twitched. Heat surged through him, tendrils curling deep inside, racing along his veins, up his spine, and into his palms. The stones slipped from his grasp into the mud, and a silver orb spun into being on his palm, wrapped in finely wrought iron shaped like a dragon, pulsing with his quickened heartbeat.

I’ve wrestled colts. I’m not afraid of some twig-eared strangers, he reminded himself, trying to steady his racing mind.

“Don’t worry, Egorh,” said the man with long white hair flowing down his shoulders. “We are not your enemies, and I assure you—we wouldn’t eat eight-year-old boys. Besides, we’re not meat eaters.”

Egorh stood his ground despite the fear that clawed at his chest. “What happens if my name isn’t Egorh?”

The pony-tailed man’s lips curled into a smile as he waved toward the woods.

“We’re aware of everyone and everything in the wilderness, including you.” He placed his fist over his heart. “I go by Urke.” He gestured to the other man, whose long blond ponytail fell to his waist. “He is Koah, and the creature balancing on his shoulder... that’s Bullfrog.”

Koah stepped closer, scrunched his eyebrows, and nodded toward Egorh’s hand. “Your powerful object, showing it in that manner, is not a good idea. Best you put it away.”

Egorh’s pulse quickened as the silver ball continued to spin. “Are you the ones who hunt to enslave people?” he forced the words out past the lump in his throat. They didn’t match the description—too slender, too delicate, or different. Besides, he was certain men involved in the slave trade would not keep frogs as pets. He was sure the dragon-encased sphere would scare them off; if not, he’d have to think of something else fast.

“If we were slavers, we’d not be having this conversation,” Koah remarked, settling on a fallen trunk. The frog leaped onto his lap as he began to fill a curved wooden pipe with dry leaves. “We’re the ones who complicate their lives.”

Egorh ignored the fear gnawing at his insides. “Who are you? You’re not from here, are you?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the beads, shells, and small skulls hanging around their necks.

Urke exchanged a glance with Koah. “Young Egorh is full of questions.”

Egorh adjusted his balance, lifting the orb higher. These men had secrets. He was almost sure they must be from the monastery—the ones Marion spoke of. Monks who never see daylight probably have pale skin.

“Did you come from the monastery dungeons?” his voice wobbled, half scared, half daring.

“Dungeons? We’re no monks stuck in silent, candle-lit cells, spending our days in prayer and solitude. We’re dryads—tree-dwellers, not ones for cold stone or roofs overhead like humankind.”

“So, why haven’t I seen you here before?” Egorh asked, giving them a slow, searching stare. If they weren’t from the monastery or slave traders, they had to be old woodland spirits from places he’d only heard about in his father’s stories.

“We come from Eyassa Forest, where Queen Drumdrya reigns,” Urke said, chopping at a twisted root with his axe. “People stared at us, as you are doing now.”

“Well, you are odd,” Egorh frowned.

“Want some?” Urke offered him a chunk.

Egorh pulled a face and shook his head. “I don’t eat tubers.”

Urke shrugged and bit into another slice. “Your loss. These roots bear the lifeblood of the old growth.”

“What do you want?” Egorh insisted.

Urke chewed slowly, then added, “We blend into the wilderness, the same as chameleons.” He slid over to a nearby tree, pressed against the bark, and vanished, only to appear a few moments later as if he’d materialized from nothing.

Egorh’s jaw dropped. The orb crumbled and faded into his palm, and he stepped forward, mud squishing over the toes of his boots. “Show me how you did that. I want to do that, too.”

Koah swung his legs to the ground. “Figured that would catch your interest. We find it easy, but you have talents beyond the usual.”

Urke’s smile stretched wide, cold as a wolf’s grin before the hunt. “Egorh, do you know what or who you are?”

Egorh squared his shoulders, trying to look taller. “I’m me.”

Koah chuckled softly, stirring the silence like wind through dry leaves. “A clever answer. But you’re more than ‘you.’ More than a boy who rides too fast and laughs too loud.”

Egorh’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Urke moved nearer, his eyes catching the light in a way that made Egorh think of sunlight glinting through the water. “Eight years ago, when you first screamed into this world, Eyassa Forest—our woodland —shivered like they’d been struck by lightning. They’ve been whispering your name ever since.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Egorh scrunched his brows. “People don’t talk to trees, and trees don’t talk to people.”

“No,” Koah said, leaning in, so they were eye to eye. “But the forest talks to itself. And some bloodlines... some lineages... they sing so loudly, even the roots remember.”

Urke tapped Egorh’s chest lightly with the hilt of his axe. “Your blood knows things your head can’t yet. That’s why we’re here.”

“What sort of things?” Egorh’s voice was smaller than he wanted.

Koah’s smile faded. “The kind of things that decide if forests stand or burn, and get boys killed if they’re careless.”

Urke raised his axe, pointing it toward the mountains. “Your story doesn’t start in Old Falcon Place. And it sure doesn’t end here.”

Egorh’s heart thudded. “So, where does it start?”

The dryads exchanged glances—two pairs of cobalt eyes flickering with something halfway between amusement and pity.

“That,” Urke said, “is what you’ll have to find out.”

“Talking here is not good for us,” Urke interrupted, flicking his ears, then casting a brief look behind him. “It’s best to have this discussion at the right time. We have much to teach you in nature.”

Egorh shifted his attention from dryad to dryad. “Why would I... I’ve been to the woods countless times with my father... I know my way around.”

Koah perched the frog on the tree trunk and stepped closer. “There’s magic and wonder beyond your awareness that we’ve witnessed. What matters at this moment is our wisdom to help you use your power to its fullest. We will teach you the orb’s 52 rules, so you can master it.”

Egorh blinked. “Rules? What do you know about the ball? It’s my secret.”

Koah continued. “And... it wouldn’t stay a secret if you keep handling it out in the open—especially with slave mongers, smugglers, warlocks, and book-witches who’d kill for its power. If they saw it, they’d cut off your hand.”

Egorh shifted his weight. “Nobody mentioned smugglers, warlocks, or book-witches,” he protested. What else had my family kept from me? But curiosity gnawed at him. He leaned in. “Fifty-two? Prove it. Tell me now.”

“Your orb,” Koah said in a lower voice, “isn’t human magic. It’s dryad-born... your...”

Urke shifted his weight and glanced around. “We can explain that later, not now, Koah. He’s not ready yet. He needs more balance.”

“He looks brave and ready.”

Urke twirled his axe, the blade catching the light before he slipped it into his studded belt. “Not a good time or place. Besides, no child should know the 52 rules before his blood sings its second song,” Urke muttered, half to himself. “But the Veilwood can’t wait any longer.”

Egorh, half irritated, picked up a twig and snapped it between his fingers. “Why bother sharing it if the timing or place is wrong? What brings you to me now?”

Koah flicked mud off Bullfrog’s spine. An unsettling quiet suddenly blanketed the thicket, broken only by a frog’s low, guttural croak. Koah’s expression darkened with unspoken thoughts as he stared at the old maple.

“We’ve got more on our plates than guarding Thickheart Forest. We are here to help you understand things. Don’t waste your breath asking what it is—we’re not telling and can’t. Consider us friends for now. The queen’s orders are tighter than a noose.”

Egorh bit his lip. He didn’t get all that, but he wanted companions, especially ones who could explain the ball.

Urke’s chin tilted slightly, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “And your dragon holding the orb... did you name it?”

Egorh hesitated before shrugging. “No, but if it’s that important, I’ll call it Ball?”

The two dryads traded a quick, knowing glance.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” Urke said.

All of a sudden, his ears twitched, and he listened. “We have to go. A rider’s approaching.”

Koah placed the toad on his shoulder. “We can’t show everything yet, but what we share will amaze you beyond anything. Let’s move, Urke.”

“Wait...” Egorh’s voice cracked with urgency. “What if you don’t return? I need to know the 52 rules. If there’s magic in Thickheart Forest, I want to see it. Where can I find you?”

The dryads paused, their expressions thoughtful, as if weighing his words.

“Come here, and we’ll track you down,” Urke said. “Also— choose the name of the orb with your heart, not your mind. It’ll be the true one, and the dragon might just share its strength with you.”

Urke cast a fleeting, anxious glance at Egorh. “And watch who you trust.”

The dryads vanished into the timber, moving with the untamed grace of forest things.

Egorh kicked a rock into the stream, muttering, “I hope they keep to their word.”

Right then, a horse snorted, and leaves rustled. Jake, with his broad face and wide neck, appeared on his mount, his red hair a fiery contrast against the green. He reined in. “I thought you might be here. I must bring you home. Your father’s orders.”

“Jake, I want to stay longer,” Egorh said. Leaving was the last thing he wanted. He was eager to hear more from the strangers and understand what they meant about the orb’s rules. He craved answers. His questions churned. Staying might bring Urke and Koah back—but not if Jake was still around.

Jake’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “I’m here under orders, but we could stretch it longer. Only don’t expect any cake left.”

“Perhaps you’re right—I should go home.” Egorh flung the reins over Vector’s head and hopped on. He glanced back one last time, but only trees were where the dryads had disappeared. As he trailed Jake along the narrow path, his mind became a tangled web of thoughts. “How did they end up there? Was it on purpose? Or by mistake? And what about the ball?”

Egorh stayed silent, recalling when he first encountered the ball that had terrified him. It all began when his screams jerked him awake from a nightmare about a thicket filled with wolves and blood. The strange silver object had appeared then, sending a thud into his chest as it flowed through his bloodstream and settled into his hand. He understood later that his fear was the trigger and that calming himself made it disappear.

Once, it had appeared when he tore through the deep wood after a rabbit. Shadows crept where they shouldn’t, lurking in the underbrush, and he could sense something watching him, just out of sight. Clutching the mysterious thing, he pushed on, his heart racing. Another time, while crossing a swollen river on a moss-covered log, his foot slipped, and the current pulled him under. He thought he would drown, but the strange object had lifted him from the water when all hope seemed lost.

He had planned to mention it to Marion. She was the closest thing he had to a mother. But she interrupted him mid-sentence, wagging her finger with a stern look. “Children who tell unusual tales get banished to the dungeons of the monastery. Mind your tongue, young man, and what you spread out there,” she warned.

The orb had become a friend. His only understanding was that this power let him feel far older than his years—and he liked it. What rules did the dryads mean?

The morning had passed by the time they rode past the aged gateposts with their wide wrought-iron gates, one of which bore the inscription Old Falcon Place. A thin trail of smoke rose from the chimneys of Bronbeck Manor, the soul of the estate.

When Egorh left at sunrise, the kitchen had been noisier than usual. Marion grumbled about the heat near the boiling pots, using her apron to mop her reddened face. Joseph barked out duties and hollered for more wood. Potboy’s tuneless song irritated everyone as he polished the stack of silver. The commotion buzzed around Egorh, and he guessed it was all for his upcoming celebration in the afternoon.

A red-tailed hawk swooped across the manor, catching his eye. He tracked its flight over the pine trees lining the cobblestone path to the family graveyard. The bird landed on the small church with its whitewashed walls and leaded windows. Egorh’s focus lingered on the gentle slope where his mother and sister’s headstones stood.

“I wish I’d known them,” he thought, and a pang of sadness tugged at him.

Egorh dismounted at the stables, where Jim greeted him with a grin and reached for the reins.

“You have fun at your party. I’ll take care of your horse,” Jim offered.

Egorh hesitated, clutching the straps tighter. “He’s my steed. I have to look after him,” he insisted.

Jim smiled as he took the bridle. “I understand. Consider it a little something extra for your birthday.”

Tall Sam, his father’s right-hand man, tossed his pitchfork onto a haystack and moved closer. Whether strong or just fat, he always managed to intimidate. He clapped Egorh on the back with a force that made him stumble, as if they were long-time friends. “You’ve reached eight years, but how you handled this stallion today makes me doubt you’ll reach nine.”

Egorh rubbed Vector’s nose, sensing the coarse hair beneath his fingertips. “He’s the greatest horse I’ve ever ridden.”

“Yeah...” Tall Sam nodded. “Duke Bitdault said this sixteen-hander was strong, full of heart and courage. I’ve seen a lot of horses in my time, but this one stood out.”

“Alright, but I’ll return soon to give him a brush,” Egorh promised.

Under the sprawling oaks, adults gathered, their laughter and gossip mingling with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread.

Egorh slipped past them and poured himself a big mug of apple-cherry juice. The cool, sweet liquid refreshed him as memories of last year’s celebration surfaced. Father had given him a sword with a weighty silver handle etched with the family emblem. “Get used to it,” he’d said then. “With some practice, you’ll have no trouble swinging it by your next birthday.” Egorh named the sword Seven after the year he was born, and he spent months lifting hay bales and water buckets to build his strength. Though he cherished the blade, he preferred his bow and arrow.

The lemon cake consumed Egorh’s attention. It sat surrounded by tarts, biscuits, and chocolate mushrooms, while steam rose from hot berry pies. He snatched some chocolate, but dropped it when a sudden call startled him.

“Egorh...” Kayrin, Duke John Bitdault’s daughter, called out as she sprinted toward him, holding two cake slices. Her copper-brown hair cascaded in loose waves past her shoulders. She panted and caught her breath as she handed him a piece. “Here. Marion outdid herself with the bake this time.”

Egorh accepted it and took a bite before asking, “Is your father here?”

Kayrin slightly frowned and shoved the remaining chunk of cake into her mouth. “No. I’m here with my aunt. There’s a mare in labor, and he wanted to be present.”

A glimmer sparked in Egorh’s smile. “I got one of his stallions today.”

Her blue eyes lit up. “What else did you get?”

Egorh glanced at the pile of presents beside the pastries. “Haven’t opened them yet.”

“Aren’t you even a little curious?”

“Not now. Maybe later.” He longed to tell her about his experience with the dryads, but doubted she’d believe him. Some stories are best kept to oneself. He finished his cake and wiped his sticky fingers on the tablecloth.

“Come,” he said, and grabbed her hand. “I want to show you the stallion. His name is Vector.”

As the last carriage rolled away and the sound of hooves faded, Egorh settled onto the chilly stone steps of the manor. He let his gaze wander and rested his chin on his palms. After a while, he relaxed and traced the peculiar birthmark on his neck—an embossed shape, like a scaled dragon encircled by an Amaranthine eye. His finger lingered on the eyes before he pulled up his collar, concealing the mark. It was second nature—people always stared. But tonight felt different. He wasn’t just a boy anymore. He was on the brink of something bigger.

“Here you are,” Sir Matthew Bronbeck called from behind. He ruffled Egorh’s hair, strode over, and dropped beside him with a weary thud. “Did you have a pleasant day?”

Egorh looked up and met his father’s thoughtful, dark brown eyes in a face marked by hard lines and the streak of silver in his hair. “More so when Kayrin showed up, and I could show Vector to her.”

“Vector?” Sir Matthew lifted an eyebrow. A smile tugged at his lips.

Egorh brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I named my horse that.”

“A strong name,” Sir Matthew said with a nod. “You spent a long time in the forest today. I had to send Jake to fetch you.”

Egorh’s thoughts wandered to the dryads he had met earlier, their mystical presence haunting his mind. He wanted to share it with his father, but was unsure how to begin.

Sir Matthew’s stare sharpened. “You look deep in thought. Is there anything specific you’re thinking about?”

“Sort of...” Egorh shifted and drummed his fingers lightly on the cold stone. Does he even know dryads live in forests?

Sir Matthew rose and stretched his broad shoulders. “Let’s go to the study. We’ll chat before I leave for the north tomorrow.”

“Again? So soon?”

“Well, you are aware of my duties.”

Egorh nodded. His father always told him about their family—how they raised the best horses, the kind lords would ride days just to buy. Sir Matthew was custodian of Bronn-Town. It wasn’t only the horses. He kept the towns, the villages, even the farms safe.

They walked past the big curved staircase and into the study. The thick carpet made their steps vanish, and Egorh felt safe here. Only the kitchen came close, but this was his favorite place of all.

He settled into the leather armchair. Joseph had already lit a dozen candles. Marion’s clumpy, twice-baked bread and a mug of tea had been waiting on a small table beside him, his caretaker since he could remember.

Sir Matthew walked to the walnut desk and poured wine from a crystal decanter. He sat and leaned back in his chair. The old wood and leather groaned beneath him as he took a sip. “So, what is troubling you?”

Egorh looked down at the carpet, thinking hard. He had already decided to tell him about the dryads. He didn’t want to keep any more secrets. Hiding the orb from his father was already enough of a burden. Secrets could be powerful, but also dangerous. Maybe he could bring him to meet them—if they said yes.

He leaned forward and chose his words carefully. “I met these strange young men in the woodland today. Dryads, they called themselves.” He watched his father’s reaction closely.

Sir Matthew lowered his glass, trying to mask the sudden worry. “Dryads, you say? Can you share more with me? What did they look like?”

“They’re weird,” Egorh said, unsure how much to tell. “They went by Koah and Urke—both taller than me.” He stood, hand on his hip. “Their hair came down to here, and their ears... big as a deer’s.”

He sank back into the chair and dipped a piece of bread into his tea, drawing courage from the telling of his secret.

Sir Matthew swirled the wine in his cup thoughtfully. The deep red liquid reflected the flickering candlelight. “From how you described them, they couldn’t possibly be from here. I’ve seen nothing like that in my travels. But just recently, I heard a story...”

“I’m not making it up. It’s true—I saw them. They told me their home was deep in the Eyassa Forest,” Egorh protested.

But how could he have seen them at all, when they could vanish whenever they wished?

Sir Matthew stepped around the desk and leaned against the front, the old wood creaking beneath him. His brow furrowed. “I didn’t doubt you. No one––not even poachers.—enters the Eyassa wilderness. What else did they say?”

“They said they wanted to show me magic.”

Sir Matthew’s fingers fumbled among the papers on his desk, but he took nothing as he spoke. “Egorh, you know you are different... yes?”

Egorh’s gaze met his father’s. “Sort of, but I wish I could be the same as everyone else—a horse lord like Kayrin’s father, and a fighter, like you.”

“Young Egorh, you are more than you seem. Today is only the first step down a path that will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine.”

“What are you saying?” Egorh hesitated, suddenly afraid he’d sound childish and scared. Does his father know more than he ever admitted?

“Do you remember the story I shared—about the day you were born?”

Egorh crossed his legs as a flicker of memory surfaced. The room’s dim light stretched long, twisting shadows across the walls, and for a heartbeat, he felt as if the past itself leaned over his shoulder, watching.

“The old man?”

“Yes, a priest. He gave me that amulet and stressed how important it was that you must always wear it. Can I still trust you, son, to honor your promise never to remove it? It’s crucial—not just for you, but for all of us. Do you understand?”

Egorh rubbed his knuckle, aware of the anxiety nibbling deep down inside. “I do. I will,” he said, although he didn’t understand... not all of it.

Egorh pulled out the chain with a strange oval disk from beneath his shirt and peered at it. His thumb brushed over the chiseled black stone—an eye with a vertical slit pupil. The iris shifted colors, sometimes purple, sometimes blood-red. He couldn’t make sense of the symbols and numbers along the edge... or the whispers he thought he heard now and then.

“It’s difficult,” Egorh admitted.

Sir Matthew’s tone softened. “I never claimed it would be easy.”

Egorh anxiously gnawed on his lip and glanced away before speaking again. “Could Joseph get me a leather pouch for it? It makes people stare.”

“I’ll have one made.”

“Thank you.” Egorh slipped the amulet under his tunic and concentrated on the dried mud on his boots.

Sir Matthew interlocked his fingers, and Egorh knew what was coming next was serious.

“I promised to protect you eight years ago. I need your help to keep that promise. What do you say when people ask about it?”

Egorh’s focus settled on the top of the high bookshelves, where the oldest books were stored. “I smile and explain it’s a family tradition.”

His father sank into his chair. “Good. I cannot assure you of your continuous security.”

“But why would you?” Egorh said, dipping another piece of bread into his mug and finishing it. “Marion and Joseph are here. They’ve always been here when you were gone.”

Sir Matthew studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Still, some dangers don’t knock first.”

The clock ticked on in the silence that followed.

“Come on, son. Let me walk you to your room.”

Egorh followed him upstairs, the sound of their footsteps soft against the dark oak floorboards.

In his bedroom, Egorh closed the door softly, unlocked the window, and perched on the ledge, his eyes tracing the faint clouds casting shadows on the moon.

Rafor. The name surfaced effortlessly, like an old memory. It felt ancient—older than moonlight on leaves. The orb seemed to have waited all this time to be called by its true name.

Today, everything has changed. Koah and Urke had uncovered his secret, and he had named the orb—Rafor. And Vector was his—the best gift he’d ever received. He felt braver, stronger.

But a thought gnawed at him: was it the dragon’s strength flowing through him... or something darker? His mind spun with questions. Sleep would not come easily—not with the dryads promising to reveal more about Rafor.

I’ll find them at dawn.