The dawn's golden hue caressed the horizon, yet Soren remained nestled in Ike's embrace. His fingers traced idle patterns on Soren's back, a quiet affection. The morning air, crisp with autumn's chill, whispered through the open tent flap, carrying the scent of dewy grass and distant pine. Against Soren, Ike's bare chest radiated a comforting heat, a haven of warmth.
Orders from Kiran had arrived the night before, explaining Soren's reluctance to rise. His sigh, sharp and unbidden, betrayed his vexation at the assignment. Training alongside King Dheginsea, Prince Kurthnaga, and Ena was far from his chosen path.
Ike's breath feathered across Soren's skin as he held him close. "Want to talk?"
Soren's tone remained dry. "Dragon diplomacy wasn't on my weekly agenda."
Ike lifted Soren's hand, and soft lips brushed against each of his knuckles. Affection flowed through these small, tender gestures, contrasting with the might of the general known to the rest of the world. Soren's irritation faded, replaced by a small and selfish pleasure in their shared intimacy.
"Can't say what Kiran's plan is," Ike murmured. "But with Ashnard and his army here, knowing them better might be wise."
Though reluctant to admit it, Soren acknowledged this truth. Yet, the burden remained heavy. The revelation of his birthright, of noble strangers claiming him, still left him adrift. Since Kiran summoned the Goldoans for the harvest festival, Soren had considered seeking their acquaintance. His family, a part of his mind reminded him. Kurthnaga and Ena, at least, for they had shown him patience, never pressing him beyond his comfort. Almedha would have to be approached in time. Dheginsea, the dragon king, whose lies would need correcting in every history tome of Tellius, could never be easily forgiven.
The thought of confronting Ashnard again, knowing his blood flowed through Soren's veins, felt surreal.
A year ago, Soren would have refused this assignment outright. Ironically, his family's patient distance and respect for his boundaries is what had nurtured his trust. Like summoning a stray cat, he mused. Over the months, overhearing their conversations in Dragontongue— their easy camaraderie in that beautiful, strange language stirred a familiar, lonely ache. It saw him poring over his magic tomes, deep into the night, drawn to the ancient language. Though embarrassing, a yearning he couldn't name took hold— perhaps, after all this time, he might belong to someone beyond Ike alone.
"Consistency is wise," Soren argued, as his thoughts swirled. "Dragons are unpredictable." Soren's true annoyance stemmed from his separation from Ike. From their first meeting, he had made it clear to Kiran— they should remain together. Always.
"Hey." Ike's hands stilled, a silent command for Soren to look at him. Turning over, Soren did, Ike's sleepy morning eyes under tousled blue hair always a rare gift. "You've faced worse than a few dragons. And you have me."
A reluctant smile. "I suppose enduring this will prove Kiran wrong, at least."
"That's the spirit," Ike laughed.
They dressed in companionable silence, Soren's thoughts consumed by the day ahead. Ike refrained from probing questions; he understood Soren well enough.
Two years had passed since their arrival in Askr, and three since leaving Tellius; in all that time, they had never been apart. Soren furrowed his brow in worry, prompting Ike to draw him close. He lifted Soren's chin. "If it becomes too much, you know where to find me."
Soren gathered his hair into a low horsetail, allowing Ike's presence to envelop him. Meeting Ike's gaze, he nodded. "Yes, I do."
As Ike departed to join Timerra's team for training, Soren's stomach tightened with anxiety. His gaze drifted towards Kurthnaga and Dheginsea. Both stood at the edge of the courtyard, casting long shadows in the mist.
Soren hesitated, resolve wavering. Just as he considered slipping away unnoticed, a voice cut through the fog. "Soren!" Kurthnaga called out. "Join us, won't you?"
The two dragons continued their conversation as Soren approached, their keen senses undoubtedly aware of his presence long before he reached them.
"… In the evening, the children dart about in strange attire for their nightly festivities," Kurthnaga remarked, his eyes wide with wonder. "How whimsical! I do hope they continue tonight."
Beside him, Dheginsea stood tall and silent. His gaze swept over the courtyard until his crimson eyes landed on Soren.
"King Dheginsea. Prince Kurthnaga," Soren said.
Kurthnaga's smile widened, unwavering like sunlight. Their interactions over the past year had been few, yet Kurthnaga always welcomed him with the same warmth.
Dheginsea regarded Soren with an inscrutable expression. Soren paused, unwilling to be the first to speak.
"Well met, young one," Dheginsea said in Dragontongue, a phrase Soren recognized from its frequent use. Switching to common Tellian, Dheginsea continued, "It is not often we see you at such gatherings."
Soren suppressed a flicker of irritation at the subtle rebuke. "Kiran summoned me, so here I am."
Kurthnaga stepped forward, his eagerness transparent. "And for that, I am eternally grateful. It is well met, Soren. I have been looking forward to our meeting since receiving the summons."
Soren instinctively stepped back, overwhelmed by Kurthnaga's enthusiasm. Dheginsea's large hand on Kurthnaga's shoulder served as a silent reminder to temper his approach. Kurthnaga drew a deep breath, and for a moment, it struck Soren that his uncle might share his own nervousness. The thought had never occurred to him before.
"Ah," Kurthnaga began again, more subdued. "Have you ever celebrated anything like this?" He gestured to the pumpkins and cobwebs adorning the columns of the castle, the trees wrapped with lights, and candelabras with ebony candles lining the halls.
Soren paused, considering the question. "No, nothing like this."
He nodded. "Ena mentioned the same. I wondered if the Red or White Dragons had different customs…" He sighed. "I will ask the dragon from Nohr if she knows of this."
Kurthnaga's childlike curiosity no longer surprised Soren but still amused him. Even Dheginsea's deep, gravelly laughter rumbled softly. "Perhaps that is the true magic of these festivities. Allowing even dragons a moment of respite."
Kurthnaga's eyes glittered. "This harvest festival does seem to uncover hidden things, does it not? Especially if it brings my Lord Father some peace."
Silence followed. Soren shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Dheginsea and Kurthnaga. The small talk felt hollow, a thin veneer over the true tensions beneath. He surmised that his grandfather had been the one to command the other dragons to keep their distance. The thought brought a strange mix of gratitude and bitterness. Typical of Dheginsea, truly, to keep away, as he had done throughout history— hiding away in neutrality, leaving the world to fend for itself.
Yet, seeing his grandfather so close, discerning their shared features— the same striking eye shape and brows, an uncanny likeness— felt both exhilarating and unsettling. Dheginsea's chest rising and falling with each breath, a strange reminder that this thousand-year-old dragon was not merely a god-like figure but a living being standing before him. Soren's eyes traced the deep lines etched into Dheginsea's face, carved from countless years; Soren struggled, once again, to reconcile the living man before him— both revered and reviled— with the ancient tales.
The weight of their kinship pressed heavily on Soren again, the gnawing contradiction of a lost child, parentless and starving, yet heir to dragons and a mad king, was suffocating. The urge to break orders and flee surged within him.
Kurthnaga seemed to sense Soren's discomfort. He glanced at his father for a moment but then decided to speak. "I understand that working alongside us is not your choice," he began, gentle yet earnest. "I want to honor your feelings. Speak freely to me, and to my Lord Father as well. You need not accept us, given all that has transpired."
Kurthnaga's words hung in the air, honest but practiced, as if he had rehearsed them. A pang of pity gripped Soren, knowing that Kurthnaga had prepared for rejection.
Dheginsea did not speak, so Kurthnaga continued. "Seeing companions return from the dead, facing old enemies anew," he shook his head, "it is a heavy burden. You need not pretend otherwise with me."
Soft footsteps approached, barely leaving a trace on the dewy grass; Ena's arrival offered a needed reprieve. She bowed formally to Dheginsea, nodded respectfully to Kurthnaga, and then froze upon spotting Soren.
"Well met," she stammered. Ena's eyes flickered to Kurthnaga, clearly uncertain how to address Soren properly. Did she say prince? Highness? The absurdity almost made him laugh.
Ena's eyes turned to him, and Soren avoided her probing gaze, as if she searched for another's eyes and face within his own.
"Ena," Soren greeted.
For a moment, Ena said nothing, her gaze fixed on him. Soren knew it was impolite, as did his uncle and grandfather, but none had the heart to correct her. Soren looked away, feeling the prickling weight of her stare.
Finally, Ena turned to Kurthnaga and Dheginsea, speaking softly in Dragontongue. Dheginsea nodded, his expression stoic, while Kurthnaga pursed his lips, a distant gleam in his eyes.
Soren glanced curiously at Kurthnaga, who hesitated briefly before saying, "She says you look just like her husband— my brother, Rajaion."
Ena's eyes brimmed with tears; her hands fluttered to her pregnant belly.
Ena and Nasir, having fought alongside him and Ike, had long earned Soren's trust. Neither bound by blood, Soren felt no pressure to fulfill ancestral expectations. Yet, he'd always envisioned Rajaion as the one who might truly understand him. They both bore the same heavy, involuntary bond to Ashnard, both marked by the scars of a broken identity.
"I'm sorry," Soren said to Ena, and by extension Kurthnaga and Dheginsea, not knowing what else to say. "I had always hoped to meet him."
Kurthnaga glanced at his father, something unspoken passing between them. Dheginsea's expression remained unreadable, but a glimmer of approval flickered in his eyes. Dragons valued family and honor above all else; they must have discussed Soren countless times, perhaps wondering if he resembled them in any way.
"You're General Ike's tactician, are you not?" Ena asked after a moment, once she had composed herself. Her voice still quivered with pain, but she pressed on with determination. "Did you not wonder why the four of us have been assembled?"
The heroes from their realm had gathered as soon as Castle Askr received word of Ashnard's approach two days prior. His army, already on the march, had razed villages in their path, clearly seeking them out for revenge. Kiran, Prince Alfonse, and Princess Sharena trusted the Tellians to defeat him— they had conquered him in their own world, after all.
As the thought of Ashnard flying their way settled in, Soren's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Rajaion," he whispered.
The three dragons nodded. "We are going to save him," Ena said, her voice resolute.
While the thought of ending Ashnard's life himself held a dark allure, the fog of self-doubt rolled in. Why would they seek his aid for such a crucial mission instead of someone like Ike or Micaiah? Ashnard was a formidable foe, but they had the combined might of the Tellian heroes.
"I fail to see why you need my help," Soren said dryly, gesturing to them, "when three dragons stand before me."
Dheginsea drew a necklace from beneath his robes, the stone attached to the cord shimmering with mysterious power. "This is an unresolved matter of our bloodline, and therefore, family matters," he answered.
His gaze pierced through Soren. "And there are four dragons here, not three."