Chapter Text
The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering woodsmoke as Ivy, Zaid, and Tristan moved through the quiet town. They kept to the shadows, their hoods drawn low, the flickering lanterns casting long, shifting silhouettes. Ivy’s heart pounded as she walked, her mind a constant storm of frustration and determination. The deeper they dug, the murkier her betrayal became.
“We’re going in circles,” Ivy muttered, voice laced with irritation. “Every noble we speak to either fears the Order too much or is too eager to believe I was in league with some dark warlock.”
Zaid exhaled sharply, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Because it’s the easiest story to swallow. The Magic Order has enough sway to make people accept what they’re told.”
“Then we need someone who doesn’t play by their rules,” Tristan said, their voice uncharacteristically serious as they were in thought. They hesitated for a moment, looking off into the distance as if listening to something only they could hear. Ivy and Zaid exchanged a glance, confused by their friend’s sudden shift in demeanor.
“What is it?” Ivy pressed.
Tristan exhaled, rolling their shoulders. “I ... know someone.”
Zaid raised a brow. “Someone?”
Tristan shrugged. “A demon. Like me.”
Ivy folded her arms. “You’ve known another demon all this time, and you’re just now telling us?”
“Knowing and trusting are two very different things, and sometimes, you don't want to get close to them,” Tristan said with a pointed look. “Ted’s... tricky. He does his work well, but the price is high.”
Zaid frowned. “How high are we talking?”
Tristan grinned, but there was no warmth in it. More like tension. “Let’s just say he doesn’t gamble with coin alone.”
[...]
Finding Ted was less about seeking and more about being found. They made their way to a secluded tavern on the outskirts of town, a place where the air reeked of cheap ale and secrets. Tristan led the way, their normally relaxed demeanor stiff with caution.
The demon sat in the farthest corner, legs crossed, idly flipping a gold coin between his fingers. His brown eyes gleamed with mischief and a flicker of red in them as he spotted them approaching. He adjusted the brim of his wide hat, a slow smile curling on his lips.
“Well, well…” Ted drawled, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “I never thought I’d see you in my presence, little shadow. But we demons can detect the other up close.”
Tristan scowled but said nothing. Ivy noted the tension in their shoulders, the way their fingers curled slightly, ready to bolt or fight even if they weren’t a fighter.
Dealing with demons has always been a rough terrain. Not for nothing they are many hushes and tragic tales of mortals who have dealt with them.
Even if Zaid and Tristan were the exception.
“I know your game, demon.” Zaid slid into a chair across from Ted, arms folded. “We need information.”
Ted’s grin widened. “Information always comes at a price.”
Ivy lifted her chin. “Name it.”
Ted studied her for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. “Fiery, aren’t you? Expected from royal blood I can smell. You remind me of another royal I once did business with. Shame how that ended.” He stared to one of the rings on his hand.
Ivy’s jaw tightened. “If you have a point, get to it.”
Ted leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “Fine. I guess you want the truth about your framing, Princess? The Order’s proof against you came from an anonymous source, but I know how to trace whispers in the dark. For the right price, I’ll tell you.”
Zaid tensed. “And what exactly do you want?”
Ted considered for a moment before flipping his coin and catching it. “A favor. One I’ll collect at a later date.”
Tristan shifted uncomfortably. “That’s a dangerous deal.”
Ted smirked. “Only if you make it one. You know us demons are loyal to our word. Besides, I a not making a pact with the Princess, if that worries you, little shadow. I am not going to claim her soul.”
Ivy exhaled, glancing at Zaid. His gaze met hers, steady and sure. She didn’t need to say anything—she already knew he trusted her decision. Finally, she turned back to Ted. “Fine. You have your favor.”
Ted’s grin was all teeth. “Excellent.”
He leaned back and, with an elegant flourish, produced a small parchment, calling it upon his hand between flames. “The Order isn’t your true enemy, Princess. They fear the spread of corruption, and they know dark magic is not to be trifled with. But lately, something has changed. Magic itself is turning wild. The whispers speak of something stirring, creeping through the cracks of reality.”
Ivy felt a chill slither down her spine. “What does that mean?”
Ted’s expression darkened slightly. “It means that the very thing the Order seeks to protect the kingdom from … is already here.”
Silence settled over them like a thick fog.
“What do you mean?”
“It is spreading, like a disease, and possibly some of the Order’s judgement has been tainted by it…Or by someone touched by it. Among their ranks? Higher? Lower but scarier? Perhaps it is more than one person involved…”
Then, just as quickly as he had arrived, Ted stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. He tipped his hat, the glint of gold from his earrings catching the dim light.
“Careful, Princess,” he murmured, flipping the coin once more. “Betrayal comes from the ones you trust the most. And there is always more than meets the eye.”
And with that, he vanished in a swirl of shadowy mist, leaving Ivy, Zaid, and Tristan alone with a truth they weren’t sure they were ready to face.
As the shadowy mist from Ted’s departure dissipated into the cool night air, Ivy, Zaid, and Tristan exchanged uneasy glances. The demon’s cryptic warning still lingered in Ivy’s mind. Betrayal comes from the ones you trust the most. But they had no time to dwell on it now. Armed with the information Ted had provided, they set forth into the heart of Silverglade’s nobility, seeking the truth behind Ivy’s framing.
And that means, returning home, at least, incognito.
[...]
Their first stop was the estate of Lady Amelie Pierre, a longtime supporter of Ivy’s family. The once-grand estate was now shrouded in an air of tension, guards stationed at the gates in greater numbers than Ivy remembered. The trio was escorted inside under wary gazes, and though Amelie greeted Ivy with politeness, there was a nervous flicker in her eyes, ever under her steel visage.
“You should not have come here so openly, Your Highness, not with the rumors of you still being alive.” she whispered, ushering them deeper into the manor’s sitting room. The heavy drapes were drawn shut, candlelight casting elongated shadows across the walls.
“I had no choice,” Ivy said, keeping her voice steady. “The truth behind my exile is slipping through our fingers. I need answers. I know something is very wrong happening in Silverglade.”
Amelie sighed, setting down her porcelain teacup with a delicate clink. “The city is not as it once was. Whispers travel quickly, and trust is no longer a commodity easily earned. More with your...associates that spared your life.” She glanced at Zaid and Tristan before her gaze settled on Ivy. “There are rumors—contradictory, tangled rumors. Some say you were a victim of treachery. Others claim you sought power beyond your birthright, that you conspired with a warlock of the darkest arts and sacrificed yourself to an entity.”
Zaid stiffened at the mention, his fingers clenching against his own arms. “A dark warlock?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s absurd. Warlocks aren’t inherently dark.” His voice was steady, but there was a simmering anger beneath his words. “I took the path of a warlock not for power, not for destruction, but to protect the people I love.”
Amelie gave him a knowing look. “Then you know how little truth matters when fear dictates the narrative.” She frowned.
The words struck deep. Zaid exhaled sharply, but Ivy reached for his hand beneath the table, grounding him, comforting him. “Who is spreading these rumors?” she pressed.
Amelie sighed. “The origin is elusive. They say the accusations against you were supported by members of the Magic Order, but no one knows who provided the so-called evidence.”
“Or they don’t dare to say.” Tristan murmured, their voice carrying a weight of quiet understanding. They leaned forward, their blank white eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. “There are inconsistencies, aren’t there?”
Amelie nodded gravely. “The evidence—what little has been made public—is vague at best. No solid proof of your supposed use of dark magic has been shown, yet the accusation alone was enough to seal your fate. And your cousin Riya…” Amelia hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. “She has ruled efficiently, but there is something… off. Some nobles have changed in demeanor, their memories disjointed. There are whispers of unnatural occurrences, as if reality itself bends in strange ways under her almost iron fist. I just decided to return from my teachings I was giving to my apprentice once I started to realize how grim things has been happening.”
Ivy exchanged a glance with Tristan, the implications heavy between them. The corruption. It was seeping into Silverglade more rapidly than they’d feared.
The trio left Lady Amelie's estate with more questions than answers, their next destination taking them deeper into the tangled web of nobility. Each visit followed a similar pattern: hushed voices, wary glances, the growing fear of speaking too openly. Some nobles refused to see them altogether, claiming they could not afford to be associated with Ivy, while others spoke in riddles and half-truths.
One thing remained consistent—nobody could pinpoint exactly who had first accused Ivy. The allegations seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, suddenly gaining weight as if pulled from the shadows themselves.
As they walked through the lamp-lit streets of Silverglade, Zaid remained silent, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. Ivy slowed her pace to walk beside him. “Zaid?”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s just… frustrating. People hear ‘warlock’ and think of curses, blood pacts, destruction. I never wanted any of that.” He kicked a loose stone from the cobblestone path. “If I hadn’t needed power to protect my mother and sister, I would have stayed at my family’s inn. I would’ve been a chef.” A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Imagine that. A simple life, far from all this. And something I still desire! Not world domination!”
'Protect...?' Ivy mused on her mind.
Ivy squeezed his arm, her voice gentle. “You’re not a villain, Zaid.”
“I know that,” he murmured, then sighed. “But the world doesn’t. They see me and Tristan and believe we are some thrall of darkness.”
Tristan, walking ahead of them, suddenly turned back, a mischievous yet reassuring grin playing on their lips. “Well, the world can be stupid and just stay with what they see. But we’ll make them see the truth.”
Zaid smirked slightly despite himself. “You always this optimistic?”
Tristan tapped their temple. “You’d be surprised how far a little mischief and confidence can take you once you start doing it over and over, until you believe it.”
Ivy laughed softly, the weight in her chest momentarily easing. Even in the midst of growing shadows, she wasn’t alone. And together, they would find the truth.
But now, they have to go back to Silverglade's heart.
The nightmares came first.
At first, they were little more than fragments, scattered echoes of Ivy’s voice weaving through Riya’s dreams like a specter. Accusatory whispers. Laughter laced with contempt. Then, the images sharpened—flames engulfing the pyre, Ivy’s silhouette outlined against the roaring inferno. But instead of burning, Ivy turned to face her, unscathed, her eyes luminous with something unnatural. "You know the truth," she whispered, stepping forward, the fire curling away from her like a living thing. "And it knows you."
Riya would wake in a cold sweat, fingers clutching the silken sheets of her grand bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The candlelight flickered uncertainly, as if the shadows in her chamber had begun to move on their own.
She told herself it was stress. The burden of ruling. The weight of responsibility. But deep down, she knew better.
The whispers had been with her since the moment she had taken the throne, perhaps even before. At first, they had been subtle, faint murmurings at the edges of her consciousness, confirming what she already knew: Ivy was unfit to rule. Silverglade needed strength. And Riya—brilliant, capable, overlooked Riya—was the only one who could protect it. The whispers encouraged her, soothed her doubts, assured her that framing Ivy had been necessary. A small betrayal for the greater good.
But now the whispers were growing louder. More insistent. And the world around her was changing.
Silverglade was rotting.
Nobles who had once been sharp and cunning now spoke in circles, their memories muddled, forgetting conversations they had had only days before. Servants flinched at nothing, startled by unseen figures lurking just outside their vision. Courtiers awoke from their sleep babbling about strange dreams, some swearing they had lived entire lifetimes within them.
A lord of the inner circle had stumbled into court, his fine robes in disarray, eyes wild as he recounted a dream of his own execution—only to lift his sleeve and find fresh bruises around his wrists, as if he had truly been bound in chains.
And beyond the castle walls, in the depths of the city, there were darker things stirring.
Creatures with violet-glowing eyes had been spotted at the edge of the forest, lurking in the fog that crept unnaturally thick in the early mornings. Farmers whispered of livestock found torn apart, their wounds wrong—unnatural gashes, the flesh blackened around the edges as though something had eaten away at them from the inside.
Riya heard all these things and still, she did not speak of them.
She could not.
She could not appear weak. Not when she had fought so hard to seize what was hers.
But the voice inside her mind knew. It pressed against her thoughts like a phantom hand gripping the back of her neck.
'They are watching you.'
'They whisper behind your back.'
'If they find out what you’ve done, they will rip your crown from your head.'
She gritted her teeth, gripping the arms of her throne as yet another nobleman stumbled through his report, eyes glazed, speaking as though he were only half-conscious. Another failure. Another sign that something was unraveling.
And yet, even now, as she gazed over the great hall, Riya refused to let go.
Ivy was dead. She had to be.
No matter if she burnt or that warlock took her away, she was gone.
The alternative was unthinkable.
But the whispers knew. They had always known.
And as the days passed, the violet gleam in the eyes of the creatures outside the city seemed to burn brighter, as if waiting, watching, feeding.
And that, deep down, left her restless.
Riya sat on her throne, fingers drumming against the polished armrest as she listened to the latest reports from her scouts. The chamber was dimly lit, a handful of candles flickering in the vast room, their golden glow barely reaching the high ceiling. Shadows danced along the stone walls, and in those twisting shapes, she sometimes thought she saw something else—something watching.
A dragon.
A threat lurking in the mountains, perched too close to Silverglade for her liking. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening. First the strange occurrences—the nobles forgetting conversations they had just spoken, dreams turning to reality, creatures with eerie violet eyes prowling the outskirts—and now this. It was as if the gods themselves were testing her resolve.
She had fought too hard to secure her rule. She would not let it slip through her fingers now.
“I want that threat gone,” she said, her voice slicing through the murmurs of the gathered nobles and knights.
The commander of her knights, a seasoned warrior with a scar over his brow, hesitated. “Y-Your Highness, a dragon is no mere beast. The last sighting of such a creature was—”
“I do not need a history lesson.” Riya stood, her gown cascading like flowing ink around her. “We have the knowledge of Westglen, and our mages have been trained under the teachings of the wandering witch with the indigo cloak. The Almighty has blessed us with the means to bring such scaled monsters to their knees. And I want that creature gone.”
The hesitation in the room was palpable. The knights exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared question her command. She saw their doubt, their fear—but it did not matter. Fear kept people loyal. Fear ensured obedience.
The voice whispered in her mind, soft as silk, insidious as poison. ‘You are right to be wary, My lady. This dragon lingers too close. He will take everything from you. Just like Ivy. Just like they all did. Just how they always looked down to you.’
Riya’s nails dug into her palm. ‘No. I will not let that happen.’
Across the room, a figure in white and gold robes tilted her head. Isabel, the ever-present priestess, observed the queen with an unreadable expression. Her brown eyes flickered toward the open balcony, toward the distant peaks of the mountains.
“A dragon…” Isabel murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “So he is here already.”
Riya’s gaze snapped to her. “You speak as though you were expecting this.”
“I see things others do not, My Lady.” Isabel’s lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. “Are you certain about this course of action, Your Highness? Dragons are the strongest mythical creatures in this realm. Sending your men to such an encounter… well, let’s just say, I hope your forces are prepared.”
A flicker of irritation sparked in Riya’s chest. She knew Isabel’s words carried weight—she was a priestess, after all. But there was something about her that always seemed off, as if she moved pieces on a board only she could see.
“I know what I am ordering, Priestess,” Riya said sharply. “I would suggest you not forget who I am.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Isabel inclined her head, amusement barely hidden in her gaze. “Of course… of course.”
The priestess stepped back, but Riya knew this was far from over.
She turned back to her knights, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Go. Slay the beast. Do not return until it is done.”
As the knights bowed and left, a cold wind brushed through the open windows, rustling the heavy curtains. In that fleeting moment, Riya thought she heard something—
A whisper.
A hushed voice curling into her ear, feeding her thoughts, her doubts.
‘You are right. You must protect what is yours. You cannot afford to be weak. You cannot afford to fail.’
Riya closed her eyes, steadying her breath. When she opened them again, they were sharp, resolute.
The dragon would die.
And if something else lurked in the shadows, whispering, waiting—then she would deal with that too.
In time.
Little she knows, fate can be cruel when it desires to be.
The air over Silverglade had changed.
From the high terraces of the castle, the city stretched before them, its usual hum of life subdued beneath the oppressive weight of anticipation. People had gathered in the streets, their eyes turned toward the mountains. The knights had marched out in full strength, their armor gleaming, their banners raised high with the promise of triumph. They had left before the sun reached its peak, disappearing into the distance like silver phantoms against the rugged cliffs.
Now, the sun had begun its descent, and still—nothing. No sound of returning hooves. No sign of victorious warriors riding home.
Then came the first sign.
A dark stain smudged the horizon. At first, it was dismissed as the creeping twilight, but it grew denser, heavier, billowing in thick, rolling clouds. Smoke.
The scent arrived soon after, carried by the high winds—sulfur and charred metal, the acrid stench of something unnatural. The mountains, ever distant and indifferent, now seemed to brood, their peaks obscured by the swirling gloom. The wind carried more than just smoke; it carried silence. A silence more dreadful than screams, a silence that stretched over the city, settling into the bones of every man, woman, and child that dared to breathe it in.
And then—it fell.
A fluttering scrap of silk, caught in the current, tumbling, twisting as it rode the air down to the castle steps.
Riya had been pacing at the gates, her sharp heels clicking against the stone, her brows furrowed as she awaited news. When the fabric drifted before her, she instinctively reached out, fingers curling around the fine embroidery.
The moment she saw it, the breath left her lungs.
It was a banner. No—the banner.
Silverglade’s proud sigil, the golden sunburst woven into regal blue. Now, the edges were torn, burned. And worse—soaked, heavy with the unmistakable weight of blood. Deep crimson had bled into the fabric, staining the sigil, corrupting it beyond recognition.
A choked gasp echoed from behind her. One of the nobles stepped forward, his face ashen as he stared at the ruined cloth.
“No…”
A soldier stumbled forward, his voice barely a whisper. “How… how many?”
The answer came not in words, but in the shifting of the air, the unspoken horror tightening around them all. The platoon that had left was no ordinary force—it had been one of their finest, numbering over a hundred knights. Men who had trained their whole lives to face threats beyond mortal reckoning. They had carried enchantments, infused weapons blessed to pierce even dragonhide. They had set out to slay a single beast.
And yet, they had not returned.
One hundred men, devoured by fire and fury. Gone, in mere hours. Maybe less.
A noble woman let out a strangled sob, covering her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. Another man fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he clutched the edge of his cloak. The whispers began—soft at first, then louder, rising like a tide.
“The knights… they’re gone…?”
“It took all of them?”
“The dragon declared war…”
A city once brimming with power and confidence now found itself drowning in fear. They had believed themselves prepared, armed with magic and steel. But this was no ordinary enemy. This was an ancient force, an entity beyond their reckoning. A beast who had, for so long, ignored them—until now.
Now, it had answered.
Riya clenched the bloodied banner in her hands, her nails digging into the silk. Her heart pounded, her breath came in sharp, measured draws, but inside, beneath the cold exterior, something twisted. The whispers in the shadows, the murmurs she had ignored—they had been right.
‘My Lady. The Beast… You cannot let the Beast take what it yours…’
She had thought she could control the chaos. She had thought she could command the tide.
But now, as the sun dipped below the mountains, casting its dying light over the distant, smoldering peaks, one thing became clear:
The war had already begun.
With the beast. And something darker lurking under...
The fire crackled softly in the cool night air, casting flickering shadows against the rocky outcrop where Ivy, Zaid, and Tristan had made their temporary camp. The scent of roasted meat mingled with the crisp mountain breeze, a welcome contrast to the usual dust and sweat of travel. For once, there was no urgent need to move, no pressing danger nipping at their heels. Just warmth, quiet conversation, and the rare chance to rest.
Ivy lay on her back, staring at the stars that stretched endlessly above them. “These lands have been whispering about dragons for months,” she murmured. “I’ve heard stories of a great beast in the mountains. Some say it’s waiting, watching. Others say it’s already struck and left ruin in its wake. You think it is the same one the Beast Tamer took care of?”
"I am not certain...but," Zaid poked at the fire with a stick, the embers glowing in response. “Dragons don’t just come and go. If one has been here, its presence will linger. They leave marks on the land, on the air itself. And on the people who cross their path. Even if they are just hunting.”
Ivy turned her head toward him. “You’ve studied them, haven’t you?”
Zaid nodded. “Of course. Magic, as we know it, has always revolved around three great forces—Celestials, Demons, and Dragons. Celestials guide holy and radiant magic. Demons are tied to dark magics, subterfuge, and corruption. And dragons? They are the raw essence of elemental magic.”
Tristan, curled up nearby, let out a thoughtful hum. “It’s always interesting, the way humans categorize things.” They propped their chin on their hands, glancing at Ivy. “But go on. I like hearing Zaid explain things.”
Ivy smirked but didn’t interrupt. Instead, she folded her hands beneath her head and let Zaid continue.
“You asked if dragons are the strongest creatures in the land, once, back near Tipiskaw, ” Zaid said. “The answer is… complicated. Alongside Celestials and Demons, dragons are at the top, yes. But their power is different. Celestials are distant, influencing the world from afar, shaping fate in ways mortals barely comprehend. Demons, on the other hand, revel in chaos and manipulation, growing stronger the more they embody their nature.” He glanced at Tristan. “No offense.”
Tristan chuckled. “None taken. Though I don’t exactly thrive on manipulation or chaos.”
“Which is why you aren’t as powerful as other demons,” Zaid pointed out. “Power, for demons, feeds on their ability to wreak havoc. Celestials, meanwhile, gain strength from their divine roles—some as guardians, others as healers, someone call down judgement to humanity, others still as warriors.”
Ivy tapped her fingers against her stomach. “And dragons?”
Zaid’s expression darkened slightly. “Dragons are reckless and proud. They don’t just wield magic—they are might AND magic. Long before humans discovered ways to combat them, dragons were unstoppable forces of nature. When they wanted something, they took it. And nothing stood in their way.”
Ivy shivered slightly at that thought. “Then how did humanity survive? Before the dragonslaying magic.”
Zaid sighed. “By adapting. They couldnt be creating dragonslaying magic always or it just didn't exist, they started developing weapons to resist them, and—eventually—turning the tide slightly for them to thrive. Others wanted to learn from them, and depends of the dragon's soul, they could allow it.”
Ivy traced a small pattern in the dirt beside her. “It’s strange… I know dragons are dangerous, but I still want to learn more about them. About all mythical creatures, really.”
Tristan’s tail flicked lazily. “A good mindset to have. Most humans fear what they don’t understand. And when they fear, they destroy. That's what happened with dragonslaying magic, even if you say it has been done to protect humanity, it still feels...antinatural.”
Zaid gave a slow nod. “That’s why the fae remain wary of humans, too. They see what happened to dragons and know they could be next.”
Ivy turned back to the stars, her thoughts swirling like the embers in the fire. Myths and truths, power and fear—she had much to learn. And something told her that she would need that knowledge sooner rather than later.
Some hours passed after. The fire crackled gently, casting flickering shadows against the trees that encircled their camp. The night stretched vast and quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the leaves. Tristan lay curled a short distance away, their slow, steady breathing the only indication of their presence. The demon had drifted into slumber, leaving only Ivy and Zaid awake, bathed in the warm glow of the flames.
Ivy hugged her knees, her blue eyes reflecting the firelight. "You said days ago, in Amelie’s house that you wanted power to protect your family." Her voice was quiet, probing. "From what?"
Zaid exhaled heavily, the tension in his shoulders betraying how much the question weighed on him. He stared into the fire, watching as the embers swirled like tiny, restless spirits. "It was long ago... I was still rather young, compared to now" he began, voice distant. "My poor excuse of a father had left us long before, and we were barely scraping by, surviving in our little inn—our home. It wasn't much, but it was ours."
Ivy remained silent, sensing there was more.
"Then, out of nowhere, he came back," Zaid murmured, his grip tightening on his knees. "But he wasn’t the same man. He looked... hollow. And yet, there was something wild in his eyes, something feverish. He ranted about darkness, about how it was meant to consume us all. He spoke like he wasn’t alone in his own head." Zaid’s jaw clenched. "And for some reason, he fixated on me."
The memory came flooding back.
The inn was dimly lit, the scent of stew still lingering in the air when the door had burst open. The man who stumbled inside was ragged, his clothes torn and filthy, his breath heavy with something foul. But it was his eyes—tainted violet, wild and frenzied—that sent a bolt of fear through the room.
"You..." His voice was hoarse, cracking as he stepped forward. "You’re the one...! I have to... I have to..."
His mother was the first to react. "Get out!" she barked, stepping in front of Zaid and his younger sister, brandishing a wooden spoon like it was a weapon. "You have no place here!"
His father lunged, and chaos erupted.
Zaid barely had time to react before he saw his mother grappling with the man, shoving him away. His sister let out a terrified scream, and before he even thought about it, Zaid threw himself forward, crashing into the intruder with all his strength. They hit the floor, struggling, fists landing, nails scratching. His father was stronger, fueled by some unnatural frenzy. Zaid felt himself being overpowered, slammed against the wooden floor with a force that knocked the wind from his lungs.
And then—
A lantern shattered.
Embers scattered.
Fire caught onto the wooden beams, flickering to life as the struggle continued. Smoke curled into the air, the heat rising as the flames grew. His mother was trying to smother the fire, but his father didn't care. He had one goal, one singular obsession, and he was winning.
Zaid gasped, his vision blurring. He could see his mother and sister, terrified, defenseless. His heart pounded like a war drum. He couldn't lose. He couldn't let them—
"Please," he whispered, barely able to think beyond his desperation. "Anything, anyone, give me power! Let me protect them!"
And then—
Everything stilled.
The crackling fire hushed to a whisper. The air thickened, heavy with something unseen yet suffocating. The shadows stretched unnaturally, slithering like living things. And from within the black, a figure emerged.
It had no solid form, only a shifting mass of darkness with eyes as white as the void. A voice, smooth and patient, echoed in the silence.
"You need some help...? I can give it to you..."
Zaid couldn't breathe. His limbs felt frozen, but his mind screamed at him to listen. This was a demon. He knew that much. He also knew he didn’t care.
"You need it... and I can lend it to you..."
The shadow loomed closer, an outstretched hand forming from the dark.
"Make a deal with me. A pact sealed by time indefinite... And I will lend you every ounce of my power to keep your family safe."
Zaid didn't hesitate.
His fingers grasped the shadowy hand, and the world roared back to life.
The fire surged, but not in destruction. No, this time, it moved with purpose, as if bending to his will. Shadows danced between the flames, swirling around him as the power coursed through his veins.
His father was still there, wild-eyed and rabid, lunging for his mother once more.
"Hey, asshole!"
The words left Zaid's lips before he even thought about them. His body moved on instinct, heat coiling within his chest, the fire responding to his very desire. His father turned, but it was too late.
Zaid let loose with those eyes flaming in embers.
Flames shot forward, serpentine and precise, striking with deadly accuracy. His father barely had time to scream before he was flung backward, crashing through the window, the fire chasing him like a living beast.
Then, silence.
Zaid stood there, panting, the embers still glowing around him. His mother had a pan in her hands, ready to fight. His sister was trembling, her small hands clutching at their mother’s skirts.
And outside… their father was gone.
Gone, just like that.
Whether the fire had claimed him or he had disappeared into the night, Zaid never knew. And he never cared to find out.
All that mattered was that his family was safe.
Back at the camp, Zaid exhaled, his eyes distant. "That was the first time I called on my flames. And the first time I made a pact."
Ivy sat in stunned silence. The fire between them crackled softly, no longer just a source of warmth but a reminder of what it could become in the hands of someone like Zaid.
She swallowed. "And the demon? When did you know its name?"
Zaid glanced at Tristan, still curled in peaceful sleep. His lips twitched into a small, unreadable smile.
"Let’s say they were quite open with such matter. But...I still had to give them something in return..."
The night had gone eerily quiet after the fire’s violent hunger had been sated. Embers still smoldered in the remnants of their home, flickering softly in the darkness, but the roaring flames that had once threatened to consume everything were now little more than dying whispers.
Zaid exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His hands trembled, his entire body still thrumming with the adrenaline of what had just transpired. But the most important thing—the only thing—was that his mother and sister were safe.
He turned swiftly, eyes searching through the thin veil of smoke. "Momma! Zayna!"
His mother, still clutching a dented pan in her shaking hands, stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. His younger sister was curled behind her, eyes squeezed shut, her tiny body trembling. Without hesitation, Zaid rushed to them, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around them both.
"It’s okay," he murmured, pressing his forehead against his mother’s shoulder. "It’s over. We’re safe now."
His mother’s breath hitched, her hands pressing against his back as she hugged him tightly. Zayna whimpered against his chest, clinging to his tunic. Zaid squeezed his eyes shut, allowing himself a moment of relief, of warmth, of knowing he had protected them.
Then the shadows moved.
A flicker of darkness, curling at the edges of the fire’s dying glow, shifting unnaturally like ink in water. His mother gasped, pulling Zayna closer, her entire body stiffening. Zaid turned swiftly, heart hammering again as he watched the shadows slowly solidify. A form emerged, its edges sharpening, becoming distinct. The air grew heavier, and for a moment, even the embers seemed to dim in its presence.
His mother’s grip tightened on him. "Zaid," she whispered, terror lacing her voice. "Zaid, what is that?"
Zayna let out a frightened squeak, burying her face into his side. His mother’s voice turned shrill. "A demon—Zaid, you—"
"Calm! Calm!" Zaid turned to them quickly, raising his hands. "It was thanks to the demon we’re safe!"
His mother’s expression twisted in horror. "Y-You, Zaid, YOU DID A PACT WITH A DEMON?!" Her voice cracked with disbelief, with something dangerously close to grief. "My son, you have doomed your soul!"
"W-What?! No!" Zaid stammered, shaking his head rapidly. "I—"
"Ma’am!" The demon’s voice interrupted, sharp yet oddly exasperated. "I don’t want your son’s soul!"
His mother snapped her head toward the entity, staring in frozen shock as the demon finally took a proper form.
It was not some twisted, monstrous fiend. Not a creature of bone and talons, nor a distorted nightmare. The figure standing before them was almost human. Their form was slender but unnaturally fluid, their long cloak shifting as though woven from living shadows. Their skin was pale and smooth, their features androgynous and sharp, yet strangely soft at the same time. But their eyes—brilliant and pale, like silver moons in the dark—were what unsettled most as their dark hair cascaded down their face. They were hollow yet full, depthless yet searching.
Zaid blinked. "Wait. You don’t… want my soul?"
The demon scoffed, crossing their arms. "Pfft, no? I’m not that kind of demon. I just… I truly wanted to help."
His mother, Imane, still looked stricken, but confusion now mingled with her terror. "Then why? Why would a demon grant my son power? If not for his soul, then what?"
The demon tilted their head, their silver eyes narrowing slightly. "I sensed something odd on the man that attacked you all."
Zaid stiffened, his mind flashing back to his father’s wild, frenzied gaze. The violet hue burning in his eyes.
Was that ... involved? Now what stupidity did that asshole do?
The demon continued, their voice calm but laced with something thoughtful. "He was… wrong. Something had tainted him. That’s what drew me here. And then—" Their expression softened. "Then I saw you, desperate to protect your family. And I thought… maybe I could do something worthwhile."
For a long moment, there was only the crackling of dying embers. The weight of his mother’s silent fear. Zayna's hesitant, peeking gaze from behind Zaid’s arm.
Finally, Zaid let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his head. "But what do you want? There’s always something demons want."
The demon hesitated, glancing away for a moment before sighing. "I…"
For the first time, they looked uncertain. Their shoulders tensed slightly, their fingers twitching before they exhaled and shrugged.
"I guess… company? Or however we could put it so we can have a pact without it being so, you know—" they gestured vaguely "—with power imbalance. If I am honest... It is hard to have it, considering people fear me and all of it..."
Zaid stared.
Then, despite himself, he let out a small chuckle. The tension, the exhaustion, the sheer absurdity of the night—he couldn’t help it.
"Alright, demon," he said, shaking his head with a wry smirk. "Guess ...We have a deal. I am Zaid. Zaid Hakim."
The demon blinked, then offered the faintest, tentative smile in return. "I am Tristan."
The fire had long since died down, but its ghost lingered in Zaid’s mind. Sitting by the dwindling campfire, he finished recounting his past, his voice quieter now, less burdened but still carrying the weight of old scars. Across from him, Ivy was silent, her expression thoughtful, blue eyes reflecting the flickering embers.
She had spent her whole life fearing dark magic, seeing it as something corruptive, sinister. It was what her cousin had accused her of wielding, what the people of Silverglade condemned without hesitation. And yet… here was Zaid, someone who had made a pact with a demon, and he was still Zaid. He was kind, steadfast, someone who fought with everything he had to protect those he loved. And Tristan—Tristan had never once acted like the monsters whispered about in the old stories. If anything, their presence had always been warm, even comforting.
She thought of Ted, too, the trickster devil who had helped her in his own odd way. Dark magic was not inherently evil, she realized—it was the intent behind it that shaped its path. And in Zaid’s case, it had been wielded to protect, not destroy.
Ivy sighed, a gentle, relieved sound. "I get it now," she murmured, breaking the silence. "I understand why my people, why I—why we always saw dark magic as something terrifying. But... it’s not just a force for harm, is it? It’s something that can protect, too. Because the people who wield it can be good."
Zaid looked up at her, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a slow, almost bashful smile crept across his face.
"You’re a lot more open-minded than most." he admitted.
She smirked. "I’ve been through a lot. Since you both saved me, that is. It changes perspectives. Your company surely has helped me open my eyes."
He chuckled, leaning back on his palms. "Still, not everyone would take it this well."
"Not everyone has met you and Tristan," she said simply. Then, tilting her head, she added, "Your family must be really proud of you. You’re reliable, you know that?"
Zaid’s smile softened. "I’d like to think so. My sister’s sixteen now… Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t made the pact with Tristan. If I wasn’t able to protect them that night."
Ivy reached out and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "Someone like you? Even without magic, they’d always have you. You’d have found a way."
Zaid stared at her, surprised by the warmth in her voice. Before he could respond, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
His breath caught in his throat, and by the time he processed what had happened, Ivy was already standing, stretching her arms with an easy smile. "Get some rest, Master of Flames. We’ve got a long journey ahead."
She turned and made her way back to the tent, leaving Zaid sitting by the fire, utterly taken aback. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, his brown eyes gleaming with quiet joy.
He exhaled, shaking his head, but he was smiling as he gazed into the night, the warmth of her touch lingering long after she was gone.
"Good night, Ivy."
The air over Silverglade had changed ever since Ivy ran away.
From the high terraces of the castle, the city stretched before Ivy, its usual hum of life dulled beneath the weight of sorrow. Smoke still clung to the distant mountains, a grim reminder of what had transpired. She had heard the whispers before she had even stepped foot inside the city. Fear. Mourning. Anger. The people were suffering.
A dragon had lurked near Silverglade, and the kingdom had retaliated in kind, sending their best knights to slay the beast to protect them. But Ivy knew how that had ended. One hundred men had marched into the mountains, banners raised high, weapons enchanted with divine power, their armor gleaming like silver fire in the morning sun.
None had returned.
The first sign had come with the wind—thick, acrid smoke rolling down from the peaks, the scent of sulfur clinging to the air. Then, the banner had fallen, torn and bloodied, landing at Riya’s feet like a cruel omen. The whispers had turned into wails, the proud kingdom shaken to its core.
And Ivy had watched from the shadows how the words has spread along the citizens.
She had loathed Riya for what she had done with such choice, hated the council for their betrayal Ivy knew they were hiding. But this suffering? This devastation? The people of Silverglade had not been the ones to wrong her. They were mourning their sons, their brothers, their fathers. They were afraid. And that fear would fester into something far worse if left unchecked.
She was sitting in the tavern where she planned with Zaid and Tristan, as she tried to gain information, but with such events happening to her people…?!
She felt her fist curl into a ball, very tightly.
“You shouldn’t linger here so openly, Your Highness.”
The voice was smooth, amused, but laced with something sharper. Ivy stiffened, her fingers twitching toward her rapier beneath her cloak. The figure beside her stepped closer, the dim torchlight catching on golden curls and sharp, knowing green eyes.
A woman in an indigo cloak. A witch. A witch she has heard whispers from other cities too.
Even through the illusion spell masking Ivy’s features, the witch had recognized her. Of course, she had.
This witch was no one but Lynda.
And she was always watching, always waiting, lurking in the periphery like a shadow no one noticed until it was too late.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ivy murmured, keeping her voice low.
Lynda only smiled, tilting her head as if humoring a child’s lie. “No need to play coy. I know a lost princess when I see one. And I know an illusion spell as well as the back of my hand.”
She sat down at her table.
Ivy inhaled sharply, her shoulders tense, but Lynda merely turned her gaze toward the city, where the people of Silverglade clung together in their grief.
“A tragedy, isn’t it?” Lynda mused, her voice lilting with something too measured to be genuine sorrow. “To think a single dragon could bring such ruin to a kingdom that once prided itself on its strength.”
Ivy swallowed. “They brought this on themselves by following her orders. They attacked first! I-I have heard her decision!”
“Perhaps,” Lynda allowed, “but tell me, does that knowledge make it easier to listen to their cries?”
Ivy’s throat tightened. She didn’t answer.
Lynda hummed, tracing a finger along the hilt of Ivy’s rapier. “You could change that, you know.”
Ivy frowned. “What?”
“You want justice, don’t you?” Lynda’s voice was soft, coaxing. “To prove yourself? Not just to them, but to yourself.”
Ivy clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “What are you implying?”
Lynda’s smile was slow, deliberate. She reached out, her fingers brushing the blade of Ivy’s rapier. At her touch, silver, flickering energy pulsed along the steel, weaving into it like veins of molten silver along the weapon. Ivy’s breath caught as a strange, humming power settled into her weapon.
“With this,” Lynda murmured, “you’ll be able to pierce even a dragon’s hide.”
Ivy hesitated.
Dragonslayer magic.
She knows that isn't a magic to take lightly. Just like how she was taught about dark magics.
She had feared dark magic all her life, had been raised to see it as vile, corrupt. And yet… hadn’t it already protected her? Hadn’t she seen firsthand that it wasn’t the magic itself that was evil, but the intent behind it?
She had met Ted, a devil who traded in games, not souls.
She had met Tristan, a demon who had saved lives, not taken them.
but dragonslaying magic was different, antinatural!
And yet...Didn't they said magic depends of the wielder?
And now, Lynda stood before her, offering her power—not for destruction, but for justice.
Ivy exhaled, the weight of her people’s suffering pressing against her chest. She reached for her rapier, gripping the hilt tight.
“Where is the beast?”
“The dragon just has been seen returning to it’s former cave.”
Her eyes darkened. She won’t let that dragon get away with it!
She would be the princess they needed.
She would be the hero they would celebrate.
And the dragon shall pay.
The tavern was loud with drunken voices and hushed with secrets. A perfect place to gather information.
Zaid sat at a worn wooden table, his gloved fingers drumming lightly against the surface, his other hand wrapped around a half-empty tankard of ale he had barely touched. His illusion held steady—he looked nothing like himself. His usual dark hair was dulled to an unremarkable long brown, his features subtly altered to blend in with the crowd. Beside him, Tristan lounged with an air of practiced ease, their illusion weaving the form of a hooded traveler with sharp, hawk-like eyes. They played the role well—silent, watchful, forgettable.
But something felt wrong.
Zaid could see it in the air—the way the candlelight flickered unnaturally, the faint, nearly imperceptible warping of shadows in the corners of the room. It was subtle, but undeniable. Magic was shifting.
Tristan shifted beside him, tilting their head ever so slightly. Their voice, when it came, was low, unreadable to anyone but Zaid.
"You feel it too."
Zaid exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening on the tankard.
"Yeah."
They had come here to gather information—to dig into the whispers about Ivy's framing without raising suspicion. A few well-placed questions, a few shared drinks, and people had started talking.
The council had pushed for Ivy’s execution swiftly. Too swiftly. There had been no real investigation, no attempt at questioning beyond the forced confession. It had all been orchestrated. A setup.
But by whom?
Riya, obviously. Zaid had no doubts. But was she the only one pulling the strings?
Zaid should have been focused on this. But instead, the unease in his chest grew heavier, like a hand pressing against his ribs. Something in the air felt off. Like a shifting current before a storm.
Tristan’s fingers tapped once against the table. A silent signal.
We should leave.
Zaid nodded, pushing back his chair. As they stood, his eyes swept over the tavern one last time—then stopped.
His stomach dropped.
"Where’s Ivy?"
Tristan stiffened. They had left her back at the inn, safely hidden away. She wouldn’t have wandered off. She knew how dangerous this city was for her to be alone. Especially with the illusion spell that could flicker with emotions.
Wouldn’t she?
Their eyes met, and in the next instant, they were moving, shoving past the drunks and merchants, slipping through the crowded streets as their illusions held firm.
The magic in the air felt heavier now.
Darker.
Tristan’s voice was sharp in Zaid’s mind.
"She wouldn't be that reckless... Right?"
But even as they said it, doubt clouded their tone.
Zaid’s pulse pounded in his ears as they reached the edges of the city, where the streets darkened and the noise of the crowds faded into silence.
No sign of her.
Maybe their camp?
No, the camp was empty when they arrived.
The fire had burned low, embers glowing weakly. Ivy’s cloak was missing. Her rapier was gone. She was not returned to the camp.
Zaid clenched his fists.
"Dammit, Ivy!"
Tristan stepped forward, their form flickering ever so slightly as they reached out with their senses. The shifting darkness in the air trembled—something distant, something watching.
Then it clicked. Along the smore from afar and the scent of sulfur.
Zaid’s breath caught in his throat.
"She wouldn’t have."
But she would.
She would.
She had been restless. Angry ever since she heard the word spreading.
She had been listening too closely to the cries of her people. She had always been reckless.
And now she was gone.
The realization hit like ice in his veins.
"Tristan...?"
"Oh no. I know that tone..." Tristan’s voice was quiet. "She went to the dragon."
Zaid cursed under his breath.
They had to find her. Fast.
The cave loomed ahead, a dark maw in the mountainside. Ivy’s heart pounded as she stepped forward, blade drawn, its edge humming with the unnatural power of dragon-slaying magic. The air was thick, pressing against her lungs like an unseen force. It took a lot of bravery to walk forward, but she knew she had to. She took a deep breath and she started going to face the one responsible of Silverglade’s suffering.
And once she reached it…The cave reeked of death.
Scattered across the entrance were remnants of a battle long lost. Shattered swords lay among cracked shields, their once-proud insignias now barely visible beneath the layers of dried blood and dirt. Helmets, some caved in, others still containing fragments of bone, rested beside rusted chainmail, half-melted as if scorched by an unholy fire. The ground was littered with blackened corpses, their flesh charred to the bone, some frozen in a grotesque mimicry of their final moments—mouths open in silent screams, fingers curled in agony.
Others had met a different fate. The deeper one looked, the more the remains shifted from burned husks to bodies torn apart by sheer force. Ribcages split open, limbs ripped from sockets, entrails spilled and long since rotted away, leaving only stains upon the stone. Claw marks raked across the walls, deep grooves carved into the very rock, telling a tale of frantic struggle before inevitable doom. The scent of scorched flesh and decay clung to the air, thick and suffocating, as if the cave itself refused to forget what had happened here.
And at the heart of it all, buried beneath rock and ruin, was the dragon’s hoard, gleaming with an eerie glow, untouched by time and death. The only thing truly alive in this tomb of the fallen.
For a moment, Ivy hurled as she held her own mouth, trying desperately not to vomit at the sight. Tears burned her eyes, the weight of it all crashing down on her like a hammer. One hundred men. One hundred of Silverglade’s own soldiers, sent to their deaths by Riya’s order. Their fate had been sealed the moment they marched toward the dragon’s den, doomed to be nothing more than ash and bone. A lump formed in her throat as she stumbled forward, her fingers trembling as she reached for a discarded crest of Silverglade, its emblem stained with soot and blood.
Her vision swam. These men had served her family. Some of them had likely trained in the same courtyards she had walked as a child, sworn to protect Silverglade with their lives. And they had. But not for their homeland. Not for justice. They had died for Riya’s ambition.
A choked sob forced its way past her lips. She wanted to turn away, to pretend this wasn’t real, but the truth stood before her in the scorched earth and shattered bodies. Her home had changed while she was gone. And these men had paid the price.
No, there was no time for that. Ivy swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, her trembling hands curling into fists. This massacre—this horror—had happened because of Riya's command. A hundred knights, her people, sentenced to die like this. Their armor shattered, their flesh charred, their bodies torn apart in ways too gruesome to bear.
Hatred burned in her chest, mingling with sorrow. Her hands clenched tighter, nails digging into her palms. She was their princess. She would not let this be the end. Justice had to be served, no matter what it took.
And then—movement.
A breath hitched in her throat as a pair of blue eyes slowly opened, locking onto her. They simply stared.
And so did she. In silence. As the anger brew inside her soul.
I was unseen for her, but the beast’s lips curled back slightly, though whether it was a smirk or a snarl. A warning.
The silence stretched after, thick with the weight of what was to come.
And then—
Nothing.
Neither moved. Neither spoke.
A moment balanced on the edge of a blade… Until…
A sharp exhale broke the silence. The scent of sulfur and smoke.
“So,” a deep voice rumbled, laced with amusement. “Another one.”
“Y-You can…talk?!”
“Of course I can talk, sweetheart…” The dragon’s voice dripped with condescension and mockery; his gaze unwavering. “I simply choose not to when the company is dull.”
Wings unfurled from the shadows, claws scraped against stone, and as the dragon stepped into the dim light filtering from the cave’s entrance, Ivy’s stomach clenched. Green scales. Massive horns. An x-shaped scar over his left eye.
That was, indeed, a green dragon. In full splendor as she stared to it in all her 26 years of life she has been in this world. She could see it clearly. A beast that few people has ever seen up close as she is.
And yet…She couldn’t focus on such rare sight. Not with what that beast has done.
The monster responsible for the destruction of her home. Her people.
The dragon tilted his head, eyes scanning her form with something bordering on disappointment. “You’re not wearing armor, and you’re alone. This is insulting.”
How dare he…?!
Ivy’s grip tightened around her sword. “You destroyed my home.”
A low, dark chuckle escaped the beast. “Your home?” His gaze sharpened. “Ah… so you’re still clinging to that.”
The way he said it made her blood boil. But then, something shifted in his expression. He took a slow breath. Ivy stiffened.
Recognition flickered in his blue eyes.
“No… you’re not just some grieving fool.” His nostrils flared. “You’re her, aren’t you?” His lips curled into a cruel grin. “The lost princess. I thought you had died. The words have said so.”
“I am far from that!” Ivy raised her blade. “And I won’t die before I see you fall first!”
The creature huffed, stepping forward. “Oh, I see now. A thirst for justice at last.” His tone turned mocking. “Tell me, Princess… do you think slaying a dragon will make you a heroine? Do you think your people will welcome you back after they condemned you to die?” His gaze burned into her. “Do you want them to worship you again? To feed your fragile ego? Your thirst of validation?”
Ivy’s knuckles went white. “You—”
His gaze narrowed in a dark expression.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
The dragon lunged. Claws scraped against stone, and Ivy barely rolled aside. He wasn’t even trying. He was toying with her. He let her strike, let her think she had a chance—but none of her attacks landed. Even with the dragon-slaying magic coursing through her blade, the dragon evaded each swing with effortless grace, his expression a mix of boredom and irritation.
“You’re weak,” he sneered. “All this time hiding, and now you think you can waltz in and slay me?” His voice dropped to a growl. “You should’ve stayed missing. Perhaps even dead… You have more value as a memory than as this pathetic thing standing before me.”
With a single swipe of his tail, Ivy was sent sprawling. Her sword clattered to the ground as she gasped for breath, pain searing through her limbs. The dragon loomed over her, fire flickering in his throat.
“N-No…! I can’t…I can’t fail them!” She coughed due the force of the impact.
“If you care so much about your people…” The beast's voice was low, mocking. “Then you are welcome to join them… in death.”
Flames surged toward her.
Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. The heat roared, a blistering wave of fire racing to consume her. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to shield herself, but she could only watch—frozen, powerless—as death came for her.
She screamed.
But the fire never touched her.
She saw it happen in slow motion. The flames twisted, curled, and—diverted. As if an unseen force had commanded them away from her. The inferno, once aimed to engulf her, splintered at the last moment, bending mid-air and veering off course. The fire streaked past her, the heat licking her skin without a single burn, before hurling itself back at the dragon.
The beast let out a startled snarl as his own flames slammed into his face, forcing him to rear back. His wings snapped open, kicking up ash and embers. For a moment, genuine surprise flickered in those piercing blue eyes. His lips curled, more in intrigue than fury. A human had redirected dragonfire. Not only that—but had countered it.
'Impossible.'
Ivy whirled around, her pulse hammering against her ribs, searching for the one responsible. And there, standing firm despite the raging heat, was—
“Zaid…?”
The warlock stood between them, his outstretched hand still crackling with lingering flames. His amber-flaring eyes burned with focus, jaw set in determination. He had come for her. To stop her. To save her.
“Ivy. You need. To Calm. Down! We need to go!” His voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of adrenaline. “Believe me! Not even trained knights could take down a dragon, and you won’t either! I get it! But it won't work!”
A hand touched her shoulder—Tristan, frantic and checking her over. “Are you hurt?! We have to leave, now!” Tristan’s voice was laced with urgency.
But Ivy barely registered their words. Her head snapped back toward the dragon, her fury still roaring louder than her fear. She would not run. Not after what he had done.
“He KILLED them, Zaid!” she screamed, shoving herself to her feet.
The dragon exhaled sharply, shaking off the last embers that had dared to challenge him. His expression flickered with something unreadable before settling into a smirk.
Perhaps, just for amusement of himself, with that the warlock was showed, he could give them a chance to flee.
“You should listen to them, Princess. They just saved your life.” His voice, deep and silken with amusement, carried an unshaken confidence. “Not like you could’ve done anything regardless. Even with the infused weapon you carry.”
Ivy’s rage snapped.
“You act like my being here is pointless?! After you ruined so many lives?!”
“Ivy, I get your anger, but—” Tristan gulped.
“No! Tristan! Just...Look at that beast! The things he has brought?! But what would a dragon know?!” she spat, shaking. “You only care about yourself and your greed! Of course you think this is pointless! There’s no way a monster like you could ever care about anything or anyone else!”
And then—everything changed.
For the first time, the smirk on the beast vanished.
The cavern, already thick with heat, became unbearable. The very air seemed to shrink around them, suffocating, pressing against their skin like a tangible force. The soft flicker of the remaining flames that had lined the cavern walls extinguished in an instant, snuffed out by the presence of something far more ancient, far more powerful.
The beast’s piercing blue eyes darkened, shifting from cold amusement to something unreadable, something lethal.
Zaid and Tristan tensed. Every instinct screamed danger— for them to run.
Ivy barely noticed. She was too caught in her rage to see the way the dragon’s claws flexed against the stone, how his wings slowly unfurled, shadows stretching long behind him like the specter of death itself.
What her words did.
Because her words weren’t just about Silverglade anymore.
They were about something else.
Someone else.
A man. A human. Someone who had reached out to a dragon with a kind hand and a warm smile.
A man who had spoken his name with no fear, no malice. Who had stood beside him, treated him as more than just a beast. The dragon could still hear his voice in his mind.
‘Hey, Spence…’
Ivy didn’t know what she had just awakened.
She didn’t notice the way the cavern seemed smaller now, how the dragon seemed to expand, his presence suffocating, filling every inch of space until it was just them and him and the unspoken promise of annihilation.
But she did notice when he spoke.
"The only reason you are still alive, Princess" The dragon rumbled, his voice no longer teasing, no longer amused, but a low, menacing growl vibrating through the cavern, "is because I found your bravery—bordering into stupidity—mildly entertaining."
His pupils had thinned into razor-sharp slits, his nostrils flaring as embers crackled between his bared fangs.
"Along with your warlock’s capabilities, it was an… amusing show...”
His gaze flicked to Zaid for a split second, a grudging acknowledgment of the fire-wielder’s skill.
“But now…"
The cavern trembled. Rock dust trickled from the ceiling.
"Playtime is over."
The roar that followed shattered the air.
It wasn’t a sound meant for intimidation. It wasn’t a warning. It was the kind of sound that sent creatures running for their lives, that once heralded destruction and calamity. The kind of roar that had once silenced entire armies before the fire even reached them.
Ivy’s blood ran cold.
She had angered a dragon.
"OH, HELL NO!" Zaid’s voice cut through the paralysis. "TRISTAN, IVY, WE'RE LEAVING—NOW!"
The warlock urged them closer as he slammed his hands together, and in an instant, fire erupted from his palms, taking form—a great firebird, wings spread wide, summoned by his magic. The spectral flames burst outward, scooping them up in a fiery embrace. The heat of its wings was almost comforting compared to the burning rage radiating from the dragon behind them.
Then—they shot forward, the bird taking them away from the cave in a flare of golden and red flames.
For a second, Ivy believed it was over. Dragons were territorial. He had claimed this cave as his own. Surely, surely, he wouldn’t leave it. That’s how dragons worked, right? They never left their lairs just to hunt someone down—
Then she heard it.
The snap of massive wings unfolding. The boom of air displacement.
The shriek of talons scraping against stone as the beast launched into the air.
He was chasing them.
"Oh...'" Ivy was barely able to utter.
“He’s COMING AFTER US?!” Tristan’s voice cracked as the demon saw the nightmare sight behind them.
"Oh, that mother fucker!" Zaid gritted his teeth. "Everyone! Hold on tight!"
The firebird streaked toward the cave entrance, the wind howling past them. But the dragon was gaining.
His wings were a blur of motion, his powerful body cutting through the air with predatory precision. The firebird was fast, but the green dragon was faster—his sheer size made the distance between them a joke.
And worst of all?
He wasn’t breathing fire.
He was waiting.
Waiting to get close enough to tear them apart with his own claws.
He. Wanted. Blood.
His talons glinted as he stretched them forward, reaching—
“Tristan! Make a smokescreen, now!” Zaid told to his friend.
The demon nodded as they extended their hands, a black mist pouring from them, at least to keep the dragon away for some seconds more…!
But it just took one shake of his wings to get rid of it.
“Zaid?!” Ivy voice cracked as she could see their own reflection in the dragon’s eyes with how close it was.
“One last spell…!”
Zaid poured the last of his mana into one final spell.
“Oh, threads of the arcane in your might, get us away from the dragon’s sight!”
A sigil ignited in the air before them, a brilliant tear of golden light ripping through reality itself.
"Go!" he roared.
The firebird plunged through the rift just as the beast’s jaws snapped shut.
And then—
They were gone.
The dragon skidded to a halt mid-air, his wings flaring wide as he let out a furious snarl, embers swirling from his nostrils. The air crackled with lingering magic. The rift was gone.
He hovered there for a moment, his chest heaving, his tail lashing in agitation.
They had escaped.
But this wasn’t over.
His slitted eyes narrowed as he stared at the empty sky, a deep growl rumbling from his throat.
Oh no, this wasn’t over at all.