THE HIDDEN DRAGON

The Blade and the Sight

"You're holding back, Rey. And I don't like mysteries. Especially when they smell like fire."

Lyra Kael's voice cut through the training yard like her sword through air—sharp, bold, and impossible to ignore.

Rey stood across from her, shirt damp with sweat, practice blade clutched tightly. Around them, the Academy of the Seven Towers bustled with life: students sparring, instructors barking commands, the clang of steel on steel echoing in rhythm with the heartbeat of war.

But in that moment, all Rey saw was Lyra.

And all Lyra saw was a puzzle she couldn’t quite piece together.

The morning sun filtered through high arched windows, casting gold across the polished stone floor of the Combat Pavilion. A dozen students formed a loose circle as Master Garran called out names for sparring rotations. Lyra Kael, daughter of House Kael, star of the academy and bearer of Divine Sight, stood still and focused, her long black braid swaying slightly in the wind. When Garran barked her opponent's name, she raised an eyebrow.

“Rey Soren.”

Murmurs rippled.

The new boy? The slum rat Juno brought in?

Lyra turned to look at him, already walking to the center.

He didn’t flinch under the stares. Didn’t cower. Just stepped into the ring with quiet steps and eyes that held too much weight for his age.

She noticed it right away. The way his stance was almost too balanced. Like he knew more than he let on. She’d sparred with hundreds of students, some talented, some strong, most predictable.

But this one—he was coiled. Ready. Like a blade still in the scabbard.

“Begin,” Garran barked.

Lyra struck first. Fast, clean, confident. Her blade whistled toward Rey’s shoulder, but he twisted out of range in a movement too fluid for someone supposedly untrained.

He didn’t counter. He waited.

She attacked again. This time a feint and a sweep.

He dodged. Then again. And again.

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "You're not new to this."

Rey offered no reply.

That pissed her off.

She pressed harder, letting frustration drive her forward. Her strikes became faster, meaner, more complex. And still, he wasn’t fighting—he was studying her.

And then—

He moved.

Not dodged. Not retreated. He stepped in, flipped her blade with a maneuver she couldn’t even follow, and landed the flat of his sword against her ribs.

A perfect, clean hit.

Silence.

Lyra stepped back, breathing hard, her pride aching.

Rey dropped his blade and nodded, polite as ever.

“Again?” he asked, like nothing had happened.

Lyra didn’t move.

She was seeing again. Not with her eyes—but with her Sight.

A pulse of golden light flickered behind her pupils. For a second, she glimpsed flames licking beneath Rey’s skin, dormant but alive. Ancient. Primal. His aura wasn’t just power—it was prophecy.

She blinked, and it was gone.

But the seed had been planted.

This boy was not what he seemed.

Later that evening, Rey stood alone in the courtyard, facing a statue of a long-dead hero. His fingers traced the hilt of the wooden blade tucked into his belt. He didn’t want attention. He didn’t want this challenge.

He wanted answers.

Every night now, the dreams came harder. More vivid.

Tonight, he had seen a man cloaked in obsidian armor, holding a burning blade, whispering his name as the earth cracked around them.

He didn’t know what it meant.

But something told him he’d know soon.

“Rey.”

He turned. Lyra stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“You humiliated me today.”

He raised a brow. “Didn’t mean to.”

“You should’ve. Because now I know you're hiding something.”

He looked away. “I’m just here to train.”

“You move like a war priest. But you talk like a ghost. What are you?”

He paused.

What am I?

He didn’t have a clean answer.

“A survivor.”

That made her blink.

She stepped closer. “Don’t make me dig for the truth, Rey. Because I will.”

Then she walked away.

Rey stood there, jaw clenched. He didn't want to lie. But truth came with fire. And fire... destroyed everything.

Meanwhile, deep within the administrative wing of the Academy, a name surfaced on a forbidden scroll.

"Rey Soren," muttered a gruff voice. Drax Thornhelm, Warden of the Arcane Records, squinted at the parchment. Magic had been triggered. An old bloodline signature, hidden for fifteen years, had flickered into existence the day a boy scorched half a market in Brighthollow.

And now, here he was. In the Academy. Beneath his nose.

"Drakar blood," Drax hissed. "Damn Juno. He swore the boy died."

He leaned back, muscles coiled.

If the world knew Rayden Drakar lived, the balance of the Empire would shatter.

Drax smiled.

He always liked breaking things.

The following week brought a shift.

Lyra watched Rey during every class. Not just combat. Alchemy. Language. History. She caught how he reacted to stories of the old clans. How his brow furrowed during tales of the Flameborne.

How he flinched when they mentioned the Night of Scorching Winds.

And then there were the birds.

She started noticing them—crows, hawks, even flame-touched sparrows—perched near Rey. Watching him. Waiting.

One morning, a raven landed on the windowsill beside his desk and tapped once. Rey froze.

Lyra saw it. Not the bird—but the moment. His aura flared like an ember kissed by wind.

That night, she used her Divine Sight in secret.

What she saw chilled her.

In the threads of fate, his name wasn’t written in ink.

It was burned into the tapestry in fire.

“Is it true?” she asked him after training one day, cornering him near the sparring yard. “Are you from the Flameborne?”

Rey looked up slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop lying.”

He sighed. “Even if I were, what would it matter?”

“It matters because someone is looking for you.”

Rey stiffened.

She nodded. “I overheard Drax speaking with the High Arcanist. He’s digging into forbidden bloodlines.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Lyra looked at him, and for the first time, there was no fire in her eyes. Just fear. And something else.

"Because whatever you are... you're not safe here."

Rey’s heart pounded. “Are you threatening me?”

She stepped close, so close he could feel the heat in her words.

“No. I’m warning you. They’ll come at night. They always do.”

She left without another word.

And Rey was left staring at shadows that felt too alive.

That night, he dreamt again.

This time, he stood on a battlefield made of glass. The sky was bleeding. A woman with golden eyes reached for him across the flames.

"Rayden... don’t let them break the flame."

He woke choking on smoke.

There was no fire in his room.

Only a crow on his windowsill, watching him with eyes too human.

And a whisper in the dark:

"He knows."

Across the city, Drax Thornhelm summoned the Revenants.

Shadows stepped from walls. Cloaked in blood and magic.

“Find the boy,” Drax said. “But do not kill him. Not yet. Bring me his fire.”

And as the wind howled over the towers, the hunt began anew.

But this time, Rey was not alone.

Lyra had made her choice.

And the Sight never lied.