The wind howled through the darkness, a relentless force that chilled the world beneath a shroud of stormy clouds. He stood there, drenched in blood—his own and that of his enemies.
His once-shining armor was now tarnished, its gleam dulled by rust and gore. His sword, a weapon forged for honor, was caked with the remains of his latest conquest.
In his other hand, he held the severed head of a dragon—a monstrous, fearsome beast that had plagued the western village. Its lifeless eyes stared into the void, and its jagged scales gleamed dully in the dim light.
This was his job.
And he excelled at it.
The gates of the fortress creaked open as he approached, and the other knights streamed out to greet him. Gasps and murmurs filled the air as their eyes fell on the dragon's head, its dark, glistening scales a testament to the terror it once wrought.
No one hunted dragons better than him.
And no one hated dragons more than he did.
They had taken everything from him. Years ago, fire and fury had rained down on his village, reducing it to ash. His mother, his sister, his friends—every soul he loved—were consumed by the flames.
That day, the dragons had sealed their fate.
He would not rest until every last one of them was dead.
As Aiden approached the fortress, his family rushed out to greet him, a boisterous, loving crowd. His father, his mother, his sister, her husband, and his three triplet nephews—Ryan, Raven, and Rath—all beamed with excitement.
"Oh my goodness, Uncle! Is that…?" Ryan gasped, pointing at the dragon's severed head.
"It's huge!" Raven exclaimed, his mouth agape.
"It's scary…" Rath murmured, his wide eyes almost as big as his head.
Aiden chuckled and scooped up his three nephews, ruffling their hair. "Hello, little ones!" Their giggles lightened the weight in his chest.
"Welcome home, son," his father said, pride radiating from his rare smile.
"Thank you, Father." Aiden's voice softened, and for a moment, the tension in his heart eased.
His mother rushed forward, clasping his face between her hands and planting a kiss on his cheek. "My son! You look marvelous!" She laughed, her eyes shining. "Tell me, you didn't get hurt, did you?"
"Oh, Mama, I'm sure the dragon's the one who's hurt," his sister interjected with a dramatic eye roll, before grinning. "Welcome home, brother."
Aiden nodded, but the warmth in the air dimmed when his brother-in-law, Carter, clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome home, brother. Your damsel has been waiting."
Aiden stiffened as his eyes landed on Analise—a breathtakingly beautiful maiden who, despite being the heartthrob of the village, held no place in his affections. He'd made that clear to her many times.
"Why is she here?" Aiden muttered to Carter, his voice low.
Carter laughed, steering him toward the fortress. "What do you mean? Your mother's arranging a wedding between you two."
"What?" Aiden snapped, his shock barely contained.
"Yes. She insists the two of you share some kind of… connection." Carter grinned as they approached Analise, who stood waiting, poised but visibly uncomfortable.
Aiden swallowed his frustration as he greeted her with forced politeness. "Good day, my lady."
"Good day, sire," Analise replied stiffly, offering a tight smile. "Congratulations on your victory against the dragon plaguing the east."
Her discomfort mirrored his own. Perfect.
"Analise," he said, his tone sharper as he reached for her wrist.
"Y-Yes?" she stammered, startled by his sudden grip.
"A word," he said, tugging her to a quiet corner, away from the watchful eyes of his family.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, his voice low but laced with irritation.
She sighed, her composure cracking. "Your mother thinks I'm in love with you."
"Are you?" he shot back, his irritation deepening.
"No. Heck, I don't even like men, let alone you." She crossed her arms, her annoyance matching his.
He cleared his throat, arching a brow. "Well, that's… offensive."
She rolled her eyes. "Look, I'll just sneak away now and tell them I went home to help my mother."
"Your mother's dead," he said dryly.
"Oh, right. I meant my aunt." She turned and hurried out of the fortress, disappearing before anyone could notice her absence.
Aiden exhaled in relief, but his heart nearly stopped when his mother's voice cut through the silence behind him. "Where did she go?"
"She… uh… went home to help her aunt," he blurted, spinning around with a sheepish smile.
His mother studied him for a moment before nodding. "Right. Go wash up and come down for dinner."
"Yes, Mother." He let out a long breath as she walked away.
Mothers, he thought, were scarier than dragons.
Aiden retired to his chambers, leaving behind the warm buzz of the family room. The lively, comforting atmosphere felt foreign to him, a man accustomed to the cold, desolate caves of the wilderness.
For years, he had known nothing but the bitter chill, no food or water for days, and the constant vigilance required to stay alive. That was the life of a dragon hunter—a knight who had seen his entire team consumed by the flames in battles too harrowing to recount.
As he unbuckled his armor and set it aside, his gaze flickered to the mirror. The scars covering his body glinted faintly in the low light, each one a story of pain and survival. He smirked, though the expression lacked warmth. There wasn't a single patch of unmarred flesh on him. He was certain his appearance would terrify anyone foolish enough to get too close.
His eyes drifted to the warm bath prepared for him. He hesitated, unused to such luxuries, accustomed instead to icy, filthy waters in the harshest terrains. Tentatively, he dipped his fingers into the water and let out a rare, soft laugh. How strange it was to enjoy something so pleasant.
The bath soothed his aching muscles, and he let the grime of blood and sweat swirl away. When he stepped out, dripping and clad in only a towel, he caught his reflection in the mirror again.
Without the grime, his face emerged—sharp features, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes. He frowned, brushing his hand through his damp hair. One might even call him handsome, were it not for the scars crisscrossing his body, grim reminders of his past.
"No one could ever love this," he muttered to himself. His voice echoed in the empty room. He was a cold, bitter man, a soul as scarred as his body.
Pulling on his night tunic, he collapsed onto the soft bed, the mattress feather-light beneath him. The peace of it unnerved him. His body tensed even in relaxation, his mind refusing to let him rest.
The darkness came swiftly, engulfing him in suffocating tendrils.
Terrifying red eyes burned into his memory. The roar of flames filled his ears as his village burned. His mother's screams rang out, piercing and agonized. The flames consumed everything—his family, his home, his entire world.
Aiden bolted upright, drenched in a cold sweat.
Of course, he thought bitterly. If he wasn't teetering on the brink of death in reality, his mind would imagine it for him. Peace was a foreign concept, a cruel illusion.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose, reaching for his sword. He sharpened the blade under the silver glow of moonlight streaming through the window. The rhythmic scraping sound grounded him, gave him purpose.
As the blade gleamed brighter, something caught his eye. A figure moved in the shadows beyond the window, cloaked in red, gliding like a ghost.
Aiden froze, his gaze narrowing as the figure turned.
Moonlight illuminated a face as pale as snow, framed by long, silken white hair. Startlingly young, the figure could have just stepped into adulthood. Sharp, violet eyes locked onto Aiden's with an intensity that made his breath hitch.
They stared at each other, an unspoken current of awe and fear crackling in the air. The figure blinked, long white lashes brushing against its delicate cheekbones, and then it was gone.
Like it had never been there at all.