Flameheart soul of the frozen King

The Price of Fame

A target painted on your back is the price you pay for bringing back a dead king's flame.

"Drink this before you collapse again," Kaelen said, handing Soren a steaming cup of bitter herb tea inside the warm stone room of Varek's fortress.

"I do not need medicine," Soren replied, his voice raspy as he sat on the edge of the low wooden bed. "I need my body to move properly."

"You absorbed raw ancient energy," Kaelen snapped, her hands resting on her hips. "Your mana pathways are burnt black. You are lucky to be sitting upright instead of rotting in that canyon."

On the wooden table beside the bed, the small black dragon hatchling clicked its jaw, snapping its tiny sharp teeth at a piece of dried meat. A small puff of black smoke popped out from its nostrils, singeing the edge of the table.

"He does not take orders easily," Soren said, watching the little beast tear into the meat. "His bloodline is wild and arrogant."

"He acts just like you," Kaelen muttered, taking a chair across from him. "Varek is out in the main hall right now, trying to keep his men from panicking. The scouts came back an hour ago with terrible news."

Soren raised an eyebrow. "How bad is it?"

"Bad?" Kaelen laughed without humor. "That red light from his birth roar hit the clouds like a giant beacon. Every scrying glass from the Northern Citadel to the Iron Citadel lit up at the exact same second."

"So they know a royal dragon has hatched," Soren said calmly, blowing on his bitter tea.

"They do not just know," Kaelen said, leaning forward. "The Iron Clan has doubled the bounty on your head. Ten thousand gold coins for the black dragon, and five thousand for the tamer who holds its bond. The frost lords have put execution squads on every highway. You are the most wanted person on the continent."

"Good," Soren said.

Kaelen stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "Good? Did you hear a single word I just said? Every noble house wants your blood!"

"Let them look," Soren replied, his pale eyes turning cold as forged steel. "I spent my past life hiding in the dark, waiting for the right moment to act, and it got me executed by my own allies. I will not hide in the shadows of this frozen world."

"You cannot fight four major bloodlines with a half-broken body and a hatchling that weighs five pounds!" Kaelen shouted in a furious whisper.

"I am not fighting them alone," Soren said, looking straight into her icy eyes. "I am building an army. Varek has three hundred outlaws who hate the clan lords. You have loyalists hiding in the Northern Citadel. We take this bounty and turn it into our foundation."

"You speak as if you are already a king," Kaelen whispered, her voice laced with sudden caution.

"I am the only man who knows how to break the frost council," Soren said, setting his cup down on the table. "You wanted your father's name cleared, right? Then stop looking at me like a target and start looking at me as your commander."

Before Kaelen could answer, the door swung open and Varek stomped into the room. His thick brow was soaked with sweat, and his hands were clenched into tight fists.

"The camp is turning into a hornets nest, kid," Varek said, shutting the heavy door behind him. "My lieutenants are arguing. Half of them want to pack up and flee into the western wastes before the clan armies arrive."

"Tell them to stay," Soren ordered smoothly. "If they flee now, the clan hunting parties will pick them off one by one in the open snow."

"And if they stay here?" Varek asked, leaning against the stone wall. "This mountain fortress is strong, but it cannot hold out against a full siege from the Iron Clan."

"They will not siege us yet," Soren said, his tactical mind dissecting the situation. "The four ruling clans do not trust each other. They will not send a combined army into these mountains because each lord wants the black dragon for himself. They will send small, high-level strike teams and bounty hunters instead."

"Which means we take out those strike teams quietly," Kaelen realized, stepping beside the table.

"Exactly," Soren said. "We use these narrow mountain passes to ambush their scouts. We take their armor, we take their weapons, and we give Varek's men high-tier gear."

Varek let out a low growl, a slow grin breaking through his messy beard. "I like the way you think, kid. You make murder sound like a proper business plan."

"Train the hatchling," Kaelen told Soren, gesturing to the small black dragon currently tearing up her spare leather belt on the floor. "If we get attacked tonight, he needs to know how to follow your commands."

"His name is Ignis," Soren said, reaching down to pick up the small black beast by its scruff.

The hatchling growled low in its throat, snapping its tiny curved claws toward Soren's hand, but Soren held his grip firm, glaring into its crimson eyes until the little creature lowered its head in defeat.

"He obeys," Soren said softly. "Now leave me. I need to clear my mana channels."

"Do not die in your sleep," Varek grumbled, turning around to walk out of the room. "I do not want to explain to my outlaws that our new commander froze from the inside out."

Kaelen gave Soren one last long look before following Varek out into the dark hallway, shutting the heavy oak door completely.

The room grew quiet. Only the low crackle of the fireplace break the silence.

Soren sat back down on his low bed, closing his eyes and taking deep, measured breaths. Internal pain flared through his chest with every breath, reminding him how close he was to total magic collapse.

"I need time," Soren muttered out loud, his eyes closed. "Just three days of rest, and I can stabilize the basic fire core."

Two hours passed. The fire in the hearth slowly died down to a weak bed of red embers. Outside, the sounds of the outlaw camp faded away as the night grew deep and silent.

Ignis curled up into a small black ball at the foot of the bed, fast asleep.

Suddenly, Soren opened his eyes.

He did not move a muscle. He kept his head rested against the wooden frame of the bed, his breathing slow, steady, and light.

The air pressure inside the stone room had shifted. The cold draft coming from under the door had completely stopped, as if someone was standing directly outside the frame. But there were no footsteps. No rustle of fabric. No heavy breathing.

"You move very quietly," Soren said, his voice ringing low through the dark room.

From the deep shadow in the far corner of the chamber, a soft metallic sound clicked open.

A figure was sitting silently in the high wooden chair near the cold fireplace. The intruder was wrapped in a long, dark cloak that seemed to swallow the dim red light of the embers. The stranger sat with one leg crossed over the other, casually tossing a shiny silver coin into the air and catching it with terrifying precision.

"Most low-tier tamers would be dead before they noticed the shift in the draft," a smooth, masked voice said from beneath the dark hood.

"I am no ordinary tamer," Soren replied, slowly sitting up in bed, keeping his hands visible on his knees. "Who sent you?"

The figure stopped tossing the silver coin, holding it flat between two long, slender fingers. The silver metal caught the faint red light of the dying fire, revealing a detailed emblem etched onto its surface: a curved dagger wrapped inside a silk veil.

Soren's eyes narrowed. "Night Veil Assassins."

"Smart boy," the intruder whispered, their voice smooth as silk and cold as grave dirt.

The intruder slowly pulled back the heavy dark hood, revealing short black hair, pale skin, and sharp gray eyes that looked like cracked ice. Pinched onto the collar of their dark leather vest was a silver medallion marked with the crest of the elite shadows.

"I am an agent of the Night Veil," the assassin said, tilting their head to look at Soren. "Our leader, Lady Lyra, sent me directly to this miserable mountain camp."

"Did she send you for the bounty?" Soren asked, his fingers twitching slightly near the hidden dagger under his pillow.

The assassin let out a short, quiet laugh that held zero warmth. "Gold is cheap, tamer. A black dragon and a boy who can survive an ancient soul bond are far more valuable."

The assassin stood up from the chair without making a single sound on the hard stone floor, flipping the silver coin high into the air one last time.

"Lady Lyra gave me a very clear, very simple command," the assassin whispered, catching the coin and locking eyes with Soren across the dim room. "I am to bring back the tamer's head, or bring back his allegiance. Which one are you giving me tonight?"