The royal stables of Ashkar trembled beneath thunder.

Rain hammered the fortress rooftops while war horns echoed across the mountain capital. Soldiers rushed through the muddy courtyards carrying spears, shields, and burning torches as the kingdom prepared for war against the northern clans.

Inside the stable halls—

fear lived in the shadows.

Not because of the storm.

Not because of the war.

But because of the creature chained behind the iron gates at the very end of the stables.

Nightfang.

The king’s cursed warhorse.

A monstrous black stallion taller than most men.

Its body was covered in old scars from countless battles. Iron chains wrapped around its legs while dark smoke-like breath escaped its nostrils into the freezing air.

One eye carried a long white scar cutting through the center like a lightning strike.

The horse pawed violently against the stone floor.

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

Every sound made stable workers flinch.

Nobody entered that section willingly anymore.

Not after the last rider died.

An eighteen-year-old knight named Corvin.

The strongest cavalry warrior in Ashkar.

Nightfang had thrown him into a wall hard enough to crack stone before trampling him to death in front of the entire stable.

Since then—

the beast had become more prison than horse.

The old stable master Garron stood near the gates watching silently.

Gray-haired.

Scarred.

Bent with age and years of hard labor.

He had spent forty years raising warhorses for kings.

And yet—

even Garron feared Nightfang.

“More chains,” one stable worker muttered nervously.

“The beast’s getting worse.”

Another worker crossed himself.

“It ain’t natural.”

Garron said nothing.

Because deep down—

he knew the truth.

Nightfang was not evil.

The horse was grieving.

Thunder exploded overhead.

The stallion suddenly slammed its body against the gates again.

BOOOOM.

The stable workers jumped backward in panic.

“It smells blood,” one guard whispered.

“No,” Garron murmured quietly.

The old man stared into the horse’s burning eyes.

“He smells war.”

Far beyond the fortress walls—

drums thundered from the mountains.

The northern armies were coming.

And Nightfang remembered war better than any living soldier.

Then suddenly—

something strange happened.

The horse stopped moving.

Its ears twitched sharply toward the entrance of the stable halls.

Garron frowned.

“What is it…”

Slow footsteps echoed softly across the stone floor.

A small figure wandered through the stable entrance unnoticed beneath the chaos outside.

A child.

Eight years old.

Barefoot.

Thin from hunger.

Wearing torn ragged clothes stained with ash and mud.

His dark tangled hair partially covered his bruised face while rainwater dripped steadily from his sleeves.

The stable workers immediately scowled.

“Hey!”

“You can’t be in here!”

“Get out before the guards see you!”

But the boy barely seemed to hear them.

His eyes remained fixed on Nightfang.

And strangely—

the giant warhorse stared back without moving.

The child slowly walked forward.

Closer.

Closer.

The workers panicked instantly.

“STOP HIM!”

But the boy continued anyway.

Barefoot steps against freezing stone.

Tiny compared to the monstrous horse towering behind the iron gates.

Nightfang lowered its head slowly.

Smoke drifted from its nostrils.

The chains rattled softly.

Garron’s eyes widened.

No rage.

No aggression.

Impossible.

The boy finally reached the gates.

Then gently—

carefully—

he reached one dirty hand through the iron bars.

And touched the horse’s face.

The entire stable froze.

A guard cursed loudly.

“He’s dead—”

But Nightfang did not attack.

Instead—

the giant stallion closed its eyes.

A low rumbling sound escaped deep within its chest.

Not anger.

Relief.

Garron stared in disbelief.

The horse leaned gently into the child’s hand like a starving creature finally finding warmth after years alone.

Then suddenly—

the old stable master snapped from shock and charged forward furiously.

“Boy!”

He grabbed the child violently by the shoulder and yanked him backward.

“Are you insane?!”

“That beast kills men!”

The boy stumbled hard onto the stone floor.

The stable workers backed away expecting Nightfang to explode into violence.

Instead—

the giant horse stepped forward slowly.

The chains dragged across the floor.

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

Its enormous black body approached the gates silently.

Then—

to everyone’s horror—

Nightfang lowered itself onto one knee before the child.

Silence swallowed the stable halls.

The workers stopped breathing.

One guard dropped his spear entirely.

Garron’s hands began trembling.

Because royal warhorses only knelt before one bloodline.

And hanging beneath the child’s torn collar—

the old stable master suddenly noticed something silver.

A crest.

Half-hidden beneath dirt and cloth.

A dragon sigil.

Garron’s face turned pale instantly.

“No…”

He slowly crouched closer.

His hands shook violently as he brushed mud away from the silver emblem.

A crowned dragon wrapped around a sword.

The crest of Crown Prince Kael Vaelor.

The prince murdered during the palace massacre twenty years earlier.

Or so everyone believed.

The old stable master staggered backward.

Because Nightfang had once belonged to that prince.

And the horse…

had just recognized him.

The stable workers looked between Garron and the child in confusion.

“What is it?”

“Master Garron?”

The old man could barely speak.

The boy slowly stood again.

Silent.

Calm.

Nightfang remained kneeling before him.

Garron stared into the child’s face more carefully now.

The shape of the eyes.

The dark hair.

The quiet expression.

Gods.

He looked exactly like him.

“What’s your name?” Garron whispered.

The boy hesitated briefly.

Then answered softly.

“Ash.”

The old stable master closed his eyes.

Prince Kael had once used that exact same false name whenever he escaped the palace as a child to wander the lower city unnoticed.

Ash.

A name only a few people alive still remembered.

Thunder roared outside.

And suddenly—

war horns exploded across the fortress.

One soldier sprinted into the stables screaming:

“The northern scouts crossed the river!”

Panic erupted instantly.

Guards rushed toward the exits.

Workers scrambled to prepare horses.

Outside—

bells began ringing across the capital.

The invasion had begun.

But Garron barely heard any of it.

Because the old man could only stare at the child standing beside the kneeling warhorse.

A dead prince’s horse.

Kneeling before a starving orphan.

Impossible.

Unless—

the prince had survived.

The stable master grabbed Ash’s arm suddenly.

“You need to leave. Now.”

The boy looked confused.

“Why?”

“Because if the king sees that crest…”

Garron glanced nervously toward the fortress windows.

“…he’ll kill you.”

Ash lowered his gaze quietly.

“He already tried once.”

The old man froze.

Before Garron could respond—

heavy footsteps thundered into the stable halls.

Royal soldiers.

At least twenty of them.

And leading them—

stood General Mordren.

A massive man in black armor scarred from countless battles.

His cold gray eyes swept across the stable immediately.

Then stopped.

On Nightfang.

Still kneeling.

The general’s expression darkened instantly.

“What is this?”

Nobody answered.

Mordren slowly walked forward.

Then he saw the boy.

Saw the silver crest.

And his face drained of color.

For the first time in years—

fear appeared in the general’s eyes.

“No…”

Ash looked up calmly.

The general whispered almost inaudibly:

“The prince…”

The stable workers stared in shock.

Prince?

Mordren suddenly drew his sword violently.

“KILL THE BOY!”

The soldiers rushed forward instantly.

Garron stepped in front of Ash without thinking.

“WAIT!”

But before anyone reached the child—

Nightfang exploded into motion.

The giant warhorse slammed against the iron gates with monstrous force.

BOOOOOOOM.

The chains snapped apart.

The gates shattered inward.

Workers screamed and scattered as the massive stallion charged directly toward the soldiers.

One guard was thrown across the stable hall instantly.

Another crashed through wooden stalls as Nightfang reared violently above them like a battlefield demon reborn.

Mordren barely blocked a crushing kick with his shield.

CRACK.

The shield shattered instantly.

“Fall back!” the general roared.

But the horse had already reached Ash.

Nightfang positioned itself protectively between the child and the soldiers while smoke-like breath poured from its nostrils.

Garron stared in disbelief.

The horse wasn’t attacking randomly.

It was protecting him.

Just like it once protected the prince.

Mordren slowly backed away.

His face twisted with panic.

“You should have died twenty years ago.”

Ash’s expression remained calm.

“I almost did.”

Lightning flashed across the stable halls.

For one brief moment—

Mordren saw someone else standing there instead of the orphan.

The young crown prince.

The boy the king ordered murdered during the massacre.

The same child Mordren personally threw into the burning river beneath the palace cliffs.

Impossible.

The general’s voice trembled.

“How did you survive?”

Ash said nothing.

Because he didn’t know.

Not fully.

Only fragments remained in his memory.

Fire.

Screaming.

Cold water.

A woman’s voice crying his name.

Then darkness.

The stable master suddenly stepped beside the child.

“You need to run,” Garron whispered urgently.

“The king cannot know you’re alive.”

Mordren snarled furiously.

“It’s too late for that.”

The general pointed his sword toward the stable doors.

“Seal the fortress!”

“No one leaves!”

The soldiers rushed to obey.

But Nightfang stomped violently against the stone floor.

The horse’s burning eyes remained locked on Mordren.

Hatred.

Pure hatred.

Because this general had once beaten the prince bloody during cavalry training years ago.

Animals remembered cruelty.

Especially warhorses.

Mordren slowly realized the truth.

If the people discovered the prince survived—

King Edric’s entire claim to the throne would collapse.

Civil war would consume Ashkar instantly.

The general’s face hardened.

“Kill everyone inside this stable.”

The workers froze in horror.

Garron whispered:

“You monster…”

Mordren raised his sword.

Then—

a horn echoed from outside the fortress walls.

Different from the others.

Deeper.

Ancient.

The entire stable suddenly trembled.

Nightfang’s ears shot upward instantly.

The horse began backing away nervously for the first time.

Even Mordren looked confused.

“What was that?”

Then came another sound.

A roar.

Not human.

Not horse.

Something enormous.

The soldiers exchanged terrified glances.

One whispered shakily:

“Dragon…”

BOOOOOOOOOM.

The fortress shook violently.

Dust exploded from the ceiling.

Screams erupted outside across the capital.

Another roar thundered through the storm.

Closer this time.

The northern armies had brought dragons.

Panic exploded instantly among the soldiers.

“TO THE WALLS!”

Mordren cursed violently.

He pointed at Ash one final time.

“This isn’t over.”

Then the general and his soldiers sprinted from the stable toward the battlefield above.

The moment they vanished—

the stable halls fell silent again except for distant screams outside.

Ash slowly turned toward Garron.

“What’s happening?”

The old stable master looked pale.

“The north has returned.”

Nightfang suddenly lowered itself beside the child again.

The horse gently nudged Ash’s shoulder.

Almost desperately.

As if urging him somewhere.

Garron frowned.

“What is it doing…”

Then realization hit him.

The old man’s eyes widened.

“No…”

Nightfang turned toward a hidden tunnel door at the back of the stable.

An ancient escape passage once built for the royal family during war.

The same tunnel Crown Prince Kael used to sneak from the palace as a child.

The horse remembered.

Garron looked at Ash carefully.

“The beast wants to take you somewhere.”

Ash gently touched Nightfang’s scarred face.

“Can horses remember people for twenty years?”

The old stable master smiled sadly.

“Warhorses remember forever.”

Outside—

dragon fire exploded across the capital.

The fortress walls shook violently.

People screamed in terror.

Ash looked toward the hidden tunnel.

Then back at Garron.

“Will you come with me?”

The old man hesitated.

For forty years he served the royal palace.

Served kings.

Cleaned their stables.

Buried their horses.

Watched good men die for cruel rulers.

And now—

the rightful prince stood before him wearing rags and chains of poverty while monsters burned the kingdom above.

Garron slowly nodded.

“Aye.”

Nightfang pawed against the stone impatiently.

The horse already knew.

War had returned.

And its prince needed it once more.

Ash carefully climbed onto the giant stallion’s back.

The stable workers stared in amazement.

Because Nightfang had not allowed a rider in twenty years.

Yet now—

the horse stood perfectly calm beneath the tiny barefoot child.

Garron opened the hidden tunnel door.

Cold wind rushed upward from the darkness below.

Before entering—

Ash looked back toward the stable halls one final time.

Toward the kingdom that abandoned him.

Then Nightfang charged forward into the darkness beneath Ashkar.

And above them—

the first dragon descended upon the burning capital.