Chapitre 7: Chapter 7: Shadows in the Night

Days turned into weeks as Draven continued his training under Aria's guidance. The routine became familiar—meditation, physical exercises, and sparring sessions designed to sharpen his reflexes and control over the Dragonheart. Despite the grueling pace, Draven could feel himself improving, his confidence growing with each passing day.

But even as he focused on his training, a sense of unease lingered in the back of his mind. The warnings Aria had given him about the dangers that lay ahead, about the enemies that would come for him, haunted his thoughts. He knew that the peace he had found here was temporary, that sooner or later, he would have to face the world beyond the fortress walls.

One night, as the fortress lay quiet under the blanket of darkness, Draven found himself unable to sleep. The events of the past weeks swirled in his mind—the discovery of the Dragonheart, the encounter with the dragon, and the intense training sessions with Aria. It was all so much to process, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming, something that would test him in ways he wasn't prepared for.

Unable to rest, Draven decided to take a walk. He dressed quietly, careful not to disturb the others in the barracks, and slipped out into the cool night air. The courtyard was bathed in the pale light of the moon, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The fortress was silent, save for the occasional creak of wood or the rustle of leaves in the wind.

Draven wandered through the empty corridors, his thoughts drifting. He found himself heading toward the training grounds, drawn by the familiarity of the place. The stone circle where he had passed his test stood silent and empty, the runes etched into the ground faintly visible in the moonlight.

He stood in the center of the circle, closing his eyes and letting the night's stillness wash over him. The Dragonheart pulsed gently against his chest, a reassuring presence that reminded him of the power he carried within him.

But as he stood there, a sudden chill ran down his spine. The air around him seemed to thicken, the shadows deepening as if they were alive. Draven's eyes snapped open, his senses on high alert. Something was wrong.

He turned slowly, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The training grounds were empty, but the feeling of unease only grew stronger. Draven reached for the dagger at his side, the weight of it reassuring in his hand.

And then, out of the darkness, they came.

Figures cloaked in shadow, their movements swift and silent, emerged from the darkness surrounding the training grounds. Draven counted five of them, their forms barely visible in the dim light. They moved with the grace of predators, their eyes gleaming with a cold, malevolent light.

Draven's heart raced as he took a step back, his mind racing. Who were these attackers? What did they want? He didn't have time to ponder the answers as the first of the figures lunged at him, a blade flashing in the moonlight.

Instinct took over. Draven raised his dagger, parrying the attack with a sharp clang of metal against metal. The force of the blow sent a jolt through his arm, but he held his ground, his training kicking in.

The attacker snarled, a sound more animal than human, and lunged again. Draven ducked under the swing, countering with a slash of his own. The dagger's blade sliced through the air, catching the attacker's arm. The figure hissed in pain, but didn't retreat, pressing the attack with renewed ferocity.

Draven fought back, his movements fluid and controlled. The training he had undergone with Aria had honed his reflexes, and he moved with a grace that surprised even himself. But he was outnumbered, and the attackers were relentless.

As he fought, Draven felt the Dragonheart's power stirring within him, responding to the danger. He could feel the energy building, the warmth spreading through his chest. But he knew he had to be careful. The last thing he wanted was to lose control in the middle of a battle.

Another attacker lunged at him, and Draven barely had time to react. He dodged to the side, but the blade caught him on the arm, slicing through his tunic and drawing blood. He hissed in pain, but there was no time to tend to the wound.

The attackers pressed in, surrounding him. Draven's mind raced, searching for a way out. He couldn't take them all on at once, not without risking the Dragonheart's power spiraling out of control.

And then, out of the darkness, a figure appeared.

Aria.

She moved like a shadow, her blade flashing in the moonlight as she struck down one of the attackers with a single, fluid motion. The others barely had time to react before she was upon them, her sword a blur of steel as she cut through their ranks.

Within moments, the attackers lay on the ground, either dead or dying. Aria stood over them, her sword dripping with blood, her expression cold and unyielding.

Draven staggered back, breathing heavily. The adrenaline from the fight still coursed through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced at Aria, who wiped her blade on the tunic of one of the fallen attackers before sheathing it.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice calm but tinged with concern.

Draven nodded, still catching his breath. "Who were they?"

Aria's expression darkened. "Assassins. Sent by someone who doesn't want you to fulfill your destiny."

Draven's blood ran cold. He had known that enemies would come for him, but to be attacked like this, in the middle of the night, within the safety of the fortress walls—it was a stark reminder of the dangers he faced.

"Why now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aria's gaze softened slightly. "The power of the Dragonheart is growing within you, Draven. And with that power comes attention, from those who fear it and those who want to claim it for themselves. These assassins were just the beginning. There will be more."

Draven swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. The reality of his situation was sinking in, the enormity of the task before him.

Aria placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring. "You're not alone, Draven. I'm here to help you, to train you. But you must be prepared for what lies ahead. The world is more dangerous than you can imagine, and you must be ready to face it."

Draven nodded, his resolve hardening. He had survived this attack, but he knew there would be others. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, not for a moment.

Aria's eyes met his, and for the first time, Draven saw a hint of something softer in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or even a touch of fear. "We'll get through this, Draven," she said quietly. "But you need to trust me, and you need to trust yourself."

Draven nodded, feeling a surge of determination. "I will."

Aria nodded in return, her expression once again steely and resolved. "Good. Now, let's get that wound tended to. And tomorrow, we train harder."

As they walked back toward the fortress, Draven couldn't help but glance back at the fallen attackers, their bodies already growing cold in the night air. The attack had been a wake-up call, a reminder that the path ahead would be anything but easy.

But Draven was ready. He had the Dragonheart, he had Aria, and he had his resolve. He would face whatever came his way, no matter the cost.

For he was Draven, the last of the Draconic Bloodline. And his destiny was only beginning.

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