The forest at night was alive with whispers. Insects clicked and rustled in the undergrowth, and the occasional hoot of an owl echoed through the darkness. Emberis moved like a shadow, scales blending seamlessly with the gloom. The moon hung low, casting a pale, silvery light across the canopy, illuminating the world in glimmers of otherworldly beauty.
Each step on the mossy earth was a test of balance and control. His claws pressed into the soil, stirring scents of loam and decay, ancient and potent. He could feel the life beneath him—roots weaving through the ground like veins, humming with a quiet energy that spoke of the forest's old, patient soul.
This forest was ancient, a place of deep magic and tangled histories. The trees themselves seemed to lean in as he passed, their gnarled limbs heavy with the weight of centuries. Some bore scars of old lightning strikes, others twisted into shapes that spoke of ancient spirits, watching, remembering. Emberis had no words for this presence, but he felt it—a quiet sentience, a breath of the world itself.
A fox darted across the path ahead of him, its eyes glinting in the moonlight. It froze as it met his gaze, caught in the silent moment between predator and prey. The dragon's hunger rose in his chest, hot and insistent, but he let it go. The fox vanished into the underbrush, leaving only the memory of its fear.
The deeper he moved into the forest, the more he felt the threads of old stories winding around him. He crossed a stone bridge, worn smooth by centuries of rain and footsteps. Beneath it, the stream sang a cold, clear song, its waters carrying whispers of ancient battles and forgotten kingdoms. Emberis paused, feeling the echo of those memories—ghosts of men and beasts who had fought and died for reasons long buried by moss and time.
He drank deeply from the stream, the cold bite of the water waking him from the trance of memory. His reflection shimmered in the moonlit ripples—a creature of scale and claw, gold eyes burning in the darkness. The sight both comforted and unsettled him. He was not just Michael. He was more—and less.
Pushing on, he entered a glade where the trees parted like a cathedral's vault, branches arching high above. In the center stood a stone circle, ancient markers carved with runes that pulsed faintly with moonlight. The runes were worn, some almost erased by time, but Emberis could sense the power in them—wards to keep spirits at bay, or perhaps to hold something within.
He touched one of the stones with a claw, feeling a spark of energy leap through him. The dragon's blood quickened in his veins, but Michael's mind whispered caution. This was not his magic, not his domain. He stepped back, watching the moonlight dance across the carvings, promising secrets he could not yet grasp.
A branch cracked ahead, and he turned, muscles coiling in readiness. The bear stepped from the shadows then—massive, dark, and marked by old scars. The scent of it filled Emberis's nose, sharp and musky. For a moment, the world was only the two of them, ancient instincts meeting in a silent challenge.
The dragon in him roared to fight, to claim the forest as his own. But Michael's memory held him in check—this was not a battle he needed tonight. Not yet. The bear huffed, a low growl that vibrated through the earth, then turned and lumbered back into the shadows, leaving Emberis alone once more.
He pressed on, the forest shifting around him. Pines gave way to oaks draped in curtains of moss, the air thick with the scent of rot and rebirth. Old stones marked ancient boundaries—fallen watchtowers of kingdoms that once rose here, long forgotten but not erased. He saw a carving on one—an emblem of a sun and a serpent entwined. A memory flickered at the sight, though he couldn't place it. Was it Michael's memory, or the dragon's?
Ahead, a thin thread of smoke rose into the sky. He followed it through the undergrowth, each step measured and wary. The scent of burning wood and simmering herbs grew stronger, a promise of warmth in the cold night.
He came upon the campfire, flickering within a ring of ancient stones. A figure sat beside it, wrapped in a cloak of patchwork furs. Their face was hidden in the hood's shadow, but Emberis could sense the age in them—a presence as old as the forest itself.
The figure stirred the pot above the flames, the scent of roots and bitter leaves drifting on the wind. Without turning, they spoke. "Come closer, dragon. The forest sees you, and so do I."
Emberis hesitated, the dragon's pride bristling. But Michael's curiosity pushed him forward. He stepped into the light, scales glimmering like molten bronze. The figure looked up, and he saw a face lined with deep wrinkles, eyes clouded yet sharp with knowing.
"You're not the first to pass through these woods," the old human said, their voice soft but resonant. "But you are different. I see it in your eyes—the struggle of two souls in one skin."
Emberis shifted his weight, feeling the dragon's fury coil beneath the surface. The human only smiled faintly. "These woods remember everything. The blood spilled in ancient hunts. The songs sung to the moon when the first fire was lit. They remember you, too, though you have just arrived."
They reached out a hand, fingers gnarled and callused. "I am called Eryndor, keeper of memories. The forest's lore flows through me like the rivers. If you would listen, I will tell you what I know."
For a moment, Emberis stood still, torn between the dragon's hunger for power and Michael's yearning for understanding. He lowered his head, and Eryndor nodded slowly.
"The forest is older than kings and queens," Eryndor murmured. "It was shaped by ancient magic, by spirits that walked long before the first humans built their halls. Some say the first dragons were born of these woods, their breath forging the rivers and valleys. Others say the dragons came later, drawn by the heartbeat of the earth itself."
Emberis listened, the words weaving around him like a spell. The crackle of the fire seemed to echo the tales of Eryndor's voice, each flicker of flame a fragment of memory.
"There are things here that will test you," Eryndor continued. "Things that hunger for more than flesh. Spirits of the deep forest—some twisted by ancient grudges, others guardians of old secrets. A wraith that walks the river's edge, waiting for those who dare disturb its waters. And in the mountains beyond, a slumbering wyrm that dreams of ruin—its breath cold as the void, its mind sharper than any mortal's blade."
Emberis's scales rippled at the mention of these threats, the dragon's instincts alert, but Michael's mind sharpened with caution.
"There are also men," Eryndor said softly. "Hunters who wear the bones of dragons as trophies. Sorcerers who would steal your fire and chain it to their will. And a queen in the east, whose court speaks in riddles and whose mirrors see into every heart."
The old human fell silent, eyes distant, listening to the night's whispers. Emberis felt the weight of these stories, of future trials that would test both dragon and man within him.
"Remember this," Eryndor said finally. "Strength is not only in claw and flame. It is in memory, in knowing who you are and what you stand for. The forest will test that, as it has tested all who have come before. The world beyond this glade is hungry and restless. It will not yield easily."
The old human's gaze grew distant again. "But there is a promise, too. A path that winds through the shadows, lit by the sparks of old magic. If you can find it, if you can master both your fire and your memories, there are wonders beyond any dragon's hoard."
Emberis bowed his head, the gesture not one of submission, but of understanding. Then he turned away, the firelight casting long shadows behind him.
He stepped back into the forest, the weight of the old stories settling on his shoulders. The world was vast and wild, full of ancient magic and hidden threats. But with each breath of cold night air, he felt himself grow stronger—not just in body, but in purpose.
The dragon in him exulted in the hunt. The human in him yearned to know, to learn. And together, they pressed deeper into the dark.
Ahead, the forest waited, ancient and patient. And Emberis walked into it, ready for whatever would come.