THE HIDDEN DRAGON

The Spy in the Tower

"He's here. The boy with fire in his blood. The relic will do the rest."

The voice was a whisper—sharp, oily, and venom-slick. It slipped through the hidden tunnels beneath the Tower like a rat chasing blood.

High above, Rey Soren had no idea he was being hunted.

The Academy buzzed with midterm aftermath. Whispers of Rey's Dragon Rage flooded the halls like wildfire—half awe, half fear.

Rey didn’t care.

He hadn’t slept since the Trial. His hands still trembled. Not from pain. From the memory of Kade’s crushed ribs. Of the heat roaring out of him like a dam breaking. Of the way everyone had stared afterward like he wasn’t a person anymore.

Like he was a bomb.

Zayne tried to keep things light. “Come on, Flameboy,” he grinned, slapping Rey’s back as they crossed the Training Yard. “I heard they’re calling you ‘The Inferno Prince’ now. Got a nice ring to it, yeah?”

Rey cracked a tired smile. “Only if you say it with a crown on your head.”

“I can make one from stale bread if that helps.”

They laughed. But Rey’s eyes drifted toward the looming central tower—the Archon Spire. There was something about it lately. A chill. A pull.

And a shadow watching him.

In the dungeons beneath the Spire, Drax Thornhelm paced.

The relic shimmered before him—a jagged crystal laced with dark veins. Cursed by a long-dead Oracle. One touch, and it would unravel the mind. Expose what hid beneath the skin.

He’d watched Rey. The way he fought. The raw, untrained fury. No normal academy runt had that power.

He wanted the truth.

Tonight, he’d get it.

Elira Moonveil’s vision burned into her skull.

Rey. On a mountain of ash. Blood on his hands. Wings of flame splitting the sky.

And her—kneeling before him.

The Oracle gripped her staff tighter, breath shallow. “It’s happening too fast,” she murmured. “The threads are unraveling. The fire grows impatient.”

And yet… she cared.

She had seen what he could become. But she had also seen him weep.

That had to mean something.

That night, Rey wandered the eastern gardens.

The stars were smeared across the sky like spilled ink. Everything felt too quiet.

Then a voice:

“Rey Soren.”

He turned. No one.

A shimmer to his left—then a blast of red light erupted from the hedges. Something hit him in the chest. He collapsed.

Zayne froze mid-sentence as a pulse of fire flickered in the distance.

“What was that?” Lyra asked, tensing beside him.

“I don’t know—but it’s Rey.”

Rey writhed on the ground. The crystal had latched to his chest. It burned without heat. Glowed without light. It tore through his mind like teeth.

Visions.

His mother.

The Night of Scorching Winds.

He was screaming.

Flames consuming towers.

An empire’s betrayal.

A dragon—winged and dying—falling from the heavens.

A child in a cocoon of ash.

His mother’s voice, soft but shattering: “Rayden... run.”

He reached out.

She vanished.

Zayne reached him first. “Rey!”

The crystal fought back. It pulsed, resisting touch.

Elira appeared out of thin air, her staff glowing like moonlight. She slammed it into the ground. “Hold him!”

Zayne braced Rey’s shoulders. “He’s burning!”

“No—he’s being opened.”

Elira drew a sigil in the air. The relic cracked, then screamed—a piercing sound only Rey heard.

And then—

Silence.

The crystal crumbled.

Rey passed out.

They carried him to the forge.

Juno dropped his hammer the second he saw them. “What happened?!”

Elira’s face was grim. “He was targeted. Someone knows.”

Juno looked at Rey’s seared chest. His old hands trembled.

“Get me salve. And cold cloths. Now!”

But as he bent over the boy he raised like a son, a shadow moved.

A needle in the dark.

It struck Juno’s side.

He gasped.

Zayne turned just in time to see a figure dart into the shadows.

“NO!” he screamed, catching the old man before he fell.

Blood soaked his tunic.

Rey woke to screaming.

Zayne was shaking him. “Rey. Rey. He’s hurt. Juno’s hurt.”

Rey’s heart stopped.

He rolled off the cot and stumbled to Juno’s side.

The man’s skin was pale. Breathing shallow. Eyes glassy.

“No. No, no, no, no—” Rey pressed his hands to the wound, but there was too much blood. “You can’t—You promised—”

Juno’s lips moved.

“Don’t... forget who you are.”

Tears welled.

“Don’t go.”

The man smiled faintly.

“Too stubborn... to die... now.”

Then he passed out.

Rey didn’t sleep.

He sat beside Juno’s bed for hours, his mind fractured. The visions from the relic were still raw. Still pulsing.

And now this.

He’d nearly lost him.

And someone had tried to kill him.

No more hiding.

Elira stood with Lyra on the tower balcony.

“They know who he is,” Elira said softly.

Lyra stared into the dark. “My father always said the Drakar were monsters.”

“Was your mother a monster?” Elira asked.

Lyra flinched. “She was a Drakar too.”

Elira nodded. “We’re all made of pieces. Some broken. Some burning.”

Drax sat in his hidden chamber, staring at the shattered remains of the relic.

“You survived,” he whispered. “Impressive.”

He pulled a scroll from the desk.

A sealed letter.

To the Inquisition: The boy breathes fire.

He lit a candle.

And sent the message.

Rey wandered the Forge Yard alone.

He stared at the anvil where Juno once stood. The hammer lay untouched.

He picked it up.

Felt the weight.

The truth burned in him now. He was Rayden Drakar. The boy born in fire. The last ember of a fallen legacy.

He swung the hammer down.

Sparks flew.

And the dragon inside him stirred.