Red sky warning

CHAPTER ELEVEN – “Red Sky Warning”

The summit chamber buzzed with voices, each louder than the last. Torches burned along the walls, but the air was cold with tension. Rowan sat stiffly at the long stone table, eyes darting between the dragon heirs, elders, and Kai at her side.

A storm dragon heir, broad-shouldered with pale silver hair, slammed his hand against the table. Sparks crackled along his skin, thunder rumbling faintly above the chamber.

“She has no place among fire dragons,” he declared, pointing at Rowan. “The Dragonheart belongs to storm, to sky. Not to cursed blood like his.” His finger shifted sharply to Kai.

Kai’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.

Rowan’s pulse quickened. “Excuse me—belong?” she repeated, her voice sharp.

The storm heir sneered. “The Dragonheart is meant to strengthen the clans. Not… waste herself on a fire prince marked by destruction.”

Before Rowan could snap back, Kai rose slowly to his feet. His voice was calm, but every word carried weight. “If you believe your claim is stronger, then prove it.”

The storm heir’s smile was all teeth. “A duel, then?”

Gasps rippled through the chamber.

An elder from the earth clan rose. “This is madness. The summit was not called for bloodshed.”

“Then perhaps you’ve forgotten what’s at stake,” the storm heir shot back. “If she bonds with fire, it tips the balance. Why should the rest of us trust cursed flames?”

Kai’s eyes never left the challenger. “You don’t need to trust me. You only need to face me.”

Rowan jumped up. “Stop. I’m not some prize to be fought over like a sword.”

The storm heir’s gaze flicked to her, then softened into something almost pitying. “You don’t understand, Dragonheart. This isn’t about you. It’s about survival. One wrong bond, and every clan suffers.”

Rowan’s hands curled into fists. “I do understand. I just don’t accept it.”

The council’s head elder struck his staff against the floor, the boom silencing the chamber. “Enough. This matter will be discussed in council before any duel is sanctioned.”

Murmurs broke out again, some heirs whispering in support of Kai, others clearly leaning toward the storm heir’s words.

Rowan sank back into her seat, her stomach tight with unease. Every look, every muttered word carried the same message: division.

Later, as the session broke into private discussions, Nyra slipped into Rowan’s side. “They’re already taking sides,” she whispered. “Half the clans fear Kai. The rest see you as leverage.”

“Great,” Rowan muttered. “So either way, I’m just a piece on their board.”

Nyra grimaced. “That’s politics. You wanted choice? This is what it costs.”

Across the chamber, Kai stood with two of his own fire kin, voices low. His shoulders were rigid, his gaze fixed on the storm heir who smirked back at him like victory was already his.

Rowan’s chest ached. She wanted to reach for Kai, to tell him not to rise to their bait. But the look on his face—the steel in his eyes—told her he’d already made up his mind.

Before she could move, the torches flickered. A rush of cold swept the chamber. Shadows bent unnaturally.

Mistara, the Oracle, appeared at the far end, her white eyes clouded as if she were staring through smoke only she could see.

The chamber hushed instantly. Even the storm heir lowered his gaze.

“Child,” Mistara said, her voice echoing like wind in a cavern. Her pale face turned toward Rowan. “The fire in your chest is waking things older than dragons.”

Rowan’s breath caught. “Older than dragons?”

Mistara tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You think you are hunted because of what you might become. But you are hunted because of what has already been.”

Whispers erupted through the room.

Rowan stepped forward despite the weight in her legs. “What do you mean? What’s waking?”

Mistara’s lips curved into the faintest smile, though her eyes remained distant. “When fire and storm, earth and sky tear each other apart, something buried deep will rise again. And when it does, Dragonheart… choice will be the first thing you lose.”

The Oracle’s voice faded, her body dissolving like smoke until only silence remained.

The elders exchanged uneasy looks. The storm heir broke it first, slamming his fist against the table. “More riddles. More fear. All the more reason the clans cannot trust fire.”

Kai’s hand flexed at his side, flames licking his fingertips before he forced them out.

Rowan swallowed hard, feeling the entire room watching her. The weight of their stares pressed against her ribs. She wanted to scream, to demand they stop speaking about her as if she were an object to trade. Instead, she stood frozen, hearing Mistara’s words repeat in her mind.

Older than dragons. Hunted because of what has already been.

Nyra touched her arm. “Don’t show them fear,” she whispered.

Rowan forced her spine straight, though her heart pounded. “If they think I’ll let them decide my life,” she murmured back, “they’ll be disappointed.”

By the time the summit adjourned, the chamber had split into clusters. Some elders whispered urgently with the storm heir. Others approached Kai, their support wary but real. The air was thick with cracks forming.

As the last torch sputtered low, Rowan slipped from the chamber, needing space. She climbed the spiral steps until she reached the high windows overlooking Arcadia.

The sky beyond burned red with twilight, streaked with jagged bolts of lightning. Clouds churned like smoke, heavy and restless.

Rowan pressed her hand against the cold stone sill.

Mistara’s words curled through her like smoke. The fire in your chest is waking things older than dragons.

She hugged her arms around herself, staring into the storm.

“Something’s coming,” she whispered. Her voice was barely a breath, stolen by the thunder. “And it’s coming for me.”