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As the brush touched the scroll, a low growl resonated through the floorboards. The air grew heavy with the scent of ozone and sulfur. The first stroke was like dragging a blade through thick clay. Kaelen’s arm shook; he felt a heat so intense it charred the sleeve of his robe.
"The balance is tilting," Kaelen whispered. Below his tower, the kingdom of Oakhaven was freezing. A perpetual winter, conjured by a rogue sorcerer, had turned the soil to iron and the rivers to glass. Dragon Soul Script
Kaelen collapsed, his hand stained black and smelling of smoke. The scroll was now blank, its energy spent, but the air in the room was finally warm. The Dragon Soul had listened, leaving behind nothing but a single, charred scale on the desk as a reminder of the price of warmth. As the brush touched the scroll, a low
"Because the hearths are cold," Kaelen gasped, his sweat vaporizing into steam. "And a child’s breath should not come out as frost." Kaelen’s arm shook; he felt a heat so
The scroll didn't burn. Instead, the Script ignited with a soft, amber glow. The light spilled out of the window, cascading down the tower like a golden waterfall. Wherever the light touched the snow, it vanished. The frozen river groaned and cracked, turning back into rushing water.
The dragon’s presence surged. Kaelen didn't fight the heat; he welcomed it. He finished the final curve of the glyph—a jagged, soaring line that looked like a wing in flight.
In his mind’s eye, a Great Gold dragon opened its eye. “Why do you seek our fire, little spark?” a voice thundered in his blood.