Chapter 18 Dayn #2
Something strange happens within me. My fire burns… colder as the ancient spell is activated. It’s supposed to be a much older form of the Gaudian Pulse, but I have never experienced a sensation like this before. I’ve never felt the darkness swell in me like this.
Esme's blood. Her essence. It’s altered something fundamental. In my magic. In me.
No time for thought now. I lock eyes with Jeron and release the spell, my hatred providing the final catalyst. The council chamber erupts in gasps.
“Dayn!” Anees shouts.
I remain transfixed as black and gold energy ripples outward—a phantom of shadow and flame. It strikes Jeron, who stands momentarily confused, frozen in disbelief. Then comes the screaming: raw, primal agony as shadows penetrate his scales while golden fire consumes him from within.
In seconds, Jeron Braynor becomes nothing but ash scattered across marble.
“Dayn.” Anees reaches my side, his voice tight with shock.
The burn on my cheek throbs. Deep, but healable. Jeron wasn't so fortunate.
“What did you do?!” Brutus Meraxis's voice cracks.
“That was... heresy,” another elder whispers.
Murmurs cascade through the hall as nobles retreat, their eyes wide with newfound fear. I never intended to rule through terror, yet watching their reaction, I wonder: is fear my only remaining path to the throne?
Anees leans close, his voice barely audible. “By the ancient flame, Dayn. What did you just do?”
I stare at the scattered ash that was Jeron moments ago. “A miscalculation. The spell was meant to immobilize, not... this.”
“You've just incinerated a Braynor heir.” Anees's scales ripple with tension. “His father will—”
“His father can wait,” I say, unable to tear my gaze from the dark smudge on marble. “Something in Esme's blood altered my magic. Not darkblood corruption, but something... unfamiliar.”
“The King must be notified immediately,” announces the Rogon delegate, skin gleaming with nervous sweat.
I incline my head. This debate about reclaiming the surface world has festered too long beneath our mountain.
Father arrives with the weight of centuries in his steps. His eyes fix on the ashen remains, pupils narrowing to slits. The council members retreat to the terrace's edge, maintaining a careful distance. Anees watches me with an unreadable expression that twists something in my chest.
Have I become a monster in his eyes? A stranger?
My thoughts drift to Esme. To the taste of her blood mingling with mine, to the unpredictable consequences of allowing her essence to intertwine with my draconic nature.
“Explain yourself,” Father's voice cuts through the chamber.
Anees steps forward. “Jeron attacked the crown prince, Your Majesty. He attempted regicide.”
“Nonsense,” Brutus Meraxis hisses. “Our council sessions always involve heated exchanges. Dragons are not known for their temperance, but this—” he gestures at the ash, “—this crosses every boundary.”
“Do not twist reality before your king,” I snarl. “Jeron committed treason, not mere discourtesy.”
Father's ancient gaze settles on me. “What provoked this?”
I face my father, jaw tight. “It appears your council harbors more conquest-minded members than you admitted. House Braynor, for example, would gladly see blood spilled. I merely objected.”
“Godsdamned, son.” My father's scales ripple with frustration beneath his skin as he turns from me. “This isn't how our emergence was meant to unfold.” He addresses the gathered lords, voice heavy with authority. “This has escalated beyond reason. I will investigate thoroughly—”
“My king,” Leander Rogon interrupts, a hint of scales gleaming in the torchlight. “The time for secrecy has passed. These matters must be aired openly.”
Father inhales deeply, ancient eyes narrowing. “I supported exploring possibilities—developing careful strategies for our return—”
“Father,” I cut in, heat rising beneath my skin. “You can't seriously consider this folly?”
“These caverns were never our permanent home,” he replies, fingers flexing against his robes. “But violence needn't be our first approach. Other avenues exist.”
“Such as?”
Anees's hand settles on my shoulder, but I feel the tremor in his touch. He fears what I've become. “Dayn, your absence has blinded you. Our kingdom strains against these walls. We all yearn for open skies, but the younglings—they suffer most acutely.”
“We cannot repeat past mistakes.”
“ENOUGH!” Father's roar reverberates through the chamber, silencing all. “This council will reconvene separately. For now, we address the immediate crisis: Jeron Braynor is dead, and his House demands answers.”
“Their support is already lost,” Leander sneers, contempt dripping from every word. “Their vote is forfeit.”
“And yours?” Father challenges.
Leander's tongue flicks across ancient teeth. “That depends, Your Grace, on how you handle this... unfortunate incident. House Braynor has suffered grievously today.”
Of course. They need someone to blame, and I fit the role perfectly.
The prince who abandoned his duties to live among humans.
The heir who returned with foreign ideas and a human bride.
What better villain for their story? I’ve already heard the whispers in the corridors: how I've been tainted by the surface world, how I've forgotten what it means to be Draxion.
The council members will never see beyond the prodigal son who dared to think differently.
But if the Houses unite against the throne, we'll face something far worse than political discord.