_EnchantedEcho_

In Aelthar, dragons do not fly. They are kept. Bound in iron. Buried in stone. Forgotten in chains. Elaryn has spent years surviving beyond the capital's reach - stealing when she must, healing with herbs and old knowledge, and avoiding the smoke that still claws at her lungs in sleep. She wants no part of crowns or courts. But the kingdom has begun to stir. A prince known for his silence. Ancient maps that should not exist. A scar beneath her skin that burns like fractured starlight. When rebellion whispers through the forests and something shifts behind the sky itself, Elaryn is forced toward a truth older than the throne. Because somewhere in Aelthar's oldest text, a prophecy waits: When the marked girl walks through flame and does not burn, the sky will split, and the last dragon will kneel. And the sky is no longer whole.…