Kael traced his finger across the worn map spread before him, stopping at the jagged peaks labeled Rathion Mountain. Seven winters had passed since his father exiled him, since those first black scales appeared beneath his jaw like frozen tears. The court mages had poisoned the king's mind with their prophecy about scales as black as winter's death and wings that would blot the sun. Now Kael searched dusty tomes and frozen archives for one thing: proof that he wasn't the monster they claimed. He would return to the dragon clan that shunned him, and he would show them the truth. His small hut, painted in bright reds and yellows, stood as his first achievement. The elders gathered in such structures to make their most important decisions. Kael had built it himself, each plank fitted tight against the cold. The vibrant colors marked it as a place of honor, a deliberate choice. When he returned to Rathion Mountain, he would present it as proof that exile had not broken him. They would see that he could still create, still build, still contribute to the clan's traditions. The black spear leaned against the hut's wall, its dragon-carved tip gleaming in the dim light. Kael wrapped his fingers around the child-sized handle and lifted it. The weight felt right in his grip. Every morning he practiced the old forms, the thrusts and sweeps his father once taught him. His muscles remembered each movement. The elders would demand proof of his battle readiness before they heard his words. This spear would show them. He thrust forward, the motion sharp and clean. Seven winters of exile had not dulled his skills. When he stood before the dragon clan again, he would be ready. Outside, a flag whipped in the wind. Black and white stripes ran down its length, and a red dragon head snarled from the center. Kael had sewn it himself, each stitch precise and firm. The flag would serve as his formal challenge when he reached Rathion Mountain. Any warrior who saw it would know his intentions. He would issue his challenge in the old way, the proper way, so the clan could not turn him away without hearing him speak. They thought exile would make him forget their customs. They were wrong. He knew every tradition, every rule, every right he still held. The dragon clan would face him, and they would finally listen.