The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting soft gold across Jonathan's bedroom walls, but the warmth didn't reach him. He sat up slowly, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. His breath hitched—his body tense as if waking from battle. No nightmare came to mind, yet something stirred within him. A pressure. A presence.
Lightning.
He could still feel it behind his eyes, flickering blue. A sigil—electric and ancient—etched in his dream like a ghost brand on his soul. In his sleep, something had happened. He couldn't explain how he knew. But he did. The air had changed.
He rubbed his neck. His pulse still thrummed like distant thunder.
And then there was the strangest part.
He felt safe.
It made no sense.
He dressed in silence, moving through muscle memory more than will. By the time he slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped outside, the unease hadn't left. The sky overhead was cloudless, but he swore it tasted of ozone. He didn't even flinch when two familiar figures rounded the block, walking straight toward him. Ethan and Elijah. Together.
Jonathan noticed the tightness in both of them—the way Ethan's eyes didn't quite meet his, and Elijah… Elijah didn't speak at all.
"Morning," Jonathan tried.
Ethan gave him a look. It wasn't angry—but it was serious. "Come with us."
Jonathan blinked. "What's going on?"
"No questions," Elijah muttered. "Not here."
Ethan's red eyes glanced over at Jonathan's. We need you to come with us please. It's important.
They didn't wait for permission. Ethan turned and started walking. Elijah followed. With a groan of exasperation, Jonathan went after them. He didn't know what, but something had changed. Something more than a dream. And he had a feeling he would soon find out.
The Dragon Household – 17 Minutes Later
Jonathan had never felt small before. Until now. The moment he crossed the threshold of the dragon princes' home, something primal within him stirred—urging him to lower his head, to kneel, to shut his mouth and not breathe too loud.
This wasn't a home.
This was a throne.
Their house, tucked away behind dense forest and wards the mortal eye could never detect, was massive—modern and regal, with walls of volcanic stone and obsidian tile. It smelled of incense and dragonfire. And it hummed with magic.
Jonathan had never heard silence like this.
Not in all the years he lived. Not even in the moments before a fight. This was something different. A stillness that didn't belong in any house, any city, any world. It was too complete—too aware. Like the silence before a god spoke.
He stood in the vast foyer of the brothers' estate, a mansion of stone and firewood elegance, high ceilings that whispered of ancient power. He'd never been inside until now. And he felt it—every polished obsidian tile, every carved dragon along the walls, every flickering sconce of ever-burning flame. It was beautiful. And wrong. Like walking into the center of a thunderhead.
Ethan and Elijah flanked him. They hadn't spoken since they led him through the veil between worlds, entering ornate gates, past the statues that had watched him, beyond the fountain that hissed steam instead of water. The only sound was Jonathan's heart. Loud. Nervous.
Then the great doors at the end of the hall creaked open. As they entered, Jonathan was in awe of the immaculate throne room everything carved from obsidian and jewels, a lavish red carpet spread down the middle of the room, leading from the beautiful doors and a breathtaking throne, it was a crafted from black gold and gleaming ruby. The sound of a door opening to the side brought him out of his thoughts and admiration of the palace.
He didn't hear footsteps. Only the weight of something ancient—something incomprehensibly powerful—approaches with regal ease. The air thickened. The temperature dropped. His skin tightened.
Then he entered.
King Michael.
He didn't look like Ethan or Elijah. He looked like something they were trying to be. A perfected version of their bloodline, wrapped in tailored black robes that whispered across the marble floor. His eyes—glowing rubies carved into frozen steel—met Jonathan's without blinking.
Jonathan forgot how to breathe.
It was the kind of gaze that could crush mountains. Not with magic. Just with disappointment. That's what scared Jonathan most. This wasn't rage. It was judgment.
The King of Dragons approached his throne with no urgency, like the world would wait for him if he told it to. Ethan and Elijah stepped forward and keeled before the king.
Michael didn't speak. He simply sat on his throne and gazed at Jonathan. Then… he raised a hand.
Jonathan's throat dried. "Wait, I—"
Too late.
The world twisted.
Jonathan flew from one side of the room and landed face-first into Michael's hand. It clamped over Jonathan's face. The contact was ice and flame all at once, and then—agony. Like being dragged into a thunderstorm made of memories. Michael channeled Mana into Jonathan's mind, forcefully extracting his memories.
Jonathan screamed, his mind on fire with white-hot pain.
Images flashed through him like knives. Every moment he'd spent with Ethan and Elijah: the cafeteria jokes, the firelight on Ethan's dragon form, the moment he first knew they weren't human. The fear. The awe. The way he accepted it all.
And Michael saw everything.
Jonathan tried to tear away, but it was like his soul was being peeled open. Every doubt. Every secret hope. His loyalty. His admiration. His fear of being left behind.
He screamed again.
Michael dug deeper.
Jonathan felt it when Michael found what he was looking for: that moment on the rooftop, when Ethan had changed and Jonathan hadn't run. When he had whispered to himself: I'll never betray them.
The hand released.
Jonathan collapsed, gasping, coughing, blinking against the white light seared into his mind.
But it wasn't over.
Michael raised his hand again—not to strike. This time… it pulsed. Glowing golden-blue runes spiraled from his palm. The power that followed was pure. Burning, radiant mana. The kind of dragons were born from.
Jonathan tried to crawl back, but he was too slow.
The mana struck him in the chest.
Pain.
Unbearable, unrelenting pain. His body arched off the floor as his veins burned. Fire licked through his arms. Lightning danced up his spine. His skeleton felt like it was being reforged from the inside.
And then—
Bliss.
A heartbeat of light exploded behind his eyes.
The pain vanished.
Jonathan hovered—just barely—on the edge of something immense. Something sacred. His heart slowed. His vision cleared.
And suddenly… he understood mana.
He could feel the earth. The air. The spark of life in his bones.
Michael lowered his hand. "Your loyalty," the king said in a voice like breaking thunder, "has been acknowledged."
He waved one hand dismissively.
Jonathan was thrown across the room like a doll—yet somehow landed on his feet. Perfect balance. Perfect reflex.
He stared at his own hands, wide-eyed. "What… what did you do to me?"
Michael didn't answer. He had stood up and was already walking away.
Ethan rushed forward, catching Jonathan by the arm. "Are you okay?!"
Jonathan was shaking. "I don't know. I—he—he burned something into me. It hurts. But I feel… alive."
Elijah, calm as always, gave him a rare nod. "You survived. That's more than most."
Jonathan looked up at the ceiling. "What the hell was that?"
Michael stopped just before the exit. "A gift," he said coldly, without turning. "And a warning."
Ethan, I shall wait here until it is time, and i will bestow you a vision, until then check over your friend, I know that his safety plagues your mind. Go steady it, for you will need your mind still for what I shall show you.
Ethan nodded and ran over to his friend.
Jonathan collapsed back onto the black marble floor, breath heaving.
He is different now. He could feel it. Something stirred inside him. Something ancient and unfamiliar.
Ethan walked over and crouched beside him, hands on his shoulders. "You handled that better than I thought you would."
"You call that handling it?" Jonathan whispered. "He looked at me like I was an insect. Then he scanned me like I was a hard drive."
"That was his way of protecting us," Elijah said. "You've seen what we are. Now he's made sure you can keep up."
Jonathan looked between them. "He… did something. To me. "I'm not human anymore, am I?"
"Not entirely," Ethan said quietly. "You're on a new path now." You'll eventually become like us, kin.
Behind them, deep within the house, a hidden rune glowed silently—a surveillance mark. Queen Maureen's presence shimmered faintly through a mirror tucked inside the wall, her eyes watching. Silent. Protective.
She exhaled softly.
He passed. But now Ethan must be taught a lesson that only Michael can teach him. Maureen's worried face reflected off the mirror.