The air shimmered with heat as the Eternal Flame blazed atop the altar of Zalythria. It was a flame like no other—alive, pulsing, and bound to the lifeblood of dragons and humans alike. The great dragon, Irythar, loomed above the gathered crowd, his molten eyes reflecting the flickering fire. His scales, like liquid gold, rippled with a power that could both destroy and create.
"Let this pact endure," Irythar rumbled, his voice a deep quake that silenced the whispers of the crowd. "By the blood of dragons and men, peace shall reign."
High Priestess Elyndra stepped forward, her robes flowing like liquid crimson in the light of the flame. In her hands was a ceremonial dagger carved from a dragon's claw. With deliberate reverence, she sliced her palm and let her blood drip into a silver chalice. The blood sizzled as it mingled with a single drop of Irythar's molten essence.
But as the pact was sealed, a shadow moved among the crowd. A figure cloaked in black, their face hidden behind a mask of onyx, raised a hand. In the stillness of the moment, a dagger gleamed and flew through the air, striking Elyndra.
Chaos erupted.
Irythar roared, his wings spreading wide as flames erupted from his mouth. The cloaked figure vanished into the crowd as the ceremony dissolved into screams. Elyndra crumpled to the ground, the chalice tipping and spilling its precious contents onto the stone.
"The pact..." she whispered, her eyes glazing over. Irythar turned his gaze skyward, his fury palpable.
"Betrayal," he hissed, his voice cracking with grief.
"The blood of dragons has been tainted by greed. We shall not remain to witness the ruin of this world."
With a final, mournful roar, Irythar ascended into the sky, his form growing smaller and smaller until he was a distant glimmer against the sun. One by one, the dragons followed, their mighty forms vanishing into the horizon.
As the Eternal Flame dimmed, the realm of men stood silent, their bond with the dragons severed. Far away, in the shadows of a forgotten forest, a child was born. A faint golden mark shimmered on his chest—a mark of dragon's blood, unnoticed by all.
And so, the age of the Bloodmarked began.