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T he condescension ignited something deeper inside Xai. Drawing from reserves he rarely accessed, he unleashed a different fire—cobalt-white flames that burned colder and hotter simultaneously. “Starfire,” ancient dragons called it, a rare form he’d kept secret from all but his closest family members.

The devastating display caught the mercenaries off guard. Ordinary flames obeyed certain physical laws; starfire ignored them entirely. It burned without oxygen, intensified with water, and spread against the natural flow of heat transfer.

The leftmost twin screamed as white flame consumed his water shield, scorching ancient stonework black behind him. The water meant to douse normal fire instead amplified the starfire, turning defensive magic into a conductor that spread the unnatural flames along his arms and torso. He dropped to the ground, rolling desperately to extinguish what could not be smothered.

The orc staggered backward, runic scars glowing defensively as he raised massive arms to shield his face. Mountain ash scattered from his grasp, the carefully prepared magical component rendered useless in seconds. The runic protection inscribed in his flesh provided some defense, but even that ancient magic struggled against starfire.

The surviving twin frantically modified his water spells, adding elements of earth magic to create mud shields instead of pure water barriers. A clever adaptation, but insufficient against sustained attack.

Memory flashed through Xai’s mind—1850, when industrialists threatened to expose Enchanted Falls to human authorities. He’d used starfire then, the display convincing would-be invaders they faced something beyond their comprehension. The energy required had left him weakened for days afterward, but the town’s security had been worth the personal cost.

Now he paid the same price, feeling strength ebbing with each pulse of the unnatural flame. His internal reserves drained rapidly, centuries of accumulated power channeled into moments of devastation. A strategic mistake born from emotional response—exactly the kind of error he knew he should have prevented.

Severin watched, genuine shock widening his eyes before calculation returned. “So the dragon has teeth after all. Good. This ritual requires power worthy of the transformation.”

The surviving twin recovered quickly, drawing water from hidden reservoirs beneath the floor. The liquid rose in spiraling columns that twisted into binding spells specifically designed to neutralize dragon fire. The cold magic wrapped around Xai’s flames, extinguishing them in clouds of steam that obscured the chamber.

The mist created a momentary battlefield advantage—concealment for both sides. Xai used the cover to assess his diminished resources. Starfire had depleted his energy faster than anticipated. The stone fragments embedded in his back limited mobility. Most concerning, the scale connection to Zina flickered weakly, suggesting either distance or magical interference.

Footsteps approached from multiple angles—the surviving twin circling left, the orc moving with surprising stealth to the right. Severin remained stationary, apparently content to let his mercenaries handle the dirty work.

Xai lunged toward Severin but found his path blocked by water magic solidified into ice barriers. Without starfire, and with regular flames neutralized by water magic, he found himself driven back. The surviving twin had clearly studied dragon physiology—each spell targeted joints or pressure points rather than attempting to overcome draconic durability directly.

Cold magic wrapped around his ankles, freezing him temporarily in place. Before he could break free, metallic whistling cut through the air—mithril chains launched from hidden mechanisms in the walls. The metal burned cold where it touched him, sapping heat energy with every contact.

Mithril—impossibly rare and devastating against dragons. The alloy absorbed thermal energy, transforming heat into binding power. The hotter the dragon, the stronger the chains became. A perfect countermeasure against creatures of fire.

More chains followed, wrapping his torso and legs until he knelt immobilized on the cold stone. Each movement strengthened the binding, his own body heat working against him. The energy drain left him lightheaded, strength seeping away as his internal flame dimmed to embers.

Despite his predicament, thoughts turned immediately to Zina. The scale connection pulsed with reassurance—she remained unharmed, moving with purpose.

Pride flickered through him, quiet but definite. His lioness had proven herself yet again. Her competence and determination had become a touchstone for him—something to rely upon amid the chaos of recent weeks.

Severin approached, stopping just beyond arm’s reach despite Xai’s restraints. His caution suggested he understood that even a bound dragon remained dangerous. “Mithril chains forged specifically for dragon binding. Quite rare these days. My family has collected them for generations, waiting for the right moment.”