The Raven Flame [The Crown Saga III] (First Draft)

Puppet Master

"There are no Sound Iridis or Teleportation Iridis. There are only Air Iridis," Pangea finally said, whipping her hands in the air. "An Iridis either wields one of the four elements, or their blood remains red—unbonded."

What? That didn't make sense. Why was our blood different then? Why did some only wield sound while others wielded all?

"Humans are such small-minded creatures—weak and blind to the truth screaming at them. We are slaves of tradition and hostages of a history forged by fools. We allow ourselves to be shackled because we naively believe the false words of a narcissistic puppeteer instead of testing those blurred limits.

"Some dragons are more comfortable wielding certain aspects of their powers, such as sound or teleportation. It does not mean that they cannot wield the entirety of their birthright. Since our powers are an extension of theirs, we are subject to those limitations, but the limits are not absolute. Just like the dragons, we can utilize the entire spectrum of our gifted element; some merely have to work harder than others. Thus, Apollo is not a Sound Iridis" —her face contorted as if the title itself was an insult— "but an Air Iridis, like the two of us."

Pangea rose to her feet again and turned to watch the two battling men once again. They were still standing at each end of the arena, panting, waiting.

"You told me that teleportation troubles you," Pangea said, crossing her arms. "It is likely that your dragon is not fond of that aspect of your power and naturally suppresses it. Therefore, while the bond between you is still incomplete, she will try to prevent you from drawing the power needed to perform teleportation, which will hurt."

"Teleportation was once a struggle of mine as well, so I am aware of the frustration you experience."

A tightening band had now wrapped around my head, too, squeezing me from every angle.

Everything had been a cursed lie to keep us caged and restrained like animals. For what? Power? Control? Fear?

Did the king know? Was he the master puppeteer, or was he just another puppet manipulated by the same strings as everyone else?

No. Pangea had been so scared of the king when her blood first turned gold that she had been forced to flee and seek refuge here. He had to know something. Perhaps I should ask her about that fateful day, when I'd recovered from this brutal session.

Apollo suddenly stormed forward after five minutes of complete stillness, his sword raised high above his head.

My heart lurched to my throat when I noticed Caiden tighten his grip around the ice sword, his arm still bleeding profoundly and dangling uselessly. Why hadn't he healed himself? What if Apollo teleported again? He needed that arm to protect his blind spots.

I swallowed a growing knot in my throat. He couldn't already be drained, could he?

Their swords clashed, Apollo's blade carving a small groove into the ice. Caiden's back leg buckled a little, making my breath hitch.

"Are you getting tired, Princeling?" Apollo hissed, grinning. "Or are you suddenly realizing you stand no chance against me?"

Caiden quickly bent and straightened his knees, generating enough force to drive Apollo away and gain a bit of distance between them.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Apollo," Caiden said, his breath strained. "But you interrupted me in the middle of a thought."

Caiden raised his blade to balance horizontally in the air, leveled with his chest. The ice began to glow a faint blue and melt. No, not melt. It morphed, part of it sliding down the hilt, crawling across his hand and up his arm. The other part extended the existing blade into a wider weapon.