REYN

I don't want to be here.

No one heard his tormented scream inside the black stone building upon the foundation of the castle sitting on the cusp of the cliffs. I don't want to be here. I want to go back, he longed to screech out his pain for dragons to hear. Please.

In Sungrove he experienced warmth instead of a cold, slow choke. Lightning rippled across his skin though refused to beckon to him. His stomach churned and he found himself unable to push past the limit. It wasn't enough — never enough for Father who loved to remind him of his shortcomings and weaknesses, not good enough for anything but a mouse.

Lord Soren spent precious hours trying to convince Father to allow him refuge in Sungrove — going so far as to applaud his progress in magick. He held out his hands and frowned at the lackluster power. From the dissatisfied twist to Father's brow, he agreed no matter what Lord Soren tried to tell him.

Reyn hid behind one of the pillars when several of Father's housecarls dragged prisoners into the dungeons. Some of them fair of hair with long feathers. Always out of Lord Soren's view. He does it on purpose.

Another day of emptiness and cold, black stone and Lord Soren stopped bringing him to lessons. He raised his head in remembrance of Lord Soren's last check into his room. "I have to train your brother," he explained. "I'll come and show you a couple of tricks after."

His stomach complained, so he left his room to shuffle through the corridors. Tension bubbled in the foam of the ocean outside the thin windows. He shambled his way to the throne room. If I'm not there... Father will hunt me. Mice were made examples of in the court of dragons, made a meal of and feasted on for what little meat they had.

He hesitated at the sight of his older brother, Gustul. He dug his hands into his auburn hair as he stared in fear through the crack of the massive iron wrought door into the throne room. Reyn crawled into his shadow and flinched at the loud voices on the other side.

One of them, Lord Soren.

"This is madness!" he snapped and Reyn tucked underneath Gustul's arm to investigate, and jolted when Gustul stopped him from entering with a hand around his neck. "What is the reason for the imprisonment of the Naveerans? They have done nothing to deserve that treatment?"

But... nothing ever really escapes a giant's notice.

Father sat on the dragon-headed throne with his hands gripping tighter on the clawed arms. "After the last Summit, do you honestly think we can trust the Naveerans?" he growled. "Ever since Haneka first formed they've wanted these lands for themselves. Anything to get out of that isolated wasteland they call a home. If given the chance, they will conquer and kill us."

Lord Soren came closer. "You're torturing them on those grounds? Just because of something some hells-damned king said on the other end of the continent? You cannot punish people for what the leader says to you. You will start a war, Thormar!" He snarled, a picture of the wolf on the Pyren family crest, outlined by the dawn. "You will start a war and it'll be our people who pay the price for it!"

"Yet this is the first time you've spoken up about it," Father pointed out. "Why have you stayed silent until now?"

Lord Soren bared his teeth, but said nothing. Gustul trembled, and Reyn glanced at his older brother, confused.

His voice never left his throat in a question.

Silence reigned in the throne room of the dragon's throne. Father laced his fingers together and leaned against the back. "You are quite bothered, Lord Soren. Why now have you gotten cold feet?" He blinked, then leaned his chest over the table which separated him from those who sought answers. "Maybe you need an assurance of some kind. Lord Soren, I want you to bring your son here."

Lord Soren stopped and his snarl died. "What?"

"I have given you care of my son, though I doubt his usage. To keep balance, I wish for your son as my ward," Father pointed out. "You want to take Reyn back to Sungrove? I'll have Fenrer Pyren here."

Reyn leaned against the door at the name, and Gustul's brow crunched into terror. Fenrer Pyren... he only ever wanted to help me. And if I go back to Sungrove... he'll... He tried to wrestle with his previous resentment of the other boy's happiness. Fear chewed. He shrunk into his shoulders and tried not to squeak out his mousey voice. I can't. I can't. He took another cautious step for the crack in the door, but bit down a gasp when Gustul slammed his hand down on his head to stop him short.

"Don't, Reyn," he hissed through his teeth.

Why? If I don't, Fenrer will...

Lord Soren swayed on his knees. "You have been imprisoning people — some of them your own countrymen — those who came to you in hopes of reprieve, and you gave them pain," Lord Soren said. "You expect me to hand over my son when you've shown you care naught for your own or those under your charge?" His teeth returned and blazed the dawn's fury in the dark greens. "What assurance do you seek from me through my little boy?"

"Your loyalty, Soren Pyren," Father growled. "He would not come to harm here so long as you prove your loyalty."

Wolven fury raised higher into a howling scream, but nothing left Lord Soren's lips. "You dare question my loyalty with my son?" His hand met the grip of an amber covered hilt. "I have looked over so many things during your reign. I loved your late father and brother. I kept silent hoping something would wake you up." He clenched his free fist. "I see now I was wrong. You couldn't be woken up. It should have never been you on that throne, Thormar. Had Fenrir not perished in that Derelict attack trying to save our people, it would be him on the throne! It shouldn't have ever been you!"

"You dare speak that bastard's name in my presence?" Thormar hissed.

Lord Soren refused to stand down with his own scowl of burning hatred. "I am not going to be a pawn in this sick game of yours. You are not having my son and you will release those you've falsely imprisoned. I will bring down the dawn's scorching light on this hells-damned castle and the contagion you've spread inside its walls!" Lord Soren ignored the circle of Father's housecarls.

Reyn stifled a gasp when he tugged out a beautiful, molten blade. On the hilt, the sun rose inside the clear gem on the guard. It hummed in the air and crackled his lightning.

Some of the housecarls froze when Lord Soren lowered it and it lit up the stone beneath his feet.

"You wouldn't dare draw upon the dawn's power." Father left his seat, spurred to action. "You will know your place, Pyren. If you will not give me your son — your entire bloodline will pay the price."

Lord Soren drew the dawnblade to point at the rafters. It shimmered in the sunlight oozing through the windows. Reyn found himself entranced though Gustul tugged on his arm.

No, don't!

He wanted to scream.

"Do not do this, Lord Pyren," one of the nearest housecarls hissed.

Lightning pulsed and raised the flesh on his arms. Father drew his hand back with a ball of lightning forming in the glyph spreading across his palm. Reyn whimpered and clutched onto Gustul as Soren drew the dawnblade out of the sunlight and pointed its tip at the stone. Molten magick filled the fuller. Embers bounced in the green glyph growing at his feet. Reyn choked on the power. Air smoked, sizzled, and sang.

Father lunged through the glyph and threw the spear of lightning.

One blink.

Two.

Soren caught the lightning with his chest and slid back. Rage filled the greens as he returned it tenfold into the housecarls. On the ground, shuddering with static, he swung the dawnblade in one, smooth, flaming stroke. It hushed a glyph of the dawn over the throne room.

It burned the tapestries and set them aflame.

Glass shattered in one crack and blew outwards to the cliffs. Iron on the throne melted from the pressure and heat.

"I will not forgive myself for the things I looked away from," Soren said in the dance of flames, the dawnblade awakening with his fury. "There's your answer. Look at the throne your brother should've sat on." Woven tapestries fell from the metal railings to twist into ash. He raised the sword to Father, who glared at Lord Soren. "You can prepare for war."

Lord Soren headed for them, and Reyn held onto Gustul when he dragged him out of the way.

"You will regret this, Pyren!" Father screamed with the ash and burning throne.

Soren ignored him.

No one ignored Father or disobeyed him. Rage filled Father's monstrous features as embers from the melted jaw of the dragon fell at his feet. He moved to chase after Lord Soren when some housecarls followed to get to the Lord of Sungrove.

"No," Father bit and stepped out of the molten throne. "Grab my son. Take him to his quarters. He is not permitted to leave until I know what Pyren has filled his head with!"

Gustul grunted when one of the housecarls shoved him, and Reyn gasped when one scooped him off the floor, with Lord Soren long out of sight. Freedom screamed and mist foamed in the shape of wings as he kicked and squirmed. Father's endless rage followed and cursed as Gustul winced and retreated into the shadows.

I'm not a dragon.

Reyn continued to kick out and tried to drag out his lightning when he failed to bring it to bear for Fenrer Pyren, who stood in the face of darkness — cried and refused to flee. No! No! No! It refused to crawl out of his fingertips to protect another. His feet dangled, and he grunted when the housecarl tossed him into the room and shut the door on him.

He hid underneath the windowsil and took in shaky breaths. What's happening? Everything happened too fast. One minute, he was home. In the next bell, Lord Soren declared the dawn's war.

Gone.

In the path of anger he hid and waited for a punishing, formless shadow to swallow him and Fenrer whole.

Bells rang through his ears as Lord Soren's rocked through his mind.

Fenrir? Who is Fenrir? He is not talking about his son... I didn't know Father had a brother...

Sungrove's warmth embraced him, and someone took his hand to tug him out of the dark.

Fenrer Pyren...

Reyn lowered his arms to his legs and confusion suppressed the terror of mice. "What do I do?" What... What did Lord Soren say he was doing to those prisoners? I always assumed they did something wrong. Father called them weak...

Weak body and soul.

Beaded sapphires tore apart the darkness and gave him a name. Neven Lotayrin.

Not weak... there was no weakness...

Reyn listened to the footsteps outside his door. Guards. He timed the movements with his own heartbeat and the toll of the harbor bells. He... He won't let me leave. He wrapped his arms around his knees and fought for his resentment. Lord Soren put his son above all else. All he had known of Fenrer Pyren, and he pushed him away. He pushed and prodded and snapped, but Fenrer stood in the path of a monster all the same, to protect him.

Bells spent in his room, and he dug his fingers deeper into his skin. He crawled for a loose brick behind his small desk, uneven on its own legs. He pushed to access the grate which led to the lower kitchen pantry. I can climb down the boxes, but then what? I can't run. I can't fight...

I'm weak.

Pain drove him into the small slope.

He stumbled out of the hatch and climbed down the boxes, but grunted when one tipped and sent him onto the ground, arms flat against the cold stone. He listened for the cooks, then sighed at the silence. A mouse, not a dragon. He rushed out of the kitchens and dodged patrols. He spotted the iron door into the throne room. He slipped behind a pillar when Father walked out with a cloaked figure, passing him a scroll and a pouch of clinking metal.

"Make sure to get straight to the roots. Leave no trace." Fire and fury ripped through his pale eyes, and Father moved for the darker parts of the castle he dared not tread. Reyn waited for the cloaked figure to rush out into the main hall before keeping to the shadows of the pillars to follow Father for an answer.

He kept himself quiet and low to not alert the monster.

Shadows held his shoulders as Father and a couple housecarls moved down damp stone stairs. Reyn waited until the lamplight flickered to nothing before standing at the edge. Rot, rust and sweat swelled and made him choke to cover his nose with his sleeve. Dried and musty. Reyn took each step into the descent slowly.

If worse comes to worse, I'll just rush back to the kitchen pantry and back into my room...

Ghostly sobs echoed off the damp, sweaty stone. Fire lit the lamps between cell bars. Reyn slipped on a puddle of moisture, and he scrambled to the corners where no one else but him could fit. He dropped to his knees and crawled closer to the tormented noises deeper in the dungeons.

"Your Grace, please..."

The distant plea caught his attention. He kept to the small crevice and reached a moldy gate. It stuck to his throat and lungs as he peeked through and put one hand around the bar and into the cistern below.

Crimson flames raised and burned the candle wicks at cardinal points of the room. Divots carved a rune into the floor and led into drains. Reyn sucked in his lips and kept a hold on the grate.

"May the Infernal Echo find use for your weak body and soul," Father said with a nod to the prisoner attached at the arms between two posts, keeping his front and back vulnerable.

Embers burned his throat.

"Your Grace, don't do this. I'll do anything—"

Lightning crackled in his ears when the housecarl on the other side of the prisoner raised his sword.

He brought it down in a flash of steel.

Dragon's growled in his chest when crimson splattered across the stone and into the rune. The blade cracked the bone to reveal what laid beneath the skin. Teeth kept his hand on the grate, and the rumble turned into a persistent hiss. He drove his own teeth into his tongue and drowned in fear but burned with hate.

The housecarl tugged horrid, crimson globs from the open wound. Rust and death filled his nostril when it filled the rune and the candles sputtered. Tears swelled in the world and tore his cheeks. To roar not as a mouse, but as a dragon borne of rage to lay waste of what was in front of him.

A soft touch of water fell into his hair.

"Let go of the grate," a deep, thunderous voice said in the back of his mind.

Lord Soren?

Liquid sloshed into the rune and fed into the sewers.

"You must let go of the grate, hatchling."

I can't.

It tore sinew when the housecarl drove the blade deeper.

Weak minds. Weak souls. Weak bodies. Father stood on the edge when the crimson glowed in the candlelight.

Lightning arcs fluttered at his fingertips and sent a shockwave through his arm.

"You need to let go of the grate."

Vomit doused the flames of hate. He let go when the lightning drove deeper into his fingers. He scrambled out of the crevice as fast as his small legs took him, but hadn't let go of the grate. He continued to stare at the sight of pain as he ran up the staircase and tried not to spew out bile. Crimson stained the lamps and spread across the stone. He raced back into the kitchens, carried by a different, stronger force. He stifled his sobs as he climbed the pantry boxes, tripping on his own boot to face plant into the stone. He groaned and hauled himself to the top, pushing through the hidden brick.

He rolled onto his dirty floor and cried, curling on himself when the fleeting strength left his limbs. Liquid and tormented death rattles filled his ears.

He hadn't let go of the grate, and he never could.