The Fiery Crown Cycle: A Dragon's Rebirth

Chapter 155

From that day on, Owen slept in a real bed—broad as a plain, with no risk of tumbling off.

Days turned into weeks.

Owen sat perched on a massive, protruding tree root, eyes closed, letting the forest breeze wash over him.

It’s time to leave, he thought, a heaviness settling in his chest. I’ve lingered too long. The front lines at Stonefang... if they fall, House Valerius will be next.

Anxiety, sharp and cold, pierced the calm of the afternoon.

He opened his eyes and looked to his side.

Tiriel sat there. Her flawless profile was etched against the dappled sunlight, her gaze fixed on something distant and unseen. In her hands, she held a simple wooden lyre. The breeze played with her long, verdant hair.

Pling... Plumm...

She plucked the strings. The notes were disparate yet harmonious—pure, ethereal, devoid of any artifice. Just like her.

The knot of anxiety in Owen’s chest slowly unraveled.

He listened in silence.

I must go. My people need me. Valerius is my home. I cannot let the Beastmen and Orcs ravage it.

And Thea...

Plumm.

The final note faded into the rustling leaves. Owen opened his eyes fully.

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.

"Yes," Owen replied. "I do not belong here."

He turned to face her, raising his left hand in a solemn vow. "On my honor as Owen Valerius, I swear: I will never reveal the location of your clan."

"Mhm."

Tiriel lowered her head, staring at the lyre in her lap. She didn't doubt him. She had known for some time that Owen was a good soul, nothing like the wicked humans described in the ancient texts.

Hop.

She slipped off the high root, landing lightly on the forest floor, a drop of nearly ten feet. She looked up at him, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

"I have to go to the High Priest for my lessons now, Owen."

Owen smiled back, a bittersweet expression.

"Goodbye, Tiriel."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

She paused for a heartbeat.

"Goodbye."

With that, she turned and walked away, her green dress vanishing into the foliage.

Owen watched her go until she was just a memory. Then, bracing himself with his left arm, he vaulted off the root.

Thud.

He landed steadily. He looked one last time at the Wood Elf settlement—a sanctuary of peace in a world at war. Not every elf had been as kind as Tiriel, but none had shown him hostility. They were nothing like the monsters of legend.

Crunch.

He turned his boot against the gravel and began to walk.

He didn't belong here. His war waited for him in Valerius.

***

High in the Dragon's Nest, a vertical slit of crimson opened.

Aiden felt a familiar weight on his back. He pushed himself up, shaking his massive frame like a wet dog.

Thump.

A small white bundle tumbled off his scales and hit the stone floor.

Aiden padded toward the entrance of the cave, his claws clicking on the rock. He scanned the nest. No sign of Azure.

Where did that blue idiot go? Skipping nap time? Strange dragon.

He reached the mouth of the cave and stopped.

Whoosh.

A warm summer breeze washed over his snout. Aiden’s pupils dilated in pleasure. Ah, summer winds. Makes a dragon want to curl up and sleep for another century.

He indulged in the sensation for a moment before looking down.

Below the cliff, a stone fortress the size of a small town was taking shape. It was half-finished, but the scale was impressive—built to accommodate a dragon’s bulk. Hordes of goblins swarmed over the scaffolding like industrious ants.

Not bad. That gnoll knows his stuff.

Aiden turned his head to the left. His gaze sharpened.

To the west of the fortress, a large swathe of forest had been cleared. The earth was tilled into neat, geometric squares, and from the soil, rows of green saplings were reaching for the sun.

Aiden spread his wings. With a powerful thrust of his hind legs, he launched himself into the air, diving toward the fields.

Whump.

He landed with a heavy thud, the wind from his wings flattening the grass.

“Gak!”

A goblin watering the plants shrieked and immediately prostrated himself, pressing his face into the dirt.

Aiden ignored the groveling creature and lowered his massive head to the soil.

He squinted at the tiny plants.

His snout curled into a draconic grin. That gnoll is a genius. He actually figured out how to farm them.

Suddenly, the air grew pungent. The sharp scent of ammonia.

Aiden side-eyed the trembling goblin.

Pissed himself. Pathetic wretch.

But I'm in a good mood. Today is your lucky day, little pisser.

Whoosh.

Aiden launched himself back into the air, heading for the stone fortress.

He’d heard the rhythmic clang of metal on metal earlier. These goblins had a smithy.

Time to upgrade the kitchen. Cooking on flat rocks is getting old.

He descended into the heart of the construction site, landing on a wide, paved street. The paving stones were massive slabs, clearly laid with heavy traffic in mind.

Goblins hauling stone and working bellows froze, then dropped to the ground in a wave of submission.

Aiden ignored the fanfare and thrust his head into the largest building—the smithy.

It was a simple structure, but functional. Dozens of furnaces roared. Twenty goblins were currently facedown in the dirt.

The blacksmiths.

Aiden stared at them. Azure isn't here to translate. How am I supposed to tell them I want a giant wok?

Language barrier. The bane of my existence.

Just then, a goblin wearing a necklace of beast fangs rounded the corner. He saw the massive red head poking into the smithy and sprinted over, sliding to his knees.

"Great Master! Number Two offers you his highest respects!"

Common.

Aiden pulled his head out of the building and looked down.

It was one of the four "special" ones.

Perfect. The translator has arrived.

"Rise," Aiden rumbled.

The elder stood up, keeping his head bowed. The two elite guards behind him remained on the ground.

"Are these your smiths?" Aiden asked.

"Yes, Master," Number Two replied.

"Can they forge anything?"

"They are skilled in weapons, Master. But if you describe the shape, they can craft whatever you desire."

"Good," Aiden growled, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Tell them to make me a pot. A massive one. I need cookware fit for a dragon."