Chapter 12 Twelve
The first rays of dawn bled through the split in the ancient oak, staining the forest floor in hues of fire and gold. Theron’s question hung in the cold, still air. When do we begin?
"Now," I said.
I found a flat stone at the center of the hollow and sat, crossing my legs. The dragon coin felt heavy and warm in my palm as I placed it on the stone before me. This wasn't about borrowing power. This wasn't about defense. This was an act of deliberate, targeted violence using the most intimate part of him as a weapon.
"Silas will have sorcerers monitoring the bond," Theron warned, his voice low. "They will feel this."
"Let them," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world. I didn't reach for the coin's gentle, comforting pulse. I dove past that, into the deeper resonance, the one that felt like the bedrock of his being—the primal, possessive fury of the dragon guarding its hoard.
I didn't send a thought or an image. I forged a feeling. I concentrated every ounce of the cold, sharp terror I'd felt in the auction, the searing pain of our severed bond, the phantom agony from his torture, and the new, ruthless fury that had taken root in my soul. I compressed it all into a single, psychic shriek, a blade of pure, refined anguish.
And I drove it, not down the bond toward Kaelen, but into the coin.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent.
The coin didn't glow. It screamed.
A soundless, high-frequency wail of pure metaphysical agony erupted from the small piece of gold. It was a noise felt rather than heard, a vibration that made the air itself seem to flinch. The moss beneath the stone withered and turned black. The ancient oak above us groaned, its bark cracking with a sound like gunshots.
Theron stumbled back, a hand clapped over his ear, his face a mask of pained shock. "By the roots..."
I didn't stop. I pushed harder, pouring every shred of my will into this act of controlled desecration. I was violating the most sacred part of a dragon's nature, and the universe itself recoiled.
Deep within the obsidian mountain, in a cell warded against every known form of magic, Kaelen Drakon convulsed.
It was not the familiar, external pain of the torture devices. This was an internal cataclysm. A fundamental part of his soul, a piece of his hoard that he had felt every second of his life since he first laid eyes upon it, was suddenly screaming in torment. It was a pain beyond physical comprehension, a violation that struck at the very core of his identity.
A raw, guttural roar was torn from his throat, a sound of such profound, soul-deep anguish that it shook the very foundations of his cell. The purple runes on his collar flared erratically, overloading with a feedback of psychic distress they were not designed to contain.
In his opulent study, Silas Vane was sipping a vintage of blood-red wine when his chief sorcerer burst in without knocking, his face ashen.
"My Lord! The dragon—the bond—something is wrong!"
Silas rose, his composure cracking. "Is he dying? The bond must not break before we have the girl!"
"It's not that," the sorcerer stammered, his hands trembling as he held a scrying crystal that pulsed with frantic, chaotic energy. "It's his hoard-sense. It's... it's screaming. I have never felt a psychic event like this. It is as if a piece of his very soul is being unmade. He is in true, absolute agony. The kind that breaks minds."
A slow, cruel smile spread across Silas's face. The initial alarm gave way to triumphant glee. "He's breaking. Finally. The great Kaelen Drakon is shattering on the rocks of his own loss." He set his glass down. "This is a moment to be savored. Bring him to the central gallery. I want to see the light leave his eyes up close. Let all our key lieutenants witness this. Let them see the price of defiance."
Back in the hollow, I broke the connection.
I slumped forward, gasping, my body drenched in cold sweat. The coin lay inert on the stone, its glow completely extinguished, looking like a simple, dead piece of metal. The effort had left me hollowed out, my mind feeling scraped raw.
Theron was staring at me with a look of profound, unsettled awe. "It is done," he whispered. "I felt it... echo. Even here."
I slowly, stiffly, picked up the coin. It was cold. The hollow ache in my chest where the bond had been was now a gaping, silent void. I had no idea if Kaelen was okay, if I had broken him, if my plan had worked.
Then, a new sensation. Faint, like a whisper after a thunderclap. Not pain. Not a thought. A single, clear, unwavering impression of location. A pull, a direction. It wasn't the bond restored. It was a trail. A scent left by the psychic explosion.
He was on the move.
I looked at Theron, my exhaustion burned away by a final, cold surge of purpose.
"They took the bait," I said, my voice a dry rasp. "He's in the open. Let's go get our dragon."