The skies above Valtor were a tapestry of stars, cold and distant. Sumner's wings beat unevenly, each labored flap sending tremors through Darian's body. The dragon's breath, once a steady rhythm of warmth, now came in jagged rasps, each exhale leaving trails of frost in the air. Below, the jagged peaks of the Ironspire Mountains loomed, their snow-capped ridges glowing faintly under the moon.
"We need to land," Darian urged, his voice tight. The bond between them pulsed weakly, like a fading heartbeat. "*Now*, Sumner."
The dragon's only response was a guttural growl as he banked sharply, descending toward a narrow plateau. His claws scraped against stone as he landed, the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing across the rock. Darian dismounted, his boots slipping on ice that hadn't been there moments before.
"The corruption spreads faster than I anticipated," Queen Seraphine said, her silver armor gleaming as she approached. Her retinue of riders lingered at a distance, their hands never far from their weapons.
Darian ignored her, pressing his palm to Sumner's neck. The dragon's scales were brittle, flaking away like ash. "Hold on," he whispered. "We're close."
Sumner's golden eyes dimmed. *"The cold… it whispers,"* the dragon's voice echoed in Darian's mind, frayed and distant. *"It wants… to devour."*
Seraphine's gaze lingered on the dragon. "Valtor's archives may hold answers, but we must reach the city before dawn. The mountain passes are treacherous at night."
"Then we fly," Darian said, turning to remount.
"He won't make it." Seraphine's voice was blunt, devoid of malice but heavy with truth. "Not like this. My scouts will secure the path. We go on foot."
---
The gates of Valtor rose like fangs from the earth, obsidian-black and etched with runes that hummed with ancient magic. The city beyond sprawled across a labyrinth of terraced cliffs, its towers clawing at the sky, their spires crowned with eternal flames. The air smelled of incense and iron, and the streets thrummed with the low chant of unseen choirs.
But the people fell silent as Sumner limped through the gates. Mothers pulled children close. Market vendors froze, their hands hovering over weapons or talismans. Whispers followed them like a tide: *"Dragonmarked… cursed… bringer of rot…"*
Seraphine led them to a fortress hewn into the mountainside—a library older than the city itself. Its doors groaned open, revealing vaulted halls choked with scrolls, glowing crystals, and artifacts encased in glass. At the center stood a man so gaunt he seemed carved from parchment, his robes pooling around him like ink.
"Archivist Kael," Seraphine said, "this is Darian and his bonded. You know why they're here."
Kael's milky eyes flickered over Sumner. "Ah," he breathed. "The Old Flames have teeth, don't they?" He shuffled forward, skeletal fingers brushing the frost creeping up Sumner's leg. "Darkfire corruption. Rare. *Volatile*. It consumes the soul first, then the flesh."
Darian stepped between them. "Can you cure him?"
Kael smiled, revealing needle-thin teeth. "All things can be cured, Dragon King. But the price…" He trailed off, turning to a shelf stacked with crumbling tomes. "The ritual requires a vessel—a living anchor to siphon the corruption. The anchor must be bound to the dragon by blood *and* soul."
Darian didn't hesitate. "Do it."
"You don't even know what it entails," Seraphine cut in, her voice sharp. "This magic is not some sword to be swung blindly. It could kill you both."
"And if we do nothing, Sumner dies," Darian snapped. "I'm his anchor. We've always been."
Kael chuckled, pulling a dagger from his robes—its blade blackened, its edge serrated with runes. "Oh, it's more than that. The bond will become a chain. His pain will be yours. His hunger, his rage… you will carry the weight of his corruption, lest it consume him entirely." He tilted his head. "Still willing?"
Sumner roared suddenly, the sound echoing through the library. Frost spread across the floor, and his eyes flared with a sickly violet light. *"No,"* he snarled, the word vibrating through Darian's bones. *"I will not… enslave you… to this."*
Darian placed a hand on the dragon's jaw. "You don't get to choose."
---
The ritual chamber was a circular crypt deep beneath the library, its walls lined with skeletons fused into the stone. Kael etched sigils into the floor with a mixture of blood and ash, while Seraphine watched from the shadows, her expression unreadable.
"Ready the dragon," Kael ordered.
Sumner lay at the chamber's center, his body shuddering as the corruption pulsed beneath his scales. Darian knelt beside him, the dagger's hilt cold in his grip.
"The cut must be deep," Kael instructed. "His blood to yours. Your soul to his. The rest… is up to the magic."
Darian pressed the blade to his palm. "Together," he murmured to Sumner. "Always."
The dagger bit into his flesh. Blood dripped onto the sigils, which ignited with a searing blue flame. Sumner's roar shook the chamber as the corruption surged—a wave of blackened ice—before funneling into Darian's outstretched hand.
Agony.
It was everywhere: in his veins, his lungs, his *mind*. Visions tore through him—a void hungering for light, a thousand voices screaming, the crushing weight of eternity. He felt Sumner's panic through the bond, the dragon fighting to pull back, but Darian held firm.
"*Enough!*" Sumner bellowed.
But it wasn't.
When the flames died, Darian collapsed, his hand blackened and steaming. Sumner's scales gleamed anew, gold bleeding through the gray, his eyes clear. But as the dragon nuzzled Darian's shoulder, a shadow flickered in their bond—a whisper of something *alien*, coiled deep.
"It's done," Kael said, though his tone held no triumph.
Seraphine stepped forward, her gaze locked on Darian's corrupted hand. "For now."