Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Citadel
Nightfall draped the capital in a heavy, suffocating blanket of fog. Inside the royal fortress, King Aldric paced the length of the grand solar, his boots clicking furiously against the marble floor. His inner circle—Lord Commander Vane, High Priest Morvath, and Master of Whispers Corin—stood in tense silence around the hearth.
"Find them," Aldric snapped, slamming his fist onto the mahogany table. "If that beast or the woman leaves the mountain alive, our claim to the throne is forfeit. The lords are already whispering in the Great Hall. They saw the bracelet. They saw the eyes."
"The garrison has sealed every gate, Your Grace," Lord Commander Vane replied, his hand resting heavily on his sword hilt. "No one enters or leaves the outer ring. Search parties are tearing through the lower slums and the old catacombs block by block."
"Search better," Morvath hissed, his clerical robes rustling like dry leaves. "The common folk are restless. They call it a miracle, not a curse. If the girl reaches the temple districts with that creature, the religious orders will turn against the crown before the week is out."
None of them noticed the shadow detach itself from the high rafters above.
clinging silently to the stone vaulting, clad in dark leathers she had scavenged from a fallen guard in the lower tunnels, Elara watched them plot her execution. Her muscles screamed with fatigue, and her abused body demanded rest, but the cold fire in her veins kept her upright.
She wasn't hiding anymore. She was hunting.
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Tucked safely within a specialized leather harness strapped securely against her chest, the young dragon—whom she had named Ignis in her heart—slept soundly, its steady, warm heartbeat keeping rhythm with her own.
Elara slipped soundlessly through the upper balcony doors, bypassing the heavily guarded stairwells, and made her way toward the one place King Aldric never visited: the Royal Archives, where the true, unredacted histories of the realm lay buried under centuries of dust.
