​Luca and Liam followed in a daze of exhaustion and confusion. Luca’s mind was a storm of questions. A friend of my mother? Waiting eighteen years? The rags he wore felt heavy with the sweat of his encounter with General Henry, but the cold dread in his stomach was heavier still.

​"He knows your name," Liam whispered, his voice trembling as he glanced at the Prophet’s retreating back. "He called you 'Prince.' If he knows, then the King’s spies know. We’re walking into a trap, Luca. We have to be."

​"If it were a trap, Henry would have chained us in the square," Luca replied, though his hand remained gripped tightly around the hilt of the small knife hidden in his belt. "There is something about him, Liam. Look at the shadows."

​Luca pointed at the ground. Despite the rising sun, the Prophet’s shadow didn't follow the light. It seemed to move independently, stretching toward the walls as if it were reaching for something hidden in the stone.

​They reached the edge of the city, where the crumbling tenements gave way to a dense, fog-heavy forest that clung to the base of the Great Peak. Tucked away behind a curtain of weeping willow trees stood a small, circular house made of smooth, river-washed stone. It had no windows, only a heavy door made of blackened oak.

​"Enter," the Prophet said, pushing the door open. "And leave the fear of the palace at the threshold. It has no power here."

​The interior of the house was larger than it appeared from the outside, a common trick of the old magic. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with jars of preserved specimens, bundles of dried herbs that smelled of rain and ancient earth, and thousands of leather-bound scrolls. In the centre of the room, a low fire burned in a stone hearth, the flames a strange, vibrant shade of violet.

​The Prophet sat down on a pile of woven rugs and gestured for them to do the same. "You are wondering why a blind man can see a Prince in the mud," he said, his voice echoing in the quiet room.

​"I am wondering many things," Luca said, standing tall even as his legs burned with fatigue. "You mentioned my mother. You said you were a friend. No one in the palace speaks of her. To the King, she is a ghost he wants to exorcise. To the Queen, she is a stain. Who was she to you?"

​The Prophet’s cloudy eyes seemed to soften. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small, silver locket. It was tarnished and dented, but when he opened it, a faint, golden light spilled out.

​"Her name was Selene," the Prophet whispered. "She was not just a servant, Luca. She was a 'Dreamer', one of the last of the bloodline that could hear the heartbeat of the mountain. That is why your father took her. He didn't just want her beauty; he wanted her connection to the Aethelgard. He thought he could use her to control the dragon."

​Luca felt a lump form in his throat. This was the first time he had ever heard her name spoken with anything other than spite. Selene. It sounded like music.

​"He couldn't control her, of course," the Prophet continued, his gaze drifting to the violet flames. "She was as wild as the mountain itself. When you were born, the mountain roared for three days. The King was terrified. He realized that you were the true heir to the dragon’s fire, not his golden-haired sons. He saw you as a threat to his very throne."

​"So he killed her," Luca said, his voice flat and cold.

​"He allowed the Queen’s shadows to take her," the Prophet corrected. "He looked the other way while they dragged her to the river. He thought that by destroying the mother, he could break the bond between the son and the beast. But he was wrong. The dragon has been waiting for eighteen years, sleeping in its chains, waiting for the one soul that shares its blood to return."

​Liam let out a small, terrified whimper. "You're saying... Luca is connected to that monster?"

​"He is the bridge," the Prophet said, standing up and reaching for his cane. "And the bridge is about to be crossed. The Aethelgard is no longer dreaming, Luca. It has felt your presence in Byblos. It is calling to you."

​Suddenly, the house began to shake. It wasn't the violent rattling of an earthquake, but a deep, rhythmic vibration that seemed to come from miles below the earth. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. A heartbeat.

​Luca gasped, clutching his chest. He could feel it, a searing heat behind his ribs that matched the rhythm of the ground. It was an ache, a longing so powerful it made his eyes water.

​"We have no time for the luxuries of grief," the Prophet snapped, his tone suddenly sharp and urgent. "The King’s mages have felt the shift in the ley-lines. They know you have found me. Henry’s men are already riding this way, and this time, my words will not stop them."

​The Prophet walked to the corner of the room and picked up a bundle wrapped in grey silk. He handed it to Luca.

​"What is this?" Luca asked, the fabric feeling unnaturally cold in his hands.

​"The truth," the Prophet said. "And your only hope. Take it to the mountain, Luca. Find the Cave of Whispers. If you can reach the heart of the peak before the Sun-Guard catches you, you might just survive the night."

​"And you?" Luca asked, looking at the old man. "They will kill you for helping us."

​The Prophet laughed, a dry, dusty sound. "I have died many times, Prince. Each time is more boring than the last. Now, go! Through the back tunnel. It leads to the base of the Great Peak. Do not look back, no matter what you hear."

​Luca looked at Liam, then at the Prophet, and finally at the mysterious bundle in his arms. The heat in his chest was now a roaring fire. He didn't know if he was a Prince or a monster, but for the first time in his life, he knew where he belonged.

​"We go to the mountain," Luca said.

​As they dived into the dark tunnel behind the hearth, the sound of a hundred horses reached the house above. The silence of the forest was broken by the screams of men and the clashing of steel, but Luca didn't stop. He ran toward the darkness, toward the heat, and toward the beast that was calling his name.