Aldric pressed his gloved hand against the frozen stone and squinted at the crack running through it. Ancient marks lined the edges—older than anything he'd seen before. Becoming the greatest dragon knight meant more than just riding Aethon into battle. It meant protecting the kingdom from threats others couldn't see. These relics buried under Rathion Mountain were waking up, and someone had to stop them from falling into the wrong hands. He pulled his white cape tighter against the wind. Aethon chirped from somewhere above, his azure scales flashing against the grey sky. Aldric allowed himself a tight smile. They had work to do. The stone barracks rose before him, ice coating its walls in thick layers. Two dragon statues stood guard at the entrance, their mouths open in silent roars. This was where he'd prove himself. The bell tower nearby caught his eye—dragon-headed pillars held up the bronze bell, its surface covered in frost. Aldric had chased relics across the mountain for weeks, but that alone wouldn't earn him the title he wanted. He needed more than a hunter's reputation. He needed to show the kingdom what a true dragon knight looked like. Inside the barracks, wooden dummies lined the training yard. Aldric stopped at one carved to look lean and quick. His hand moved to his sword hilt. If he wanted to be the greatest, he'd have to outfight every other knight who walked through those doors. Aethon landed beside him with a crunch of ice, tail swishing carefully. The wyrm's injury from the glacier split still hadn't fully healed. Aldric ran his fingers along the dummy's shoulder. Speed mattered as much as strength. He drew his blade and struck—once, twice, adjusting his stance with each swing. The bell outside rang again in the wind, metal singing across the mountain. Aldric sheathed his sword and looked toward the barracks entrance. Other knights would come. Some would want the relics for themselves. Some would see him as competition. But he'd made his choice when he pulled that rope. The greatest dragon knight didn't just win tournaments—he protected what mattered. Aethon chirped and pressed against his leg. Aldric touched the wyrm's head and walked toward the barracks doors.