"Your elder brother won’t care about us," Mara Vale said softly, her voice carrying a practiced note of sorrow. "When everything settles, he’ll be the only one enjoying freedom and prosperity. The rest of us will still be chained in the abyss."
She sighed.
"He already traded my sisters and away once to curry favor with higher powers. I know exactly what kind of dragon he is."
Her gaze lifted to Rowan.
"Don’t beco like us, Black Dragon. Sold off... and still thinking you gained sothing."
So that was her angle.
Rowan understood instantly.
She wanted to use him.
Outwardly, he showed hesitation and offered a polite nod.
"Thank you for the warning, Your Majesty."
"I only speak because you’re one of our kind," Mara Vale replied. "I don’t want to see you end up like ."
Light rippled around her form.
In the next breath, the massive dragon vanished, replaced by a woman bound in luminous chains around her neck and wrists.
Tall. Graceful. Dangerous.
Scaled armor hugged her figure like living tal. Dark horns curved from her temples, giving her beauty an alien edge that was impossible to ignore.
Rowan didn’t miss the calculation behind the display.
She assud he preferred a human shape.
She was correct.
Still, what caught Rowan’s attention wasn’t her appearance.
It was the chains.
"I have so knowledge of curse-breaking," Rowan said thoughtfully. "May I examine them?"
Mara Vale drifted closer, close enough that her presence carried warmth. Her eyes shimred with deliberate allure as she lifted her bound hands.
For most dragons, this alone would have been enough.
Rowan leaned in.
Not toward her.
Toward the artifact.
The chains were forged from an unknown alloy, impossibly dense. They weren’t just restraints. They were part of a larger suppression system, tied into a vast external formation. The more power the captive struggled to use, the stronger the chains beca.
Brute force would be pointless.
To break them, one would need either:
A weapon specialized in overwhelming destruction.
Or access to the control chanism anchoring the entire formation.
Preferably both.
Rowan straightened slowly.
"Interesting," he murmured.
In truth, he could probably destroy them.
Not easily.
Not safely.
But it was possible.
That didn’t an he would.
Freeing the three Dragon Kings now would instantly place him at odds with both the Eastern Sea’s ruling faction and the Iron Front.
That was a war he had no intention of starting.
So Rowan allowed a flicker of fascination to show on his face.
"These restraints are extraordinary," he said. "I’ll need ti to think. And without the Eastern Sea King’s consent, I couldn’t act even if I had a solution."
Mara Vale smiled, unoffended.
"I understand," she said gently. "If you visit sotis... that’s enough."
If he had agreed too quickly, she would have grown suspicious.
This response was perfect.
Given ti, she believed she would own him.
Rowan had no intention of correcting that assumption.
"If Your Majesty wishes to talk," Rowan replied, "I’d be honored."
And so the days passed.
Rowan split his ti between two places.
With Vexar, he discussed spell theory, tactics, and structural principles of arcane techniques. Vexar lacked exceptional talent, but his persistence bordered on obsessive. He had morized every discipline the Iron Front permitted him to learn, even if few had ever guided him properly.
Rowan filled in the gaps.
In return, Rowan gained insight into several ancient spell fraworks and foundational combat arts.
Different worlds.
Different systems.
Sa underlying truths.
With Mara Vale, Rowan drank, ate, and listened to stories of the ancient dragon clans. Their lost dominion. Their forgotten glory. Their grudges.
Every conversation was a ga.
Neither side said it aloud.
On the third day of the city’s siege, an unexpected visitor arrived.
A young leopard spirit.
Vexar’s younger brother.
He had followed a tracking compass Vexar once gave him, believing his brother would take him to the Iron Front once he could assu a stable human form.
That promise could no longer be kept.
Vexar explained only that the ti was not right.
Instead, he gave his brother several precious pills he had saved over six years and told him to bring them back to their father.
The boy accepted without complaint.
Rowan noticed sothing subtle.
While speaking to his brother, Vexar did not stutter.
Not once.
The flaw vanished entirely.
Rowan filed the observation away.
So wounds were carved by birth.
Others were carved by cruelty.
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