After breakfast, the manor basked in quiet warmth. The scent of honeybread and tea still lingered in the air as laughter echoed faintly from the courtyard, where Khael sparred playfully with Ren under the morning sun. Lyra's giggles rang out with every dodge and stumble.

Inside the veranda, Lord Lito and Lady Maricar watched from a distance, the soft clinking of teacups between them.

Sunlight spilled across the polished table, glinting against the engraved crest of House Corzedar, a dragon coiled around a broken sword.

Lady Maricar's gaze lingered on her son. There was fondness there, but also something quieter an ache of wonder and unease.

"Lito…" she murmured. "He's changed so much. Even his aura, it feels… different. The blood in him isn't quite the same."

Lord Lito leaned back, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Well, he did become a Dragon Knight, remember?" His tone carried pride more than fear. "You could say his blood is no longer merely human, it's touched by flame and sky."

Her brows furrowed slightly. "I know. He told us about it in his letters, that he met a dragon who granted him its bloodline. But hearing is one thing… seeing it is another."

Her voice softened to a whisper. "How could such a gift even be real?"

Lito chuckled, reaching across the table to take her hand. "The world's wider than even our books claim, love. And our boy's always walked where the winds turn strange."

He leaned in and kissed her cheek, his smile easy and unguarded, the smile of a man still hopelessly in love.

"Let him keep his secrets a while longer. He'll tell us when the time is right."

Maricar exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around his. "You always did trust the storm to guide him."

"And it did," he replied. "He came home."

Outside, Khael turned from the courtyard just in time to see them through the glass. His parents were laughing softly, their heads bent together in quiet affection, the kind of love that had built this home long before titles or fame.

A faint smile curved his lips, but behind it, a shadow of thought lingered.

(I know what you're thinking, Mother… Father. But I can't tell you everything. Not yet.)

The wind stirred again, brushing through his hair like a whisper of wings.

(Some truths are born to sleep in silence—until the world is ready to wake them.)

He looked toward the horizon, where the clouds gathered faintly over the eastern range. The same sky where dragons once soared.

And for a heartbeat, his eyes glimmered amber and fire-bright.

Far to the north, the winds did not sing with celebration.

They howled across a battlefield of frost and iron.

At the heart of Fort Halecrest, where banners of the Corzedar crest snapped against the cold, Commander Arden Corzedar stood upon the battlements his armor rimed with silver ice, his eyes sharp as a drawn blade.

A courier rode through the gate below, breath misting in the air. He leapt from his horse and bowed low, voice trembling with both exhaustion and excitement.

"Commander! Word from the south, the Dragon Knight has returned to Corzedar Manor!"

For a heartbeat, Arden did not speak. The wind tore at his cloak, scattering frost from his pauldrons. Then A slow grin cut across his face.

"My younger brother… is home."

The words left him in a low murmur, half disbelief, half pride. His second-in-command, a scarred veteran named Varyn, stepped closer.

"Sir, you mean the Dragon Knight, the same one who…"

"Yes." Arden's smile widened. "The same one who fought the Sin of Sloth… and lived to tell it."

He turned toward the horizon, the distant glow of the southern skies reflected in his eyes.

"Do you know what that means, Varyn? My little brother—the one who used to fall asleep during spear drills is now the man who helped fell the Strongest sin of them all."

Varyn chuckled. "You speak of him like a proud father, Commander."

"Not a father," Arden said, laughter rumbling deep in his chest. "A brother. And a damn proud one."

He rested his hands on the battlement's edge, gaze softening as he remembered.

Khael at 10 years old, chasing wind-spirits through the courtyard. Khael at 11, stubbornly training even after collapsing from exhaustion.

Khael at 12 writing letters home that smelled faintly of smoke and stormlight.

"He's always been the wind in our family," Arden said quietly. "Wild, restless… impossible to cage. And now look at him, he's turned the whole world's gaze toward House Corzedar."

Varyn nodded. "You've spoken of him often."

Arden's grin flashed again. "Of course I have. When your brother becomes a legend, you brag until your lungs give out."

He laughed loud, unashamed, the sound rolling across the frozen wall.

Around him, the soldiers looked up, smiling at their commander's rare joy.

For all his discipline and iron will, Arden Corzedar was, above all, a family man.

He wore his siblings' triumphs as proudly as his medals, carried their names in every march and every battle.

The wind shifted cold, sharp, but tinged with a strange warmth.

Arden closed his eyes, feeling it brush his cheek.

(So, you've returned, Khael. Good…)

(The North still holds its storms—but I'll keep them at bay until you visit.)

He turned away from the battlements, his voice firm once more.

"Varyn, double the patrols on the eastern ridge."

"Sir yes sir!"

Far to the west, where rolling hills met the jagged cliffs of the Valenmar coast, Serenia Corzedar traced the intricate layout of the city from the envoy tower. Maps sprawled across the polished oak table, each mark, sigil, and arrow representing armies, supply lines, and potential threats.

Her fingers lingered over one symbol in particular, Corzedar Manor. She had received word from Arden hours ago.

The Dragon Knight is home.

A soft exhale left her lips, barely a whisper above the flutter of the curtains in the evening wind. Unlike Arden's boisterous reaction, her joy was measured, tempered by years of military discipline and the weight of responsibility.

(He's back… My little brother… my Khael.)

She had read the letters, each one carrying the scent of distant battlefields, storm-tossed lands, and victories that seemed almost unreal. A dragon's blood now flowed in him, a power she had only glimpsed in ancient texts. Yet, even with all his legendary feats—the slaying of sins, the storms he had calmed, the lives he had saved—her heart was caught in a quiet, steady rhythm: relief.

"Serenia," a voice broke through her thoughts. Lieutenant Kaelvin, young and earnest, stood by the door. "Reports from the southern courier. Khael Corzedar—he's returned to the manor. The people are celebrating him already. They say even the wind itself seems to follow him."

Serenia's lips curved faintly. "Good." She tapped a finger against the map. "The world will always chase legends. But home… home is different. Home is a responsibility. I hope he remembers that."

Kaelvin's brow furrowed. "He's the Dragon Knight. Surely he does."

Her eyes, sharp and calculating, softened for a moment. "He's my brother. That alone makes him human."

She rose from the table, moving to the balcony overlooking the cliffs. The wind whipped her hair, tugged at her cloak, carrying the faint smell of the ocean. Her gaze traveled south, toward the distant horizon where the mountains rose, hiding the manor in shadow and light.

(I wonder what he looks like now… My brother who once ran barefoot through the halls, who used to challenge me to races in the gardens. The same boy who always dreamed too far… and yet, somehow, came back.)

The city below stirred with its usual evening bustle, but Serenia's mind was elsewhere. She pictured Khael in the great hall, seated between their parents, laughing with Ren and Lyra. Arden, undoubtedly, had already begun boasting though he always did. Serenia allowed herself the barest smile.

(Leave the celebrations to Arden. Leave the pride to the North. I will see him when the time is right… and when I do, I will know everything. Every secret, every change, every whisper of that dragon-blood.)

To be continue

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