The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting soft gold across Jonathan's bedroom walls—but the warmth didn't reach him. He sat up slowly, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. His breath hitched—his body tense as if waking from battle. No nightmare came to mind, yet something stirred within him. A pressure. A presence.
Lightning.
He could still feel it behind his eyes, flickering blue. A sigil—electric and ancient—etched into his dream like a ghost brand on his soul. Something had happened in his sleep. He didn't know how he knew. He just did. The air felt different.
He rubbed his neck. His pulse still thrummed like distant thunder.
And the strangest part?
He felt safe.
It made no sense.
He dressed in silence, moving through muscle memory more than will. By the time he slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped outside, the unease hadn't left him. The sky overhead was cloudless, but he swore it tasted like ozone. He didn't even flinch when two familiar figures rounded the block, walking straight toward him.
Ethan and Elijah. Together.
Jonathan immediately noticed the tightness in their postures. Ethan's eyes didn't quite meet his, and Elijah… didn't speak at all.
"Morning," Jonathan tried, forcing a smile.
Ethan gave him a look. It wasn't angry—but it was serious. "Come with us."
Jonathan blinked. "What's going on?"
"No questions," Elijah muttered. "Not here."
Ethan's red eyes flicked to Jonathan's. We need you to come with us. Please. It's important.
They didn't wait for permission. Ethan turned and walked away. Elijah followed. Jonathan exhaled sharply, a groan of exasperation rising in his throat. But he followed. Something had changed—something more than a dream—and he had a feeling he would soon find out.
The Dragon Household – 17 Minutes Later
Jonathan had never felt small before.
Until now.
The moment he crossed the threshold of the dragon princes' home, something primal within him stirred—urging him to lower his head, to kneel, to shut his mouth and not breathe too loud.
This wasn't a house.
This was a throne.
Hidden behind dense forest and wards no mortal eye could pierce, the estate loomed like a temple to forgotten gods. Massive. Modern. Regal. Walls of volcanic stone and obsidian tile rose around him. The scent of incense and dragonfire clung to the air.
And the silence—he had never heard anything like it.
Not even in the moments before a fight. This was something different. A stillness that didn't belong in any city or world. It was too complete. Too aware. Like the silence before a god spoke.
He stood in the grand foyer of the estate—high ceilings carved with dragon runes, sconces flickering with ever-burning flame. Every polished obsidian tile hummed with restrained power. Every carved dragon on the walls stared down at him, stone-eyed and eternal.
It was beautiful.
And wrong.
Like standing inside the heart of a thunderhead.
Ethan and Elijah flanked him in silence. They hadn't spoken since leading him past the ornate gates, beyond the statues that seemed to breathe, and through a fountain that hissed with steam instead of water.
Only Jonathan's heartbeat broke the stillness. Loud. Nervous.
Then the great obsidian doors at the far end of the hall groaned open.
Beyond them lay the throne room.
It was immaculate. Everything carved from volcanic black stone, polished until it gleamed like glass. Jewels embedded along the walls shimmered like stars. A deep red carpet flowed down the center of the room toward a breathtaking throne—crafted from black gold and ruby, pulsing faintly with inner fire.
Jonathan stared, breath caught in awe.
Then a side door opened. He didn't hear footsteps.
Only the weight of something ancient—something incomprehensibly powerful—entered the room.
The air thickened. The temperature dropped. His skin tightened.
And then—he entered.
King Michael.
He didn't look like Ethan or Elijah.
He looked like something they were trying to become.
Perfected. Divine. Cloaked in tailored black robes that whispered across the marble floor. His eyes—glowing rubies carved into frozen steel—locked onto Jonathan's with no hesitation. No warmth.
Jonathan forgot how to breathe.
It was the kind of gaze that could crush mountains. Not with magic. With disappointment.
That's what terrified him most.
This wasn't anger.
This was judgment.
Michael walked toward the throne with no urgency—like the world itself would wait for him.
Ethan and Elijah stepped forward and knelt before him.
Michael didn't speak. He simply sat.
Then… he raised his hand.
Jonathan's throat closed. "Wait, I—"
Too late.
The world twisted.
Jonathan was wrenched off his feet—flung through the air like a puppet—and slammed face-first into Michael's outstretched hand.
It clamped around his skull.
Ice and flame surged through him.
And then—agony.
A divine force plunged into his mind, dragging him into a storm of memories. His thoughts weren't his own anymore. They were being extracted—violently.
He screamed.
Images ripped through him like blades.
Every moment he'd spent with Ethan and Elijah. The cafeteria laughter. The way Ethan's dragon form had burned through the night sky. The rooftop. The awe. The terror. The moment he chose to stay.
Michael saw everything.
Jonathan tried to pull away, but it was like his soul was being peeled open. His fears. His hopes. His guilt. His promise—
"I'll never betray them."
That's when Michael released him.
Jonathan collapsed to the floor, gasping, coughing, blinking through the white-hot blur seared into his vision.
But it wasn't over.
Michael raised his hand again—not to strike, but to give.
Golden-blue runes spiraled from his palm. They shimmered with divine light. Mana—not just energy, but origin. The kind dragons were born from.
Jonathan tried to crawl back.
He was too slow.
The blast hit him in the chest.
Pain.
Unbearable. Unrelenting. Fire exploded in his veins. Lightning danced along his spine. His skeleton felt like it was being reforged.
He arched off the floor, mouth open in a silent scream.
And then—
Bliss.
A heartbeat of light burst behind his eyes.
The pain vanished.
He hovered—just barely—on the edge of something immense. Something sacred.
He felt the world.
The breath of the air. The pulse of the earth. The spark of mana in every living thing.
He understood.
His eyes opened.
And for the first time… he truly saw.
Michael lowered his hand. His voice was thunder cracked in half. "Your loyalty has been acknowledged."
He waved his hand.
Jonathan flew across the room—yet landed on his feet, perfectly balanced, as if guided by something within.
He looked at his hands, shaking. "What… what did you do to me?"
Michael didn't answer.
He was already walking away.
Ethan rushed to Jonathan's side, grabbing his shoulders. "Are you okay?!"
Jonathan stared at him. Shaking. "I don't know. He… burned something into me. It hurt. But I feel… alive."
Elijah, calm as ever, gave him a rare nod. "You survived. That's more than most."
Jonathan looked up at the high ceiling, still dazed. "What the hell was that?"
Michael paused at the exit. "A gift," he said without turning. "And a warning."
Then his voice echoed into Ethan's mind:
Ethan. I shall wait here until it is time. I will bestow upon you a vision. Until then, check on your friend. I know his safety plagues your thoughts. Go. Steady your heart—for what I will show you demands it.
Ethan nodded and turned to Jonathan.
Jonathan collapsed back onto the black marble floor, breath heaving.
He was different now.
He could feel it. Something ancient stirred inside him. A spark he hadn't known existed.
Ethan crouched beside him, resting a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You handled that better than I thought."
Jonathan gave a dry laugh. "You call that handling it? He looked at me like I was an insect. Then he scanned me like I was a hard drive."
"That was his way of protecting us," Elijah said. "You've seen what we are. Now… you can survive beside us."
Jonathan looked between them. His eyes were wider now. Older. "He changed me. I'm not human anymore, am I?"
Ethan's voice was quiet. Soft. "Not entirely. You're on a new path now."
He smiled gently. "You'll eventually become like us, kin."
Behind them, deep within the estate, a hidden rune glowed faintly in a mirror embedded in the wall. A shimmer of golden flame rippled across the glass.
Queen Maureen watched in silence.
Her presence flickered like heat through the reflection. She had seen everything.
She exhaled slowly. A mother's breath—measured and knowing.
He passed.
But now… Ethan must be taught a lesson that only Michael can give.
Her worried face lingered on the glass—quiet, beautiful, and fierce.
The fire of the queen stirred.
And the storm had only just begun.