THE DRAGONS ASHES : The Chronicles of Kildry

CHAPTER 2: THE AWAKENING OF GOLD

The crimson wave rippled across the muddy flags of the courtyard, incinerating the rain into a white veil of superheated steam.

Where the necrotic corruption had once eaten through Samson’s chest, the flesh was now pristine, marked only by a faint, glowing insignia shaped like a coiled serpent with wings. The air surrounding him didn't merely warm; it distorted, humming with a heavy, oppressive gravity that flattened the grass between the cobblestones.

The dark wizard leading the vanguard—a figure draped in obsidian robes that floated above the mud—lowered his bone staff. Beneath his cowl, twin points of pale blue fire flickered in sudden, sharp hesitation.

"Impassable," the sorcerer rasped, his voice sounding like dry slate grinding against metal. "The boy has no mana core. A dead vessel. What is this force?"

"He’s... he’s just a dog!"

Julian’s scream shattered the frozen silence. He was cowering behind the threshold of the Inner Keep’s iron portcullis, his face pale as chalk, hands trembling as he gestured wildly toward Samson.

"Kill him! He’s an unranked orphan! He’s tricking you!" Julian yelled, his voice cracking with panicked terror.

The sorcerer did not listen to the fleeing noble. Raising his staff, he uttered a guttural incantation in the black tongue of the Abyss. Seven dark summoning circles flared to life around Samson, spitting forth shadowed beasts—eight-legged monstrosities of chitin and bone, their mandibles dripping with paralytic poison.

The beasts lunged simultaneously, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.

Samson didn't raise a sword. He didn't invoke a spell. He simply exhaled.

As his breath left his lips, it ignited into a blinding ring of golden flame that erupted outward in a thirty-foot radius. The fire didn't just burn the shadow beasts—it unmade them. The moment the golden heat touched their chitin, the creatures disintegrated into fine silver dust, their shrieks cut short before they could even echo against the stone walls.

The shockwave hit the dark sorcerer full in the chest, throwing him back fifty yards through the air. He crashed violently through the stone balustrade of the upper gallery, his bone staff shattering into a dozen useless splinters.

Above the castle, the ruby-scaled dragon let out a low, rolling rumble that rattled the stained-glass windows of the high towers. It hovered, its wings creating a localized gale that dispersed the dark portal's violet smoke.

Samson looked down at his right hand.

He clenched his fist, feeling the raw, boundless power pulsing through his marrow. It wasn't the volatile, fleeting energy of mana that mages channeled from the surrounding world; it was an internal, infinite ocean of primordial strength. It flowed through his veins like liquid sunlight, washing away every trace of exhaustion, every ache from years of beatings and cold nights.

Footsteps clattered down the spiral stairs behind the portcullis.

Grand Master Valerius—the head of the Oakhaven Mage Order—stumbled into the courtyard, flanked by six senior elementalists. Valerius wore his embroidered archmage robes, his hands glowing with protective barriers. But as his eyes fell upon the burning golden aura enveloping Samson, the old man stopped dead in his tracks.

"By the First Gods..." Valerius whispered, his staff slipping an inch from his grip. "The Dragon King's crest... The Bloodline of Ignis."

The surrounding mages looked at Samson in utter disbelief.

"Impossible!" one senior mage shouted. "We tested the boy three times! His veins are bone-dry! He couldn't even light a candle stub with a focus stone!"

"Because you were looking for mana," Valerius murmured, his eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and profound terror. "You were looking for water in a sea of fire. Dragon blood does not interact with mortal mana networks... it sits above them."

Samson turned his head slowly toward the surviving mages. His slit-pupiled golden eyes locked onto Julian, who was hiding behind Valerius’s robe.

Julian flinched, taking an involuntary step back, his teeth chattering. "Grand... Grand Master... execute him! He’s possessed by a demon! Look at his eyes!"

Samson took a single step forward.

The pressure in the courtyard doubled instantly. The senior mages groaned under the sudden weight, their protective shields flickering and cracking like thin ice underfoot.

"I spent three years sweeping your halls, Julian," Samson said, his voice echoing with the faint, overlapping undertone of a roaring dragon. "I took your beatings. I ate your scraps. And when the dark wizards came, you begged them for your life and left me to die on these stones."

Samson raised his right hand toward the sky.

The ruby dragon above let out a deafening roar, swooping low until its colossal head rested beside Samson on the ruined courtyard floor. Its breath released a plume of sweet, ozone-scented heat that dried the rain off Samson’s tunic in a second. Samson laid a hand against the beast's crimson snout, the scales warm and vibrating under his touch.

"The dark invasion is not over," Samson said, turning his gaze toward the northern horizon, where dark clouds were gathering over the capital city of Valen. "And Castle Oakhaven no longer has anything to teach me."

Grand Master Valerius stepped forward, bowing his head deeply—a gesture he had never offered to any lord or prince.

"Where will you go, boy... no, My Lord?" Valerius asked, his voice shaking.

Samson mounted the dragon's wing, stepping onto its broad, armored shoulders with effortless grace.

"To the Royal Capital," Samson replied, his voice carrying clearly across the silent, ruined yard. "To claim the sword that belongs to my line."

With a powerful stroke of its wings, the red dragon launched into the stormy sky, leaving the humbled mages of Oakhaven standing in a circle of golden ash.