The days dragged on like a dense and oppressive fog over the kingdom. The searches for Aemon intensified each morning, but always returned with the same devastating results: nothing. No clues, no sign of life. For many, including Thorne himself, the prince was already dead.
In the great hall of the castle, a silent tension hung in the air. Thorne, seated at the head of the table, stared into nothingness, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. Edric, beside him, was equally grim, while Cedric maintained an unreadable expression. Fianna, though steadfast, couldn't hide the worry weighing on her heart.
— He's dead, Thorne — Cedric finally broke the silence, his voice low but firm. — It's been days, and not even the best trackers have found any trace of him. We must prepare for the worst.
Thorne let out a heavy sigh, pain and anger warring within him. He rose abruptly, walking to the window and gazing out at the distant horizon.
— I can't accept that — Thorne replied, his voice laden with frustration and helplessness. — Aemon is strong. He's survived unimaginable things. I won't give up on him... not yet.
Fianna, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. Her eyes reflected a cold determination, but her voice carried a soft, almost maternal tone.
— Thorne, the kingdom needs leadership now more than ever. The king is... — she hesitated, choosing her words carefully — ...the king is worsening by the day. He needs us. If Aemon doesn't return, we must be prepared for what that means for the kingdom.
Edric, who had been watching Thorne closely, nodded slowly.
— Fianna is right, Thorne. Our duty now is to protect the kingdom and ensure that, if necessary, the transition of power is handled properly. But as long as there's a chance, however small, that Aemon is alive, we must continue the searches. He deserves nothing less.
Thorne turned to face the three of them, the tension on his face evident. He knew they were right, but the thought of giving up on Aemon was unbearable.
— Continue the searches — he ordered, his voice hardened by the decision. — But prepare the kingdom for what may come next. Cedric, I want you to organize the court and maintain order. Fianna, tend to the king. He needs someone he can trust now more than ever.
Cedric, with a discreet look of satisfaction, nodded in agreement.
— As you wish, Thorne. I'll do what is necessary to maintain stability.
Fianna looked at Thorne with an understanding expression before speaking:
— I'll do what I can for the king, Thorne. But you need to be prepared too. If Aemon doesn't return... you know what that means.
Thorne closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the weight of Fianna's words sink in. He nodded, though reluctantly.
— I know... — he replied, almost in a whisper. — But as long as there's a chance, any chance, I won't give up on him.
Silence returned to the hall, but this time it was different, laden with resignation and a new sense of purpose. They all knew what was at stake, and each of them, in their hearts, began preparing for what might be the dawn of a new era, with or without Aemon.
In the cave hidden by an illusory barrier, time seemed distorted, the days dragging on slowly. Aemon, still injured and weak, watched the sorceress warily. She was always near the fire, stirring her potion with a sadistic smile on her face. Each time the guards passed by without noticing the cave, the sorceress let out a laugh that echoed through the dark corridors of the hideout.
One day, while the sorceress laughed to herself after watching the guards leave once again, Aemon tried to start a conversation, his voice hoarse and broken by pain.
— Why are you keeping me here? — Aemon asked, forcing the words out of his dry, cracked lips. — What do you really want?
The sorceress stopped stirring the potion for a moment, but she didn't turn to face him. Instead, her voice came out soft and dangerous, full of an unsettling mystery.
— Questions, questions... — she murmured, almost to herself. — You're always looking for answers, prince. But answers... ah, they aren't for just anyone.
Aemon closed his eyes for a moment, battling the pain that throbbed in every part of his body. He knew the only way to find out what was happening was to keep trying to communicate with her, frustrating as it was.
— You don't seem like the type who acts without purpose — he continued, trying to stay calm. — If you're keeping me alive, there must be something you want from me.
The sorceress finally turned to him, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of malice and excitement. She took a step toward him, holding a small cup of her steaming potion.
— Maybe I'm just bored — she said with a sinister smile. — Or maybe I see something in you... interesting. Something worth preserving, for now. Have you never wondered, Aemon, what it is about you that makes me laugh while the world crumbles around you?
Aemon looked at her, trying to decipher her gaze, but her eyes were full of enigmas.
— You speak in riddles — he replied, frustrated. — If there's something you want, why don't you just say it?
The sorceress laughed, a soft and almost gentle laugh, but one that carried a hidden cruelty.
— Where would the fun be in that, prince? — She tilted her head, studying him as if he were a puzzle she was still trying to solve. — You're so predictable, so noble... so blind. But at the same time, so... unexpected. I could simply kill you, but... there's something about you that amuses me. Maybe it's hope, or maybe it's hopelessness. Who knows?
Aemon gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the despair threatening to take hold of him. He knew he was at her mercy, but he couldn't give up. He needed to find a way out or at least understand the game she was playing.
— And if I give you what you want? — he proposed, trying to probe her intentions. — What would happen then?
The sorceress smiled widely, almost as if she had been expecting this question.
— Ah, but what I want, prince, is something you don't even know you have — she replied enigmatically. — You're not ready to give it yet, because you don't even know what it is. But all in due time, my dear. All in due time.
She turned back to the fire, where she continued stirring the potion, her eyes still gleaming with that mix of madness and excitement. Aemon felt a chill run down his spine. He was trapped in a game whose rules he didn't know, but one thing was clear: he would need all his strength and cunning to survive whatever was coming next.
As night fell, the cave grew even more ominous, shadows dancing on the walls as the small fire cast a flickering light. The sorceress, her eyes fixed on the steaming pot, finally straightened up, a satisfied smile curling on her lips.
— It's ready, prince, — she said, her voice soft yet laced with dark mystery.
Aemon, who had been watching cautiously, felt a mix of curiosity and apprehension. He had never seen anything like that potion, and the sorceress's words only deepened his mistrust.
— What exactly did you make? — he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
The sorceress approached him, holding a small cup filled with a deep red potion, almost like blood. Her eyes gleamed with malicious excitement.
— This, my dear prince, is a potion that will help awaken your blood, — she replied, her words dripping like sweet poison.
Aemon frowned, confused and intrigued.
— Awaken my blood? What does that mean? — he questioned, trying to decipher her intentions.
The sorceress tilted her head as if pondering whether to reveal more. After a moment, she decided to continue, her voice taking on a more serious, almost reverent tone.
— Have you ever wondered why the remaining dragon eggs never hatched? — she asked, her eyes locked onto his, watching every reaction. — It's because there hasn't been a man worthy enough, with the ancient blood, to awaken them.
A shiver ran down Aemon's spine at her words. Dragons were legendary creatures, and tales of them had become almost mythical over time. Yet, the fact that the sorceress mentioned dragons so specifically stirred a genuine concern within him.
— And what does this have to do with me? — Aemon asked, his voice laced with caution.
The sorceress smiled again, a smile that brought no comfort, only a promise of something deep and unsettling.
— Because you, Aemon, possess that blood. The ancient blood. Perhaps you don't realize it, but it flows through your veins, though dormant. This potion, — she raised the cup, — is a catalyst. Something that awakens the true nature of the one who drinks it. And in you, it will awaken what lies latent… The power that could, perhaps, bring dragons back.
Aemon looked at the cup, his heart beating faster. The idea of awakening dragons was both fascinating and terrifying. He knew the sorceress was not to be trusted, but the possibility of what she was saying made him question.
— And why would you do this? — he asked, his voice full of distrust. — What do you gain from it?
The sorceress chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to echo through the cave walls.
— Oh, Aemon, don't you understand yet? I gain the spectacle, the entertainment… I gain the privilege of watching the world change, of seeing you struggle against your destiny. — She extended the cup toward him. — But the choice is yours. You can drink and discover what truly runs in your veins, or you can remain just a wounded prince, at the mercy of an enemy you do not understand.
Aemon stared at the cup, his heart torn between fear and curiosity. He knew that drinking that potion could change everything... but was he prepared for what would come next?
The weight of the choice was upon him, and the cave seemed to wait in silence, as if destiny itself were holding its breath, awaiting Aemon's decision.
Aemon pondered for a long time, his thoughts drifting through the horrors that had plagued Volcrist, the delicate situation the world was in, and the desperate need for change. The sorceress, as sadistic and insane as she might be, was perhaps offering something he couldn't ignore. He needed an advantage, something to turn the tide. And there, right in front of him, was the opportunity.
He looked at the cup in the sorceress's hand, her trembling fingers extending it toward him. The consequences could be devastating, but the alternative was stagnation, inevitable defeat. With a determined sigh, he took the cup from her hands and, without hesitation, brought it to his lips, swallowing the thick, metallic-tasting liquid. The sorceress smiled, a sickly gleam in her eyes, as she watched the prince accept the fate she had prepared.
— That's right, prince. Drink it all, — she murmured, almost as if encouraging a child to finish a meal. — True power requires sacrifices, and you're about to pay the price.
Aemon began to feel a strange sensation of heat spreading through his body, as if his blood was boiling beneath his skin. The heat intensified, bringing with it a sensation of internal pressure, something he had never experienced before. His hands began to tremble, his heart beating in a disordered rhythm.
— What's happening to me? — he asked, his voice unsteady.
The sorceress watched him with an expression of almost perverse satisfaction.
— Complications, prince, — she said calmly. — Your blood is awakening, merging with something much older. This won't be easy, nor painless. Soon, you'll pass out, and when you wake... well, we'll see what you become.
The sorceress's words had barely registered with Aemon when he felt the world spin. Everything around him began to darken, his strength rapidly leaving him. He collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, his eyes closing as his mind drifted away.
In the chaos of his fading thoughts, a vision began to form. He saw himself on a battlefield, but not as he was now. It was a distorted version of the future, where he was mounted on a massive black dragon, his presence dominating the field. The dragon exhaled black flames that consumed entire ranks of soldiers, turning them to ash in seconds. He saw the terrified eyes of his enemies, the hopelessness that swept the field, and the absolute power he now wielded.
Aemon tried to move closer, to see the details of that moment, to understand what was happening, but the vision dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. He woke with a start, his body still aching, his breath coming in ragged gasps as if he had returned from a nightmare.
The smell of burning herbs and smoke still filled the cave. The sorceress, who had been silently watching until then, approached once more, her eyes fixed on his.
— You saw it, didn't you? — she asked, her voice filled with barely contained excitement. — The future that could be yours. The power at your disposal... if you survive what comes next.
Aemon didn't respond immediately. His hands were trembling, and he could still feel the residual heat coursing through his veins. But he knew something had changed. Something deep and irreversible. And he had no choice but to move forward, to discover what this new power meant — for him, for Volcrist, and for the world.
When Aemon awoke, there was no time to process what was happening. Instead of relief, he was immediately thrown into a whirlwind of indescribable pain. His bones began to expand and realign, stretching and cracking beneath his skin. Each change was torment, as if his body were being molded by invisible, cruel hands. He tried to move, but his body was rigid, almost paralyzed by the process.
His physique began to alter drastically, muscles contorting and growing in ways that seemed impossible, becoming stronger and more defined with each passing second. The young prince, already imposing, was now becoming something beyond human, a figure of almost supernatural power. His hair, once a grayish white, had now turned completely white, like the purest snow, contrasting with the glow of his skin, which shimmered with renewed vigor.
But with each benefit came a terrible price. The pain was unimaginable, as if every fiber of his being was being forged in the hottest fire. Every scream he released echoed through the cave, resonating off the stone walls, while the sorceress watched, unmoved, her lips curved in a sadistic smile. She was absorbing every second of his suffering, as if it were a spectacle created solely for her pleasure.
— It's almost over, prince, — she murmured, her voice laden with cold calm, almost maternal, but with a hint of perversity. — You're becoming something… extraordinary. Just a little more pain, and then, the power will be all yours.
With each word from the sorceress, Aemon felt his sanity being tested. He wanted to fight the pain, wanted to resist the transformation taking place, but it was useless. His body no longer belonged to him. It was being reshaped, forged by a force he barely understood, all part of the sorceress's plan.
Finally, after what felt like hours of endless agony, the pain began to subside. The transformation was nearing completion, leaving him exhausted, drenched in sweat, and with the sense that he would never be the same. Aemon found himself lying on the cold floor of the cave, his body trembling and his mind struggling to process all that had happened. The silence that followed was almost as overwhelming as the pain.
— Look at yourself, — the sorceress whispered, her voice filled with sick excitement. — See what you've become.
With effort, Aemon lifted his eyes to her, but there was no mirror, nothing to reflect the monstrosity or divinity he had become. All he knew was that something profound had changed — and there was no going back.
The sorceress observed Aemon with hungry eyes, absorbing every detail of his new form with disturbing intensity. She began to walk toward him, her movements slow and deliberate, with an almost predatory sensuality. Each step she took seemed to carry the weight of a revelation, as if she was approaching something she had long desired, something she now possessed.
— Look at what you've become... — she whispered, her voice laden with a mixture of fascination and desire. — Now, you are more than a prince... you are a masterpiece.
Aemon, still trying to recover from the transformation, could barely respond. His breathing was heavy, his body exhausted from the pain he had endured, but he couldn't deny that he felt a new, palpable power coursing through his veins. However, there was something in the sorceress's eyes that left him uneasy, a voracity he had never seen before.
She drew closer, until she was near enough for him to feel the warmth of her presence. The way her lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile indicated that she was completely enthralled by what she saw before her.
— Now, you can give me what I truly desire — she said, her voice soft, almost as if she were whispering a secret to the wind. Her fingers lightly brushed Aemon's shoulder, as if testing the reality of her creation. — The power that flows in your veins... the awakened ancient blood... It's the key to a new world.