Against the Storm

Book 4: Drift and Dragon

by D.K. Holmberg

Genres: Dragons & Mythical Creatures; Sword & Sorcery

Synopsis

Peace was never meant to last.

Six months after restoring the dragon bond, Callen believes he's finally built a future worth defending—teaching the next generation of drift users and raising his gifted daughter, Nora. But when the Lord Regent is assassinated with dragonfire and Callen is framed for the crime, everything unravels.

Branded an enemy of the realm, hunted by armies and bounty hunters, Callen's only hope lies in a forgotten legend: a hidden clutch of dragon eggs, sealed away for centuries. The key to finding them rests with Theraxis, a scarred ancient dragon whose price for the truth could tear Callen's family apart.

As kingdoms march to war and Baron Selwyn's corruption spreads, Callen must race against time to reach the Sanctuary before the Convergence. Inside waits a test of worth, a battle for survival, and the choice that will decide whether dragons rise again—or vanish forever.

The storm has broken. The future will be forged in fire.

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Release date: December 16, 2025

Publisher: ASH Publishing

Print pages: 421

Sample

Chapter One MORNING LESSONS Metal sang beneath Callen's fingertips, but today the melody served a different purpose. Though lately, the song carried an undertone he couldn't quite place—a bass note that seemed to rise from the earth itself, as if the mountain were humming along. He stood in the Academy's courtyard, twelve young faces watching with rapt attention as scales rippled across his forearm in controlled waves—appearing, shifting, vanishing like water over stone. "The key," he said, letting the scales fade completely back to normal skin, "is not to fight the transformation. Fighting creates resistance. Resistance creates pain." A boy near the back—Mykal, whose father had defected from the Kingdom forces three months ago—raised a tentative hand. "But Master Callen, how do you stop it from taking over completely?" Callen smiled faintly. The boy asked the right questions. "You don't stop it. You guide it. Like working metal in the forge—too much force and it breaks. Too little and nothing changes." He extended his hand, palm up, and willed scales to bloom across it in a deliberate pattern before dismissing them again. "You find the balance between human and dragon, between control and acceptance." "Show them the eyes," Nora said from her position by the stone pillars. At nine years old, she'd grown taller in the past six months, though she was still small for her age. Her dark hair was braided back in the Pyrin style Elder Shendra had taught her. The morning sun caught the faint shimmer of heat that always surrounded her now—her fire barely contained even at rest. Several students leaned forward eagerly. They'd heard stories but hadn't seen the full demonstration yet. Callen met Nora's gaze, and she nodded encouragingly. These students needed to understand what they might face, what some of them might become. He closed his eyes, reached for that deeper connection, and felt the familiar shift. When he opened them again, gasps echoed through the courtyard. His eyes had changed—no longer fully human but carrying the vertical pupils and golden intensity of his bonded partner. Through them, the world appeared different. Each student glowed with their own drift signature, some bright as small suns, others flickering like candles. "The dragon's sight shows truth," he said, his voice carrying a subtle harmonic that hadn't been there before. "Energy patterns, intentions, potential—all visible to those who share the bond." A small girl in the front row—Seera, one of the Pyrin refugees—tilted her head. "I can hear it," she whispered. "The song in your voice. It's like..." She paused, searching for words. "Like two melodies playing together." Perceptive, that one, Kyraleth's mental voice rumbled through their connection. The dragon lounged on the cliff above the Academy, his blue-black scales catching the morning light. She hears what others miss. Callen let his eyes return to normal, the golden fading back to his usual dark brown. The transformation was always temporary now, controlled, never permanent unless he chose it to be. "Seera hears dragon-song," he explained to the other students. "It's a rare gift, even among those with Pyrin blood. In the old days, those like her helped translate between dragons and humans." "Can she hear Kyraleth?" asked Kess, the former street thief from Ironvale's lower district. She'd arrived two weeks ago, half-starved but burning with drift sensitivity that had nearly gotten her killed when she'd accidentally shattered a merchant's entire stock of glassware. "Sometimes," Seera said shyly. "When he's close. It's like... thunder that makes words instead of sound." Tell her she describes it well, Kyraleth said, amusement coloring his mental tone. Though I prefer to think of my voice as more melodious than thunder. Callen relayed the message, earning a delighted laugh from Seera and curious looks from the others.

The easy interaction helped ease the tension that always accompanied these lessons. Too many of these children had seen what happened when power corrupted—Baron's hybrids, Stark's experiments, the collection teams that had hunted them. "Now," Nora said, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who'd been helping with lessons for months, "who wants to see what controlled power actually looks like?" The students shifted eagerly. Nora's demonstrations were always favorites—beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. She raised her hands, and fire bloomed between her palms—but Callen saw what the students missed. The flame flickered erratically at its edges, fighting her control. Still, she shaped it through sheer will, forming the outline of a dragon in miniature. The construct wavered, its wings briefly dissolving before she caught them. "This took me lots and lots of practice," Nora said, her voice tight with concentration as she made the dragon perform a lazy spiral. Sweat beaded on her forehead. "And I burned so many things. I still burn things sometimes. The fire doesn't always listen." The dragon dissolved into sparks—a controlled ending, but Callen noticed her relief when it was gone. As the sparks faded, Nora tilted her head, frowning at the ground beneath her feet. "Does anyone else feel that? Like... warmth from below?" The students looked at each other, confused. Callen extended his drift sense downward and felt—something.

something. A pulse, so faint it might be imagination. He filed it away for later consideration. The Academy had risen from the settlement's eastern fields over the past four months, stone by stone, with help from both human and dragon. Three buildings arranged around a central courtyard, with practice spaces designed to contain various manifestations of power. It wasn't grand—nothing like the ancient temples described in the old texts—but it was theirs. "Master Callen," Mykal said, his voice careful, "my father says the Kingdom still considers you criminals. That Lord Regent Vanish has increased the bounty." A heavy silence fell over the courtyard. It was the fear none of them spoke aloud—that this peace was temporary, that the outside world would come for them again. "Your father's right," Callen said simply. "The Lord Regent sees us as threats. Baron Selwyn still searches for subjects for his experiments." He paused, remembering that the Baron was Nora's grandfather—a fact they rarely discussed but one that hung between them like a shadow. "The world hasn't suddenly become safe because we defended one settlement." He looked at each young face in turn. "That's why you're learning control. Not to become weapons, but to protect yourselves and others when that world comes calling again." "Will it?" Kess asked. "Come calling, I mean. We've been quiet for six months." "Five months and twenty-three days," Nora corrected, showing the precise memory that often surprised people in someone so young. "Since grandfather's—since Baron's forces retreated." The slip was subtle, but Callen caught it. Even now, part of her struggled with what her grandfather had become, what he'd done. They probe our borders weekly, Kyraleth added, his mental voice reaching Callen alone this time. Scouts who think themselves clever, testing for weaknesses. I've resisted the urge to flame them. Mostly. Callen didn't share that information with the students. They needed to focus on their training, not on the watchers in the forests or the tension that still gripped the settlement whenever strangers appeared on the trade roads. "We've earned a reputation," he said instead. "The settlement that drove off Baron Selwyn. The place where a Dragon Singer restored his bond. Some see us as inspiration. Others as a threat. Both reactions bring their own dangers." A bell rang from the settlement's center—two clear notes indicating the morning's end and the arrival of the midday meal. The students began to stir, but Callen held up a hand. "Before you go—Kess, I want you working with Finch this afternoon on directed applications. You're still shattering things when you mean to merely crack them. Mykal, Elder Shendra has agreed to teach you the breathing exercises. Your control wavers when you're emotional. And Seera⁠—" The Pyrin girl looked up hopefully. "Kyraleth has agreed to help you understand dragon-song better. If you're willing."

Her eyes widened. "The dragon himself wants to teach me?" She makes me sound ancient, Kyraleth complained, though Callen felt his pleasure at the girl's obvious awe. I'm only a few years old. "He's young for a dragon," Callen told Seera, "but he carries inherited memories from his lineage. He can teach you things no human could." The other students looked at Seera with mixture of envy and sympathy. Learning directly from Kyraleth was an honor, but everyone knew the dragon's teaching methods could be... intense. "Now go," Callen said. "Eat well. This afternoon we're practicing defensive applications." The students dispersed, chattering among themselves as they headed toward the settlement's common hall. Callen watched them go, noting how they moved—some with confidence, others still uncertain of their place here. Six months wasn't long enough to heal all wounds or calm all fears. "You're getting better at this," Nora said once they were alone. "Teaching, I mean. You barely scowled at all during that lesson." "I scowled plenty," Callen protested. "Only twice. Once when Mykal mentioned the bounty and once when Kess nearly knocked over the water barrel with an accidental drift pulse." She moved to stand beside him, barely reaching his chest now despite her recent growth. "Mother says the council meets again tonight." Callen nodded. The settlement council met weekly now, trying to establish governance for their growing 

population. Six months ago, they'd been a few hundred refugees and survivors. Now, with those seeking training and those fleeing Baron's renewed collection efforts, they numbered nearly a thousand. "They want to discuss the envoys again," Nora continued, sounding older than her years. "The ones from the eastern settlements. They're nervous about our Academy." "They're nervous about me," Callen corrected. "A Dragon Singer with a restored bond, teaching children to harness dangerous abilities. I'd be nervous too." "You're not dangerous," Nora said firmly, with the absolute certainty only a child could have about someone they loved. Callen looked at his hand, remembering how easily the scales came now, how natural the transformation felt. Six months ago, he'd nearly lost himself to it. Now it was just another part of who he was—controlled, temporary, but always there beneath the surface. "Everyone's dangerous, little spark. The question is whether we're dangerous to the right people." Nora was quiet for a moment, her expression turning inward the way it did when she was listening to something only she could hear. "The calling is getting stronger, Papa. Not louder, but... deeper. Like it's becoming part of me." Callen felt cold despite the warm morning. "What does it show you now?" "The same warnings about the corruption. But the northern one—Theraxis—he reaches out sometimes too." She frowned, concentrating. "He always says the same thing: not yet. The shadow here must be addressed first. He's patient, but he's waiting for something." "And the primary call? The one that's been with you longest?" "Still there. Still strong." Nora hesitated, and when she spoke again her voice was smaller. "But sometimes, beneath it, I hear something else. Another voice. Older. Sadder. Like someone watching from very far away, trying to speak through deep water." She shook her head. "I can't understand what it says yet. Maybe I'm not supposed to." Callen pulled her close, feeling the heat that always surrounded her now. Two dragons calling his daughter—and something else beneath them both. He added it to the list of things that kept him awake at night. Philosophy before midday meal? Kyraleth's amusement rippled through their bond. You're becoming quite the teacher, partner. The dragon stretched on his cliff, wings spreading to their full span—thirty feet now and still growing. His movement cast a shadow over the courtyard, and Callen felt the instinctive fear it generated in the settlement below. Even those who'd fought beside them still tensed when Kyraleth flew overhead. Some instincts ran too deep to overcome in mere months. "Any word from Pavel's scouts?" Callen asked, changing the subject. "They returned this morning," Nora said. "Three more families heading our way from the northern provinces. One has twin boys who both manifest green flames—Elder Marek says it's because their grandmother was from the coastal Pyrin, where they used driftwood fires." Green flames from regional variations. Another example of how Pyrin abilities adapted and evolved based on their environment and heritage. Finch would be ecstatic. The scholar had filled three journals already with observations about the children's various abilities. "We'll need more dormitories soon," Callen said. "And more teachers." "Lysara's already working on it. She's convinced two more former Ashen Oath to help with combat training. And there's talk of a healer from the capital who might join us—someone who worked with Mother before." Before. They all had befores now. Before the Baron's attack. Before the restoration. Before the Academy. Time divided into neat segments by trauma and triumph alike. A commotion from the settlement's main gate drew their attention. Guards calling out, not in alarm but in greeting. Callen extended his drift sense, identifying familiar patterns—a small group, travel-worn but not hostile. Among them... "It's Wren," he said, surprised. The information broker hadn't visited in two months, claiming the roads were too watched, the risks too high. They made their way down from the Academy, joining the crowd gathering near the gate. Wren looked exactly as he always did—elaborate coat  with too many pockets, mismatched clothing that somehow worked, and an expression of perpetual amusement at the world's absurdities. But Callen noticed the new lines around his eyes, the way his hand stayed near the knife at his belt. "Nightshade!" Wren called out, using the old name deliberately. "Or should I say, Professor Nasinth? I hear you're educating the youth now." "Wren," Callen acknowledged. "What brings you through dangerous roads?" The smaller man's expression sobered slightly. "News that couldn't wait for safer travel. The kind that needs discussing somewhere private. Very private." Callen nodded, understanding immediately. Whatever Wren had learned, it was significant enough to risk the journey personally rather than trust it to messages or lesser agents. "The council chamber should be empty," Nora suggested. "Most everyone's at midday meal." As they walked through the settlement, Callen noticed how it had changed. Six months ago, these had been temporary structures, built for immediate shelter. Now, gardens grew between houses. Children played in the streets without fear. The forge had expanded into three separate workshops. Signs of permanence, of hope. But also new defensive positions, Lysara's work. Hidden weapon caches. Escape routes marked subtly for those who knew to look. They'd learned from the Baron's attack—peace was something you prepared to defend. The council chamber was indeed empty, its simple wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs—another sign of their patchwork community. Wren settled into one with a grateful sigh, producing a flask from one of his many pockets. "First," he said after a long drink, "the good news. Your reputation spreads, and not just as threats. Three major settlements have formally recognized your Academy as legitimate. They're even considering sending students." "And the bad news?" Callen asked, though he could guess. There was always bad news. "Baron Selwyn has been busy. Very busy." Wren's expression darkened. "He's established a new facility, larger than before. And he's not hiding it. It's being built openly, with Lord Regent Vanish's full approval. They're calling it the Evolution Institute." "Evolution," Nora said, her young voice carrying disgust. "That's what grandfather calls forcing dragon parts into human bodies?" The acknowledgment of their relationship hung in the air for a moment. Wren's eyes widened slightly—he'd known, of course, but hearing Nora say it so directly was different. "It's worse than that," Wren said, recovering. "He's recruiting volunteers. Promising power, transformation, ascension to something greater. And people are listening. Desperate people, ambitious people, people who've heard about Dragon Singers and want that power for themselves." Callen felt something cold settle in his stomach. Baron adapting, learning from his failures. Not forcing transformation but offering it, making people complicit in their own corruption. "There's more," Wren continued. "He's specifically recruiting those with dormant abilities. Drift sensitives, failed Pyrin who can't manifest fire, even those who just have unusual dreams. He's casting a wide net." He seeks to make his own Dragon Singers, Kyraleth's mental voice carried unusual anger. Abominations that mock what we are. Callen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air. "The hybrids are one thing—forced transformations using dragon fragments. But why the systematic search for sleeping dragons? Why living creatures instead of just bones and scales?" Wren's expression darkened further. "My contacts in the Institute report something troubling. Baron's been obsessing over old texts about bonding ceremonies. Apparently, he believes hybridization is merely a stepping stone. The fragments give strength, but they don't give partnership—not like what you have with Kyraleth. He sees your bond and he wants it for himself." "That's impossible," Callen said. "You can't force a dragon bond. It requires mutual consent, a meeting of souls." "The Baron doesn't believe in impossible," Wren replied grimly. "Only in 'not yet achieved.'" "How many?" Callen asked. "At least two hundred have entered his Institute willingly. More arrive daily." Wren pulled a rolled parchment from his coat. "But that's not why I risked coming here. This is." He unrolled the parchment, revealing a detailed map marked with numerous locations across the region. Red marks indicated destroyed sites, blue marks showed active locations, and gold marks... "Dragon sites," Callen breathed, recognizing the pattern. "He's searching for them." "Systematically," Wren corrected. "Look at the pattern. He's dividing the region into grids, sending teams to investigate every legend, every old story, every cave that might hold fragments or bones. He's already excavated seventeen sites." Callen studied the map, his enhanced vision picking out details others might miss. The search pattern was methodical, thorough. Baron wasn't randomly hunting—he was conducting a systematic survey of the entire region. "He's looking for sleeping dragons," Nora said quietly. "Like the ones in the old stories. The ones that went into the Great Sleep." "If they exist," Wren said. "But the Baron believes they do. And he's dedicating enormous resources to finding them. There's something else," Wren added, his voice dropping. "One of my people inside the Institute—she won't survive much longer, the transformations are eating her alive—but she managed to get me a message. Baron's been having his scholars translate something. Old texts about 'subjugation bonds.' Apparently, the Dragon Singers had methods for dealing with corrupted dragons—ways ways to force a connection when the dragon couldn't or wouldn't consent." Callen felt Valengrim's ancient consciousness stir within him, recoiling at the words. Abomination, the old dragon's presence whispered. They tried such things in the dark times. The bonds broke. The dragons went mad. The Singers died screaming. "Whatever he's planning," Callen said slowly, "it's not just about creating hybrid soldiers. He wants to become what I am. What we are. And this Sanctuary of First Breath," Callen said, tracing the search pattern with his finger. "At this rate, he'll find it within..." "Six months, maybe less," Wren finished. "Unless something disrupts his search." Before Callen could respond, the door opened. Amara entered, her healer's satchel over one shoulder, concern etched on her face. She'd maintained her noble bearing despite years of exile, but now there was something else—a weariness that came from treating too many injuries, seeing too much suffering. "I heard Wren had arrived," she said, nodding to the information broker before turning to Callen. "The scouts report increased activity on the eastern roads. Supply wagons, but heavily guarded. More than merchant caravans would need." "Military supplies," Wren confirmed. "Baron's forces are moving equipment. My contacts say they're establishing forward camps, supply depots. Not an invasion force—not yet—but infrastructure for one." 

Callen and Amara exchanged a look. They'd had six months of relative peace, six months to build something worth defending. But they'd always known it was borrowed time. "How long?" Amara asked quietly. "Before they move?" Wren shrugged. "Could be weeks, could be months. But they're definitely preparing for something substantial. The Evolution Institute isn't just for creating soldiers—it's becoming a fortress." We should disrupt his searches, Kyraleth suggested through the bond. Make him waste resources chasing false leads. It was a good idea, but risky. Any direct action might provoke the confrontation they weren't ready for. "We prepare," Callen said finally. "Accelerate the training. Strengthen our defenses. And hope we have enough time." "I can help," Wren offered. "Spread some false dragon sightings, create fake excavation sites. Make his systematic search less... systematic." "Do it," Callen agreed. "But carefully. We can't afford to lose you." Wren grinned, some of his usual humor returning. "Careful is my middle name. Well, actually it's Reginald, but careful sounds better." As they discussed logistics and preparations, Callen felt the weight of what was coming. The Academy, the settlement, the fragile peace they'd built—all of it balanced on a knife's edge. Baron Selwyn hadn't given up. He'd simply changed tactics, and that made him more dangerous than ever. Through the window, Callen could see students returning from their meal, ready for afternoon lessons. Children who trusted him to teach them control, to keep them safe. Beyond them, the settlement continued its daily rhythm—people who'd chosen to stay despite the danger, who believed in what they were building. We will protect them, Kyraleth said firmly. All of them. Callen nodded, even as his hand unconsciously moved to his chest where Baron's enhanced soldiers had left scars six months ago. The battle had been won, but the war was far from over. "We should tell the council," Amara said. "They need to know what's coming." "Tonight," Callen agreed. "Let the children have their afternoon lessons without the shadow of war hanging over them. Tomorrow is soon enough for them to learn that peace is always temporary." He stood, preparing to return to the Academy. There were students to train, defenses to plan, a future to protect. The transformation abilities flowed through him, controlled and ready—scales beneath skin, power beneath control, all of it temporary until he chose otherwise. Whatever Baron Selwyn was planning, whatever army he was building, they would be ready. They had to be. ...