The wind rolled through the valley like it always did—dry, restless, whispering secrets only the old trees could remember.

  Eryndor sat on the crumbling stone fence outside the orphanage, tossing a pebble between his hands and pretending it was a sword.

  Caelen was late again. Probably got caught helping with the well. Or chasing squirrels with that stupid grin on his face.

  “You’re going to get caught one day,” Eryndor muttered, flicking the pebble over the fence. “And I’m not going to save you.”

  He didn’t mean it.

  The pebble hit the road, bounced once, and rolled to the bare feet of a girl standing in the dust.

  Azeris.

  Her eyes were gold. Not yellow—gold. And they were watching him like she’d already seen the end of him.

  Eryndor stared back, defiant, like they were two ancient beings testing the abyss between them. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye made him shiver.

  She hadn’t moved. Not even to blink. Even her shadow looked like it wanted something.

  She was an oddball, even for the orphanage. No one knew where she came from. She’d just… appeared one day, curled up at the front gate.

  Sister Vael whispered that she was a sign of the Return.

  Return of the dragon race? Eryndor had heard the stories. He just didn’t believe in bedtime tales anymore.

  A breeze picked up. Azeris didn’t flinch.

  He looked away first.

  “OHHHHH, ERYNDORRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

  The still air shattered.

  A boy came sprinting down the path—dirty blonde hair flapping in the wind, ears pointed like a spade, and a voice that always carried too far.

  Fucking dumbass, Eryndor thought. Here comes Caelen. Always acting like a damn fool.

  “Stop being a pussy, E! Come join me at the river!” Caelen shouted, already laughing.

  Eryndor rolled his eyes. “Why? You know what happens if Yvenis shows up.”

  “You worry too much, E. She liiiiikes youuuuuu.”

  “I doubt it. She thinks I’m weird.”

  “Doesn’t mean she won’t be there.”

  Eryndor hesitated, then sighed. “Fine, Cael—but you owe me five silver if I don’t get a kiss by the end of summer.”

  “You’re so on!”

  Eryndor hopped down from the fence and took the beaten path through the tall grass—the one he’d walked so many times he could probably navigate it blind, deaf, and asleep.

  I swear, if we get double chores for this stunt… I’ll kill him.

  “Thank the gods,” Caelen muttered as they walked. “I didn’t want to play Lagose with Clofn again. He sucks.”

  “You just think everyone except us sucks, Cael,” Eryndor replied.

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  They passed by Azeris without another word. She hadn't moved. Just stood there, watching.

  As they disappeared into the trees, Eryndor glanced back. Her golden eyes were still on him.

  Not on Caelen. Not the others. Just him.

  He didn’t know why that made him feel like she’d just carved his name into a grave somewhere.

  The river roared ahead, carving through the woods like a vein of living silver. Sunlight flickered through the branches, and the smell of wet earth hung thick in the air.

  Caelen was already half-running. “Last one there smells like Orphanmaster Belin’s socks!”

  Eryndor didn’t chase him. He just smirked, adjusted his stride, and let the old path carry him.

  From somewhere behind them—distant, far too distant—there was the sound of something breaking. A crack of thunder. Or maybe a scream. Or maybe just a bird.

  But even the trees stopped whispering for a moment.

  By the time he reached the river, Caelen was shirtless and standing ankle-deep in the shallows, kicking at the current.

  “You gonna stand there looking pretty or come cool off, E?” he called.

  Eryndor kicked off his boots and stepped in. The water was cold, bit at his legs like ice fangs, but it felt good. Cleansing.

  “I swear, Cael. One of these days I’m going to let you drown.”

  “You’d miss me.”

  “I’d sleep longer.”

  Caelen laughed and splashed water straight into his face.

  Eryndor tackled him. They hit the water hard, both flailing and yelling until they surfaced, breathless and wheezing.

  Later, they lay side by side on the rocks at the edge, sun drying the river off their skin.

  “You think she’s gonna be there?” Caelen asked after a while.

  Eryndor didn’t answer.

  “Yvenis, I mean.”

  “I know who you meant, dumbass.”

  Caelen grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”

  “She’s got it worse.”

  “Oh? She does, huh?”

  “Yeah. She's about to fall in love with the coolest, most mysterious Dragonblooded bastard in the entire orphanage.”

  Caelen laughed. “Only one in the entire orphanage.”

  “Details.”

  A beat passed.

  “You know they call us mutts, right?” Caelen said suddenly, tossing a pebble into the river. “Behind our backs. Sometimes to our faces.”

  Eryndor smirked. “They’re just mad they don’t have our cool ass blood running through their veins.”

  “Oh, right,” Caelen said with a snort. “Remind me again how you’re half dragon but still suck at climbing trees?”

  “It’s not about scales or wings,” Eryndor muttered. “It’s in the blood. That’s what matters.”

  Caelen glanced at him. “You ever feel it? Like… it’s doing something inside you?”

  Eryndor hesitated, then looked back at the river. “Sometimes,” he said. “But it’s not ready yet.”

  Caelen laughed nervously. “That’s not ominous at all.”

  Eryndor didn’t laugh.

  They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t need filling. The kind that made Eryndor forget, just for a breath, that the world outside the valley existed at all.

  “Hey,” Caelen said, voice quieter now. “You ever think about leaving?”

  Eryndor turned his head. “Leaving?”

  “Yeah. Just… running off. Going somewhere else. Not as orphans. Just as us.”

  Eryndor blinked. He hadn't expected that.

  “Where would we even go?”

  Caelen shrugged. “I dunno. One of the cities? Or that place Sister Vael always talks about—Vanyel. I heard they take squires sometimes.”

  “Not ones like us.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Eryndor didn’t say anything. A breeze moved through the trees. This time, it didn’t whisper.

  Eventually, they got up. Boots back on, hair still dripping, clothes clinging to damp skin.

  They walked the path back without saying much. The sunlight was fading now—burnt orange bleeding through the treetops, casting shadows longer than they should’ve been.

  As they walked back, villagers passed them on the path into town. Eryndor scowled. Stupid fucking people. Always judging. Always looking at us like we're beneath them. Let them.

  One of them muttered just loud enough: “Filthy fucking half-breeds.”

  Caelen stopped. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

  The man turned. “I said you. Are. A. fucking. Mutt.”

  Then he shoved Caelen.

  Caelen didn’t stumble. He came back swinging — fist straight into the man’s face, cracking his nose open in one brutal hit.

  Eryndor watched from the edge, heart pounding. Beat him, Cael. Fucking beat him.

  The man dropped, blood pouring. Fear in his eyes.

  “Leave us the fuck alone,” Caelen growled.

  The man staggered off, muttering through the blood.

  “Gods,” Caelen muttered, shaking his hand. “What a prick.”

  “Yeah,” Eryndor said with a low laugh. “But you showed him.”

  Caelen didn’t smile. He looked at the blood on his knuckles like it was dirt. “I hate fighting over shit like that.”

  “Good. Then maybe next time they’ll think twice.”

  Caelen didn’t answer. Just grunted.

  The orphanage bell rang. Once. Distant. Hollow.

  “Think we’re late?”

  “We’re always late.”

  They passed the old tree stump where they'd buried their first wooden sword. Passed the rock wall that Azeris always sat on when it stormed. Passed the crooked fence they'd never bothered to fix.

  The place looked the same as always.

  But Eryndor felt something.

  A chill in the wind. A weight in his chest.

  Like the world had just taken a breath—and was holding it.

  And it would never breathe out again.