I could feel the tension between all of us as we walked—slow and steady—towards the place where the dragon would perhaps land.
The air was heavy. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Every footstep felt like it echoed louder than it should, crunching over old roots and brittle leaves as if the world itself was holding its breath. Makunishita walked slightly behind the Queen, his jaw tight, his staff pressed firmly to the earth. Duke was silent, his hand hovering near the hilt of his blade. And the Queen… gods, she was holding it together better than anyone else.
But I could feel it.
The way her fingers twitched beneath her sleeves.
The way her breaths, although steady, came just a fraction too fast.
She was anxious. Maybe afraid. Maybe remembering some ghost from the last time a dragon set foot near this village.
But her face? Stone. Regal. Tough and stoic, for the sake of her people. She carried herself like a mountain in motion, unyielding. A lie made to look like strength, if only to ease the men who followed.
I kept my distance at first, watching her out of the corner of my eye. The Queen may be one of the most powerful beings I've ever seen, but power doesn't make you invincible—not when you're facing something ancient, something unknown.
"Do you think it's scouting?" I asked, lowering my voice.
She didn't look at me when she answered.
"I think it knows we're coming," she said. "And it wants us to come."
That did not make me feel better.
Somewhere above the clouds, I felt it—just a flicker of presence. The kind that burns a name into the sky simply by being alive.
It was near. And descending.
We were running out of time.
And still... we walked forward.
Everyone knows a confrontation with an adult dragon can really turn bad quickly.
They weren't just apex predators—they were ancient calamities with scales.
They ruled an era before, truly. The stories passed down aren't just tales for campfire fear—they're warnings wrapped in myth. Even the great beings, spirits and archons alike, would tread carefully in their presence. Had it not been for the Fifth King's intervention—had he not slain the Dragonlord of that era and forged the Bloodsky Pact—who knows what would've become of the world?
That pact stopped the wars.
That pact gave us time.
A vow was made, and in blood no less, that dragons would never again bring ruin upon mortals unprovoked. A pact of honor… or fear.
But if a dragon ever chose to break that vow—if it remembered what it once was?
It would take more than a kingdom to stop it.
It was frightening, the thought of what they could still be capable of… if they decided to reclaim their old reign.
The wind shifted—harsh, sudden.
It didn't howl—it breathed.
A warm, unnatural gust swept across us, pushing our cloaks back, making the grass bend as if the very earth was bowing in anticipation.
The Queen stopped.
I stopped.
Everyone stopped.
And then she whispered, with barely a breath in her voice—
"Oh dear."
Why didn't I realize it before we came here?
My eyes darted wildly across the treeline, my breath ragged, sharp, catching in my throat as panic crawled up my spine.
"What is the matter?" Duke asked, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword, raising it with wary eyes.
"Are you sensing something?" the Queen asked, her voice low but firm, her own stance shifting now.
The forest was silent.
Too silent.
No birds. No insects. Not even the usual rustle of leaves stirred. It was as if the woods themselves were holding their breath.
"The dragon..." I whispered, "...was already here."
The weight of my words dropped like a blade.
Immediately, weapons were drawn. Eyes scanned the canopy and treeline in frantic waves. The guardians circled up instinctively, the Queen stepping closer toward the center.
"That's impossible," Duke exclaimed. "We can't miss something that size!"
"That's the point," I said, trembling now, "But what if… instead of us finding the dragon—"
"It found us first," the Queen finished grimly.
She raised her hand and the forest obeyed, silence falling like a curtain. Every step, every breath, every rustle stopped.
"I can't feel its presence anymore," she murmured. "It's hiding... perfectly."
A branch snapped suddenly to our left. We all flinched. Swords pointed, spells braced.
But it was just a bunny.
It ran, fleeing from something it had sensed far before we did.
Then something shifted behind me. No sound. No movement. Just a realization.
The trees behind me…
They had no shadow.
My heart sank.
Cold sweat trickled down my spine.
I turned.
Slowly.
And as I did, I saw the Queen's expression pale in real time. Duke gasped. The guardians froze in horror.
There, embedded in the woods themselves, its body blending with bark and stone like nature's cruel illusion… an enormous eye opened.
A single, glowing orb of gold—laced with red like molten rivers beneath volcanic glass.
It stared.
Unblinking.
Unmoving.
The dragon hadn't arrived.
It had been watching.
The entire time.
Silent.
Patient.
Predator.
I instinctively dropped to my knees, my body moving before thought could catch up. The sheer pressure… it wasn't just power. It was ancient. Sovereign.
A moment later, the others followed—every soldier, every mage, even Duke. And then, with quiet grace, the Queen herself bowed her head, one knee bending slightly in a gesture of modest respect.
The forest stood still as death.
The dragon's eye, massive and molten like a sun caged in flesh, watched us in silence.
Then—slowly—it blinked.
And with that single gesture, the illusion dissolved.
The bark-colored textures of its body began to flake away, falling like dried scales to the earth, revealing the beast beneath.
It was enormous—far larger than any adult dragon I had read or heard tales of. Abnormally big. Almost impossibly so.
Its scales were a blinding white, not pearlescent, but radiant in a way that seemed to shimmer faintly even in shade. Light didn't reflect off its body—it bent around it.
Four wings unfolded from its sides like cathedral arches, flexing outward with reverberating groans of old bones and tightly packed power. The wings were not only large—they were silent, regal, webbed in translucent membranes veined with pale gold.
And then… I noticed the tail.
Its tip was strange. No longer scaled like the rest of its body—it was transparent. Glass-like. Refracting the dappled sunlight into rainbow shards across the earth as it swayed.
The dragon raised its great head from the earth, its long neck pulling upward with fluid motion, revealing a maw that began to tremble.
Smoke gushed out between jagged teeth—each fang larger than a man's arm. The smell was metallic, burning, ancient.
Then it opened its mouth just slightly, and we saw it.
Its tongue.
Like the tip of its tail—transparent. Crystal-clear. A tongue like liquid glass shifting behind heat and shadow, flicking briefly as if tasting the air… or tasting us.
Its molten eyes settled on me.
My heart stopped.
And still, it said nothing.
It merely watched.
And we waited—bowed, breathless, and very, very small.
"Raise your heads," the dragon said, its voice laced with layered echoes—as though a chorus of men spoke in unison, some from distant halls, some from beneath the ground. "I am not here to fight, but to inform the Elven Queen of a matter that violates the ancient pact—against the order of the current Dragonlord."
We hesitated, still kneeling, still bound by the fear etched into our bones. But slowly, hesitantly, we obeyed. The Queen was the first to rise, her expression unreadable beneath the veils of silver hair that danced gently in the wind. Her voice, however, rang clear.
"I am the Elven Queen. Speak, and I will listen. What news do you bring, dragon?"
The dragon lowered its enormous head slightly—not quite a bow, but something close. Its molten eyes flickered once more across the trees, the hills, as though checking that no other presence followed it.
"I am Feroshi, the Dragon of Glass," it said. "And I come bearing grim news. The Dragonlord Kisharima... has slain the council of his own kind. The former Dragonlords are dead."
Gasps stirred among the guards. Even Duke went silent, his fingers twitching at the hilt of his sword.
"He plans to break the vow made in blood and ash—the one that ended the Dragon Liberation Era. Kisharima seeks to revive it, to unchain the fury of dragons upon the world once more. That is why I come. To warn you. To warn all."
The Queen's brows drew tight. "Why now? The pact has held for centuries—even the more temperamental Dragonlords abided. Why break it now?"
"Because no other remains to uphold it," Feroshi said with a voice like cracking glass. "Kisharima killed them. All of them. He now stands alone at the peak of our kind, and he no longer believes in balance. He sees your kind—all kinds—as stagnation."
Then, without further word, his great body began to shift.
It wasn't painful, or grotesque. It was… elegant. Almost quiet.
In a matter of heartbeats, the towering dragon of white and flame gave way to a tall, pale man, long-haired and barefoot upon the moss. His robe was white as moonlight, and his skin—still gleaming faintly—bore scale-like flecks of translucent crystal along his face and forearms. His features were sharp, graceful, and terribly sad.
He looked almost like a prince from a forgotten age.
"I must go to every kingdom," he said as he tied his long hair behind his head. "Of all the races, humans remain uninformed. I have no doubt Kisharima will target them first—they are fractured, distracted. And unprepared."
Then, something in his eyes darkened.
"Before I go," he continued softly, "allow me to give my condolences to your people. And also… regarding the youngling."
My breath caught.
"You saw its remains?" I asked.
He nodded solemnly. "The hatchling you may have encountered—the one you saw in your kingdom's ruins—was taken from our sanctuary. We searched endlessly. I found what was left of him only weeks ago, the cursed runes still clinging to his bones."
I swallowed hard. "I gave him a proper farewell. He deserved at least that. He wasn't in control. It wasn't his fault."
Feroshi's eyes softened slightly, but the sadness remained.
"Then you know of the markings," he said.
"The Queen and I both suspected something unnatural," I replied. "But… to hear you confirm it—"
The Queen stepped closer. "Do you know who engraved the runes?"
Feroshi looked away. "Not yet. But I know why. Someone—some thing—is turning our younglings into weapons. Brainwashing them with curses older than the pact itself. It takes time. And it's spreading."
My blood turned cold.
"Kisharima?" I asked.
"Perhaps. Or one of his cults. There are always those who wish to return to the age of flame and conquest."
He turned toward the rising wind, his robe fluttering like trailing wings.
"I cannot stay. If I do, he may sense me. But I have spoken the truth. Prepare your borders. Call your allies. For the Dragonlord no longer seeks coexistence. He seeks dominion."
And with that, the trees shimmered again—like light bending around heat—and Feroshi vanished into the wind.