The gates of Verath stood like broken teeth in the fog — jagged, blackened by fire, half-swallowed by ivy and silence.
Seren stared up at them, the wind tugging at her cloak. "This is it?" she asked quietly.
Kael nodded, his expression unreadable. "Welcome to the last city of the dragons."
They stepped past the threshold, and the weight of the place settled on her shoulders like a shroud. Verath was not dead — not completely. It breathed through whispers in the wind and shadows that moved just a moment too late. Ash drifted in the air like memory.
Buildings carved from obsidian and dragonbone loomed overhead, cracked but still standing. Dragon statues lined the main road — once regal, now headless, their wings shattered by time or war. The city smelled of dust, moss, and something older — forgotten fire.
Seren touched a wall as they passed, her fingers brushing stone burned long ago.
> "How did it fall?" she asked.
Kael didn't look at her. "It didn't fall. It surrendered."
The deeper they went, the quieter the world became.
They passed through what must have once been a temple square. A massive circular mosaic, faded but still visible, stretched across the ground. At its center: a crowned figure with dragon wings behind her, holding a flame in one hand and a thorned blade in the other.
Seren stopped.
> "That's... me."
Kael turned to her. "Or the one who came before you."
Seren dropped to one knee and ran her hand over the mosaic. The figure's eyes were missing — scratched out by blade or claw.
> "She wore the crown."
"She burned the sky," Kael added. "And the gods answered in blood."
A sound echoed through the square — not a footstep, not a voice, but something… ancient. Like a whisper dragging itself out of the stones.
Kael's hand went to his sword. "We're being watched."
> "Is it the Blight?"
> "No," said a voice behind them. "Worse. It's me."
They turned.
An old woman stood in the temple doorway. Her robes were crimson, embroidered with silver thread that shimmered unnaturally. Her eyes were completely white — not blind, but full. As if she saw more than others.
> "Lady Eryndor," Kael said. "You're still alive."
She gave a bitter smile. "Death and I parted ways centuries ago. I outstayed my welcome in both worlds."
She stepped closer, her movements slow but steady. Seren felt power ripple from her — not like fire or blood, but time. As if this woman remembered the first lie ever told.
> "You brought her," Eryndor said. "The fireborn. The girl marked by the last dragon."
Seren tensed. "You know what I am?"
> "I know what you were meant to be. The question is, what have you become?"
Inside the temple, the walls glowed faintly with dragon runes — flickering, as if breathing.
Eryndor led them to a pool of water at the center of the chamber. "Place your hand in," she instructed Seren.
> "What will it do?"
"Reveal what's hiding inside you. If you're strong enough to look."
Seren hesitated, then reached out. Her fingertips touched the water — and everything changed.
She was no longer in the temple.
She stood on a battlefield of black glass. The sky was on fire. Thousands of corpses littered the field — dragon, vampire, human, things she had no name for.
A woman stood on a hill.
She looked like Seren — but older, fiercer. Her hair whipped in the wind, streaked with flame. Her armor was scorched, her eyes gold and glowing. In her hand, the Thorned Crown.
> "Do you see it now?" Eryndor's voice echoed. "The war you are bound to. The blood you will spill."
> "That's not me," Seren whispered.
> "It can be. Or it can be worse."
The vision cracked like glass. Seren fell back, gasping, the room spinning.
Kael caught her.
> "What did you see?" he asked.
She didn't answer. Not right away.
Then: "A battlefield. Me, wearing the crown. Everything burning."
Kael's jaw tightened.
Eryndor sat beside them, her expression grim. "The mark you bear is called Vyreth. It means 'Thornfire' in the old tongue. It was given to the last child of the dragons — a child born not of flame, but of choice."
> "Choice?" Seren echoed.
> "She could have saved the world. Or ended it. She chose war."
Eryndor turned to Kael. "And you — son of the blood-drinker king — you were meant to kill her."
> "I couldn't," Kael said simply.
> "And you won't," Seren added.
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken truths.
That night, as the temple candles burned low, Eryndor gave them an ancient scroll.
> "This was written by the last dragon queen," she said. "It speaks of what's coming. Read it before it's too late."
The scroll read:
> When Thorn meets Fang, the blood moon will rise.
A crown shall burn, and with it the world.
Only the flame that chooses love over vengeance will break the curse of Velmora.
Seren stared at the words until they blurred.
> "It's about us," she whispered.
Kael didn't deny it.
That night, Seren sat beside the ruined balcony of the temple, looking out over Verath.
Kael stood beside her, silent.
> "I'm scared," she said.
> "Good," Kael replied. "Fear means you care what happens."
> "What if I become her?" she asked. "The woman in the vision?"
Kael's eyes met hers — and something passed between them. Not quite affection. Not yet. But understanding. Respect. Something that could grow.
> "Then I'll stop you," he said softly. "But not with a sword. With truth. With choice."
Seren didn't look away.
> "I don't want to destroy the world."
> "Then don't."
The wind stirred, lifting her hair like smoke.
And for the first time, Seren wondered if maybe — just maybe — she didn't have to be a weapon.
Maybe she could be the flame that heals.