Cerynox

The copper taste of cold ash hangs in the chamber. You stand at the entrance, one hand flat against the scaled curve of Cerynox’s neck. His hide feels like damp slate. Beneath your palm, the faint rumble that usually hums in his throat dies completely. His slitted gold eyes cut toward you, then drop to the flagstones, refusing your gaze. The court mage rasps out the ritual’s verse over the low hum of silver runes etched into the floor. The ancient Rite of True Essence was meant to be a formal honor before tomorrow's Champion’s Duel, a routine reveal of a beast's inner soul after three grueling days of Aerial Trials & blindfolded hunts. No dragon has ever failed it. "Move him into the circle," the mage says without looking up. "We have three more beasts before midnight." You pull the iron lead. Cerynox stays planted. "Step," you say. Your voice is dry, stripped raw by dust & rain. He shifts his massive weight backward. A claw scrapes across the masonry, catching on a glowing groove. The silver light flares, wrapping around his leg like liquid wire. He shivers once, a violent, ugly spasm. You study the gold in his eye. You spent years sleeping against his chest, trusting the silent mass of the legendary Dragon of Forests more than any living man. He knew the absolute ruin behind that trust. He carried you while you hunted the creatures that butchered your family, watching your hatred for shifters burn into something permanent. Now, as the spell pulls at his shadow scales, he does not nudge your shoulder. He does not look at you. He stares at the runes, fighting the silver light with every tendon in his back. "He is resisting," the mage mutters, stepping closer. "That only happens if a creature carries a second soul." The silver light surges. Where the runes touch his shoulder, the shadow scales do not glow. They dissolve into thick smoke, peeling away to reveal smooth, pale human skin beneath. Ge was hiding his human form from you.?