In his mind’s eye, a Great Gold dragon opened its eye. “Why do you seek our fire, little spark?” a voice thundered in his blood.
The scroll didn't burn. Instead, the Script ignited with a soft, amber glow. The light spilled out of the window, cascading down the tower like a golden waterfall. Wherever the light touched the snow, it vanished. The frozen river groaned and cracked, turning back into rushing water. Dragon Soul Script
The ink didn’t just sit on the parchment; it pulsed. Master Kaelen stared at the ancient scroll, his eyes stinging from the candlelight. This was the , a forgotten language where every character was forged from the literal breath of the First Drakes. It wasn't meant to be read with the eyes, but felt with the spirit. In his mind’s eye, a Great Gold dragon opened its eye
The dragon’s presence surged. Kaelen didn't fight the heat; he welcomed it. He finished the final curve of the glyph—a jagged, soaring line that looked like a wing in flight. Instead, the Script ignited with a soft, amber glow
Kaelen collapsed, his hand stained black and smelling of smoke. The scroll was now blank, its energy spent, but the air in the room was finally warm. The Dragon Soul had listened, leaving behind nothing but a single, charred scale on the desk as a reminder of the price of warmth.
"The balance is tilting," Kaelen whispered. Below his tower, the kingdom of Oakhaven was freezing. A perpetual winter, conjured by a rogue sorcerer, had turned the soil to iron and the rivers to glass.