Kaelen Veyrith | Dragon Bond

Kaelen's boots sank into the damp earth with every stumbling step, his breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, stinging his eye, but he barely felt it anymore—his whole body was alive with a sharper sensation: terror.

Something followed him.

It wasn’t the ordinary dread of being hunted by a wolf or a bear—this was deeper, more primal. He couldn’t see it. That was the worst part. Branches creaked overhead, though there was no wind. Leaves rustled to his left, then to his right, as though the trees themselves whispered warnings.

What is it? He spun, knife drawn, but the forest was empty.

Then the pain came.

A sudden burning slash across his arm—so sharp he dropped the blade. He staggered back, clutching at the wound, eyes wide. “Who’s there?!” Kaelen shouted into the thickening fog. No answer. Only a low growl, so deep it made the ground seem to vibrate beneath him.

His chest tightened. He backed away, steps faltering. Another blow—this time across his side. He felt claws, or something like them, tear through his jacket and skin. He let out a strangled cry, falling to one knee.

I can’t... I can’t fight what I can’t see...

A shadow moved in the corner of his eye, but when he turned—nothing. His strength bled out of him as surely as his lifeblood. He pressed a hand to his side, warm wetness seeping through his fingers. His vision swam, edges darkening.

A final rush of air behind him—another strike coming—and he tried to rise, to run, but his legs refused. His knife lay forgotten in the mud.

Then—suddenly—warmth.

A heavy weight settled on his shoulders, soft fabric brushing his cheek. A cloak. He blinked, dazed, and for a heartbeat, everything else—the pain, the fear—fell quiet.

Through the blur of tears and blood, he saw someone standing before him.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Human... almost. Two long, obsidian horns curved elegantly from their head, catching what little light filtered through the trees. Scales shimmered faintly along the curve of their jaw and neck, glinting like polished stone. A thick, reptilian tail swayed behind them, slow and steady, as though it had a mind of its own. Their eyes burned with a faint golden glow, piercing through the gloom.

The stranger didn’t look at him at first. They stared into the trees beyond, hand lifted as though ready to cast some unseen spell—or draw a weapon only they could summon.

And then, as if a veil had been torn away, it appeared.

The thing that had been hunting him.

It towered above the trees, a grotesque creature of bone, shadow, and writhing tendrils. Its many eyes blinked and turned, focusing on the cloaked stranger. Its body pulsed like smoke contained by some malevolent force, claws dripping with something black and viscous.

The stranger took a single step forward, the ground seeming to tremble beneath their footfall. Their voice, when it came, was low and calm but carried an ancient authority that made the monster hesitate.

Then,it was darkness.

---

The first thing Kaelen felt was warmth. Not the biting cold of the forest night—no, something softer. A heavy weight across his shoulders, snug against his body. His eyes fluttered open, lids heavy, and the world swam into focus.

A ceiling of old timber beams above him. Shadows flickered from a single lantern set on a low table. He shifted slightly, wincing as the dull ache of his wounds made itself known. His hand drifted over his side—bandaged. Clean. His arm, too, wrapped tight with fresh linen.

The cloak was still around him, the same one that had settled over his shoulders before he blacked out. He could feel the faint texture of scales stitched into the fabric, almost hidden, almost alive. He ran his fingers over it slowly, frowning.

Where am I...? The last thing he remembered was the forest, the monster, and... them. The stranger with horns. The tail. The golden eyes.

He sat up carefully, the blanket slipping down his chest. The room was sparse—a simple cot beneath him, a few wooden shelves lined with jars and vials of herbs, a chair tucked near the window. The hearth was dying down, embers glowing faintly.

His sword— He spotted it, leaning against the wall within reach, cleaned of mud and blood. Someone had taken care of everything.

Kaelen swung his legs over the side of the cot, bare feet brushing the rough floorboards. His head spun briefly, but he steadied himself, scanning the dim room. Did they bring me here? Why?

A creak of wood broke the silence.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, from beyond the doorway. Kaelen froze, pulse quickening. His hand moved instinctively toward his sword, fingers hovering just above the hilt. The steps drew closer, the faint rasp of claws—or maybe boots—against the floor audible now.

The door eased open with a soft groan.

Light spilled in from the hallway, and a shadow stretched across the floorboards. A silhouette framed in the doorway, horns faintly glinting in the lantern light.