The Last Dragon Rider

Chapter 4 : Into the Heart of Rebellion

"I left the royal court when they chose to stand by in silence as darkness consumed our world. The power to heal means nothing if it is not used to protect the innocent."
- Neria

•The cold wind of the mountains whipped at their faces as Caelum's horse galloped up the narrow path. Salomon, weak from the venomous bite, clung tightly to his father as the hours passed. The ride to Draedon's Peak had taken nearly five hours, and with each passing minute, the venom in Salomon's shoulder grew stronger, slowing him, sapping his strength. Even with Neria's charm to conceal his bond with Ignarus, his mark pulsed faintly, battling the venom with all it had.

Garren looked down at his son, whose face had grown pale from the ordeal. Caelum rode ahead, his face unreadable, though guilt seemed to shadow his eyes. The loss of Mira weighed heavily on Garren's heart, and as he glanced at Ignarus cradled in Salomon's arms, he couldn't help but wonder if this was worth the cost.

As they rounded the final corner, Draedon's Peak came into view. A colossal mountain with a hidden opening near its summit. It was no peaceful sanctuary. Smoke rose from campfires, tents were scattered across the cavern's wide entrance, and voices echoed within the hollow interior. The sharp clang of metal against metal resounded, mixing with the low murmur of many conversations. Salomon lifted his head weakly, eyes widening at the sight before him.

"Father... look..." he whispered, his voice weak but filled with awe. He raised a trembling hand to point at the figures moving within the cavern. They weren't just human. Salomon recognized gnomes, dwarves, elves, and even orcs. His heart pounded as he realized he was seeing creatures he had only read about in his father's old books.

Garren could only nod, his own surprise clear. He had expected some hidden haven, but not this. These were warriors, rebels, survivors of a conflict that had ravaged the land.

As they rode closer, the murmurs among the crowd grew louder. People of all shapes and sizes stopped what they were doing to watch them pass, their eyes drawn to Salomon and the small dragon in his arms. Many placed a fist over their hearts and bowed their heads, whispering among themselves in awe.

"The Destined One..." someone murmured. Others echoed the phrase, and the weight of their expectations settled heavily on Salomon's shoulders.

Garren's brow furrowed as he heard the whispers.
"They were... expecting him? My son.." he murmured to himself, trying to piece together the strange reverence they were being shown. His gaze shifted to Caelum, who remained silent, leading them deeper into the rebel hideout.

As they approached the largest tent near the center of the camp, a hawk soared through the cavern's entrance, circling above before descending rapidly. With a flash of feathers, the hawk landed on the ground in front of them and transformed mid step into a man. His eyes were sharp, his movements fluid as he strode toward Caelum.

Thalric, the shapeshifter spy, stood tall and lean, his dark eyes keen and ever watchful. His hair was a tangled mess of black, his clothes travel worn but well suited for stealth. His gaze immediately shifted to Salomon, and as soon as he saw the boy's glowing mark peeking from under his shirt, Thalric's expression softened. He bowed his head, placing his fist over his heart like the others.

"Caelum," Thalric greeted, his voice smooth but edged with the tension of someone who had seen too much.
"I'm glad you've returned. We've been waiting."

Caelum nodded, his face still unreadable.
"Thalric," he replied, urging his horse forward,
"We don't have much time. Neria needs to tend to him."

Thalric quickly fell into step beside them, his gaze flickering to Salomon, then Ignarus.
"It's true, then," he murmured, awe creeping into his voice.
"The boy bears the mark... and the dragon."