Of Blood and Fire

Of Blood and Fire Plot Summary

Introduction

# Of Blood and Fire: The Draleid Awakening The dragon egg cracked open in flames that should have burned flesh from bone, yet Calen Bryer felt only warmth. In the depths of Ölm Forest, surrounded by ancient magic and the weight of destiny, a white dragon emerged—no larger than a housecat but carrying the power to reshape a world. The creature's pale lavender eyes met Calen's, and in that moment, their souls became one. This is the story of a blacksmith's son who never asked to be a hero, thrust into a war that has raged for four centuries. When the Lorian Empire's soldiers came to his village of The Glade, they took everything—his family, his home, his innocence. But they could not take the bond forged in dragonfire, nor the ancient power that flows through the veins of the Draleid. In a world where magic has been enslaved and dragons serve tyrants, Calen must learn to wield forces beyond imagination while darker powers hunt him across kingdoms of stone and shadow.

Chapter 1: The Stranger's Blade: First Blood in Milltown

The Gilded Dragon tavern reeked of ale and sweat when Calen first saw Erik Virandr throw an axe. The stranger's blade split wood with impossible precision, earning cheers from drunken patrons and coin from impressed onlookers. But his final throw went deliberately wide, and the imperial soldiers watching from shadowed corners smiled like wolves scenting blood. The attack came in the stable yard behind the inn. Steel rang against steel in the moonlight as Erik fought for his life, his twin swords carving deadly arcs through the night air. Calen's hand found his father's gift—an elven blade with emerald-wrapped handle—and drove it deep into a soldier's belly without conscious thought. The man's eyes held surprise, then fear, then nothing at all. Erik's father Aeson fought like a legend given flesh, while hooded Dahlen's bow sang death songs from the shadows. But they were outnumbered until something impossible happened—soldiers flew through the air like broken dolls, hurled by invisible force. The escape cart thundered through cobbled streets as arrows whistled overhead, carrying them away from flames that consumed half the port district. Behind them, Captain Farda clutched his wounded shoulder and smiled the cold smile of a hunter who enjoyed the chase. The leather satchel Aeson guarded so carefully pulsed with hidden significance, and Calen began to understand that his old life was ending. The stranger who had bought him drinks was no mere traveler, and the prize they carried was worth killing for.

Chapter 2: Ashes of Home: The Price of Empire's Wrath

Three days of hard riding brought no peace, only the bitter knowledge that the empire's reach was longer than hope itself. When Calen saw smoke rising from The Glade's direction, his heart turned to lead in his chest. Against all wisdom and Aeson's protests, he spurred his horse toward home with Dann and Rist beside him, their friendship stronger than fear. The village square had become a killing ground. Imperial soldiers formed a circle around Calen's parents, their red cloaks bright as fresh blood in the morning sun. Inquisitor Rendall's voice carried the casual cruelty of a man who enjoyed his work, while beside him stood Farda, flipping a golden coin with mechanical precision. The same coin that would decide who lived and who died. Calen watched his father's murder from behind a wall, helpless as Rendall's blade punched through Vars Bryer's chest. His mother's screams tore through the air like the cries of a dying animal, and when she threw herself at her husband's killer, Farda's boot sent her crashing through their home's wall. Flames erupted from the wreckage with unnatural speed, consuming everything Calen had ever known. The rage that filled him was not entirely his own. Something else burned in his veins as he charged into the square, sword raised against impossible odds. Farda moved like liquid shadow, his blade dancing around Calen's desperate strikes until a boot to the chest sent the young man sprawling. Death approached on silent feet, but salvation came in the form of Therin's arrow sprouting from the imperial mage's shoulder. The elf who had posed as a wandering storyteller stood revealed as something far more dangerous, his bow singing its song of vengeance as Calen's world collapsed into ash and memory.

Chapter 3: Dragonbound: The Hatching of Ancient Power

The campfire crackled in the depths of Ölm Forest, casting dancing shadows on faces marked by loss and determination. Aeson's weathered hands trembled slightly as he opened the leather satchel, revealing the prize that had cost so much blood. The dragon egg gleamed like captured starlight, its bone-white scales fading to midnight black at their roots, and Calen felt something stir in the deepest chambers of his mind. The voice came first as a whisper, then as a roar that drowned out all other sound. Draleid n'aldryr. Dragonbound by fire. The words meant nothing to his conscious mind, but his soul recognized their truth. When his fingers touched the egg's surface, the world exploded into flame and ice, pain and ecstasy intertwined until he could no longer tell where he ended and the presence in his mind began. The hatching was both violent and tender, shell fragments scattering like broken promises as a small head emerged. Pale lavender eyes met Calen's own, ancient wisdom gleaming in their depths despite the creature's newborn fragility. The dragon was no larger than a housecat, its wings translucent membranes stretched between delicate bones, but the power that radiated from its tiny form made the air itself thrum with potential. Valerys. The name came to him as naturally as breathing, drawn from the Old Tongue word for ice. As the young dragon curled in his lap, purring like a contented cat, Calen felt the bond settle into his bones like molten metal cooling in a forge. He was no longer just a blacksmith's son seeking revenge. He was Draleid, the first free dragonrider in four centuries, and the empire would learn to fear the fire that now burned in his veins.

Chapter 4: Through Shadow and Loss: The Road to Sanctuary

The port city of Camylin stretched before them like a maze of opportunity and death, its narrow streets crowded with merchants, thieves, and imperial spies. The Traveller's Rest inn promised discrete rooms and no questions asked, but gold could buy loyalty only until someone offered more. When darkness fell, the trap snapped shut with the precision of a master craftsman. The separation happened in heartbeats. One moment Rist was beside them, sword in hand and determination in his eyes. The next, he was cut off by a tide of crimson cloaks while something wrong emerged from the shadows. The Fade's pale skin stretched like parchment over bone, and its eyes were holes in reality itself. Dahlen's blade passed through the creature's chest without leaving so much as a mark. The creature's laughter was the sound of grinding glass as it lifted Dahlen and hurled him aside like a broken doll. When consciousness returned, Rist was gone, taken by something that should not exist in the waking world. The guilt in Dahlen's eyes was matched only by the rage in Calen's heart, but rage could not undo what was done or reach through the walls of the High Tower where mages learned to forget their names. In the tunnels beneath the city, as they fled through passages carved by smugglers and rebels, Therin spoke of distant Belduar—the last free city of men. Their elven guides moved like ghosts through the underground, moss-green cloaks allowing them to fade into shadow at will. Behind them, the sound of pursuit echoed through stone corridors, growing closer with each passing hour.

Chapter 5: The Last Free City: Allies and Enemies Revealed

The walls of Belduar rose from the mountainside like the bones of sleeping giants, defying both gravity and the empire's four-century siege. King Arthur Bryne welcomed them with warmth that seemed genuine, but Calen had learned to distrust easy smiles. In this city carved from living rock, every shadow might hide a blade, and every friend could become an enemy with the turning of a coin. Valerys had grown from housecat to wolf-sized predator whose roar echoed through the mountain halls. The king's son Daymon watched with eager eyes, while Lord Ihvon Arnell maintained the careful neutrality of a man who had survived too many political storms. Training consumed Calen's days as Aeson pushed him beyond his limits, sword forms flowing into sparring matches that left him bloodied but stronger. Five elves arrived from the hidden city of Aravell, led by the ranger Vaeril. They swore oaths of protection that bound them to Calen's service, but their loyalty came with expectations he wasn't sure he could meet. Gaeleron, scarred and bitter, became his weapons master, while the twins Alea and Lyrei scouted the mountain passes. Each carried their own reasons for leaving the safety of their forest home. But Belduar's isolation had kept it free at the cost of making it vulnerable to siege. Arthur needed allies, and the dwarven kingdoms of the Lodhar Mountains held the key to survival. The Bolt Throwers mounted on the city's towers served as grim reminders that even dragons could be brought down by mortal weapons, while reports from the borderlands spoke of imperial forces massing like storm clouds on the horizon.

Chapter 6: Crown of Mountains: Forging the Final Alliance

The Wind Runners carried them through tunnels carved by dwarven hands, mechanical marvels that defied understanding as they hurtled through the mountain's heart at impossible speeds. Calen gripped his seat while Valerys spread his wings for balance, the dragon's first flight through artificial skies. The navigator Falmin Tain guided their vessel with threads of Air woven into complex patterns, his skill a reminder that magic took many forms. Durakdur opened before them like a jewel box lined with stars. The dwarven city sprawled through caverns lit by flowers that glowed with ethereal light, their petals casting blue-green radiance over bridges and walkways that defied architectural logic. Four kingdoms had united here in the Dwarven Freehold, their rulers as different as the metals they forged. The council chamber hummed with tension thick enough to cut. Arthur presented his case with diplomatic skill, but the dwarves had survived four centuries by avoiding the empire's notice. Queen Kira of Durakdur carried herself with royal arrogance, her contempt palpable as she dismissed Calen as a spoiled brat pretending to be a hero. The insult struck like a physical blow, but Asius the giant's restraining hand kept Calen from reaching for the Spark in anger. Instead, he found his voice and spoke from the heart. He told them of loss and determination, of friends who had sworn oaths without knowing his worth, of a promise to stand on Belduar's walls no matter the cost. His words rang through the chamber with the force of truth, while Valerys's growl provided a bass note of draconic authority. Queen Pulroan of Azmar, eldest of the rulers, watched with calculating eyes as ancient grievances were aired like old wounds that had never properly healed.

Chapter 7: Night of Assassins: Betrayal in the Deep

The Hand struck in the deep hours of night when even the mountain's heart lay still. These were the empire's finest assassins, mages trained to kill without sound or mercy, and they had infiltrated both Durakdur and Belduar with surgical precision. Calen woke to steel at his throat and magic crackling in the darkness, but Valerys's fury burned brighter than any assassin's blade. The dragon had grown powerful enough to breathe true fire, and the flames that consumed their attackers lit the chamber like a forge. Queen Kira survived her own assassination attempt, emerging from her chambers with blood on her axe and determination in her eyes. The dwarven Queensguard rallied to her banner as she made a decision that would echo through history. A thousand dwarven warriors in crimson cloaks followed her to the Wind Tunnels, their axes gleaming in the flower-light as they prepared for a journey to the surface world they had abandoned centuries ago. The mechanical vessels groaned under the weight of armored bodies, but Falmin Tain guided them through the mountain's arteries with skill born of desperation. Belduar burned when they arrived. The city's outer circles had fallen to treachery rather than assault—someone had opened the gates from within, allowing imperial forces to pour through like a tide of steel and malice. King Arthur was dead, found on his throne with his heart torn out, while his son Daymon hung suspended by threads of dark magic. The Fade responsible stood among the corpses of the Kingsguard, its pale skin and bottomless eyes marking it as something that had never been human.

Chapter 8: Fire Against Darkness: Birth of a Living Weapon

The Fade moved like liquid shadow given form, its blade of black fire cutting through reality itself as it danced between Calen's desperate strikes. Aeson and the elf Ellisar fought beside him, their combined skill barely enough to keep the creature at bay, while Dann's arrows passed through its form like mist. This was no mortal enemy but something forged in the void between worlds, sustained by dark magic and malevolent will. The battle turned when Ellisar fell, his head separated from his shoulders by a stroke too quick to follow. The elf had sworn an oath to protect Calen, and his death was a weight that would never lift from the young Draleid's conscience. Rage and grief mingled in Calen's heart as he reached deeper into the Spark than ever before, drawing on threads of Fire and Spirit until his bones ached with the strain. He felt Valerys's mind merge with his own as the dragon prepared to unleash his full power. The pressure built like steam in a sealed kettle, threatening to tear them both apart, but Calen held on through sheer force of will. When Valerys opened his jaws, the fire that poured forth was not the small flames of a young dragon but a torrent worthy of legend—orange and red flames that burned with the heat of stars. The Fade's scream shattered windows as the fire consumed it, its form dissolving into ash and shadow that scattered on winds that existed only in nightmare. Victory came at a cost that left Calen barely conscious, his body drained by magic that had pushed him to the very edge of death. As Therin's healing touch brought him back from the brink, he understood that this was only the beginning. The empire would send worse things than the Fade, and next time, he might not be strong enough to stand against them.

Summary

Dawn broke over Belduar like a wound in the sky, painting the smoke-stained walls with shades of red and gold. The city had survived, but at a cost measured in blood and broken dreams. Daymon took the crown his father had died defending, while Queen Kira's dwarven warriors added their voices to the acclaim. The ancient alliances still held power, but darker news arrived with the morning light—the imperial blockade had lifted not in retreat but in preparation for final assault. The transformation was complete now. The frightened boy who had watched his village burn was gone, replaced by something harder and more dangerous. Valerys had grown too, his white scales gleaming like armor as he spread wings that could carry them both into the sky. The dragon's bond with his rider had deepened until their thoughts flowed together like streams joining a river, while Calen's command of the Spark had grown to levels that would have been unthinkable weeks before. He was Draleid now, bonded to a dragon and wielded like a weapon in a war that had raged for centuries, but the price of that power was measured in the lives of those he had failed to save. The final battle would come with the dawn, and whatever the outcome, the boy from The Glade was truly dead—burned away in the flames that had forged him into something new.

About Author

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Ryan Cahill

Cahill explores epic fantasy narratives with a focus on modern themes, weaving a complex tapestry of familial bonds, hope, and perseverance in his works. His writing philosophy centers around crafting stories he would have enjoyed in his youth, ensuring they include dragons and defy traditional "chosen one" tropes. This thematic foundation is evident in his series "The Bound and The Broken", which features multi-perspective storytelling and elaborate worldbuilding, influenced by the literary giants J.K. Rowling, J.R.R. Tolkien, and George R.R. Martin.\n\nRyan Cahill's debut book, "Of Blood and Fire", began as a creative outlet during the COVID-19 lockdown and marked the start of a successful career that now includes four novels and several novellas and short stories. His work has garnered a wide readership, selling over half a million copies worldwide and winning accolades like the Stabby Award for Best Indie Novel in 2021. The series also caught the attention of The Broken Binding Publishing, who acquired its worldwide print rights in 2024, with new editions slated for release in 2026. This short bio illustrates Cahill's trajectory from a chemistry lab in Dublin to the rolling hills of New Zealand, a journey that resonates with readers who appreciate stories where classic fantasy meets modern sensibilities.

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