Leon stood frozen for a moment, unable to decipher the true meaning behind Constantine's whispered words. "I'm so tired."
Were they the deep resignation of a dragon finally ready to accept his destined end? Or had the Crimson Flame Dragon King, worn down by countless battles and betrayals, simply decided to relinquish the fight entirely? Perhaps, after losing everything and having it partially restored, he no longer possessed the will to involve himself in the struggles of this world.
Leon said nothing further. Standing in silence for a long moment, he finally turned and left, the crisp sound of his retreating footsteps echoing ominously down the sterile hallway.
Constantine waited until the noise had completely faded into silence before he slowly opened his eyes. His crimson gaze was weary.
Raising a heavy hand to his chest, he pressed his palm against the steady, forceful rhythm of his heartbeat. Yet, he knew this wasn't entirely his own heart anymore—it pulsed with a foreign, chaotic energy, artificially sustained by the lingering power of the Black Dragon Scale.
His hand tightened involuntarily, crumpling the fabric of his shirt over the scar. After a moment of tense stillness, he exhaled a deep, ragged breath and released his grip, his crimson eyes lifting toward the faint, dusty sunlight spilling through the room's single, small window.
"...Hefei..." he murmured, her name escaping his lips on a breath, carrying the weight of a silent prayer and a profound apology.
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Two Days Later
Near the Silver Dragon territory's scenic border, Constantine strode forward along a forest path. A large, bulging bag was slung over his left shoulder, and Hefei's small hand was held tightly in his right.
The bag was stuffed to the brim with all the toys, storybooks, and other frivolities she had once longed for but had never received from her previously distant father.
But despite this belated generosity, the little dragoness's face remained devoid of its usual joy, her steps listless.
"I thought buying you these things would cheer you up," Constantine said, his voice softer than usual.
Hefei paused, causing her father to glance back when she failed to keep pace.
"It's not about the toys or the sweets," she said hesitantly, her eyes downcast. "It's that you still haven't told me what's really wrong."
Constantine let out a slow sigh, the sound filled with a burden he couldn't share.
"There's nothing to tell," he replied, his tone deliberately flat.
But Hefei wasn't so easily swayed. She tugged her hand free, stopping firmly in her tracks. Her small body trembled slightly, and her voice was choked with suppressed emotion.
"You're lying. You think I can't tell?" Her tone cracked with frustration and fear. "You're giving me all these things now because you're going to leave me! For good!"
Her devastating words hung heavy in the quiet forest air.
Constantine immediately knelt before her, bringing himself to her eye level. His large, cool hand rested gently on her trembling head.
"Listen to me, Hefei," he said, his voice firm yet layered with deep emotion.
"But—"
"I am not leaving you. Not forever," he interrupted, his crimson eyes locking with hers. "Whatever happens, any parting between us will only ever be temporary. Do you understand?"
Her dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked up at him. Constantine's harsh gaze softened, a glimmer of something unspoken—a desperate hope—flashing through them.
"We will meet again," he promised, his voice unwavering and sure, "I swear it. When the sun rises again on another day."
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Later That Day
Constantine and Hefei arrived at the designated meeting point, a secure Silver Dragon outpost near the border.
At the edge of the sun-dappled clearing stood Rossweise, her long silver hair gleaming like polished metal, and Leon, waiting silently and steadfastly at her side.
"Go to her," Constantine said softly, releasing Hefei's hand.
But the little dragoness hesitated, glancing anxiously between her father and the waiting queen.
Constantine gave her a small, reassuring nod.
"Go on," he urged, giving her a gentle push forward.
Tears finally brimming over and tracing paths down her cheeks, Hefei ran toward Rossweise, who knelt and opened her arms, wrapping the girl in a tender, protective embrace.
Leon approached Constantine, his expression neutral but his eyes thoughtful.
"Are you sure about this?" Leon asked.
Constantine nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on his daughter.
"Her safety comes first. I can't predict what will happen during my official sentencing—or when the Black Dragon Scale's influence might resurface. I need her away from me, somewhere unquestionably safe."
Leon studied him for a long moment, then offered a rare, genuine smile.
"We'll take good care of her. You have my word."
The Crimson Flame Dragon King allowed a faint, grateful smile to cross his own lips.
"Thank you. I trust you, Leon. More than anyone else in this world."
Leon blinked at the raw honesty of the statement, both surprised and moved by the depth of trust from his former enemy.
"Take care of yourself, too, Constantine," Leon added earnestly.
For a long moment, Constantine remained silent, his gaze cast downward as if contemplating the weight of his future. Then, finally, he murmured in a low voice,
"Thank you."
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Several Hours Later
At the entrance to the Crimson Flame Dragon's grand, mountain sanctum, Constantine returned under the watchful eyes of the academy guards assigned to monitor him.
As they reached the massive, ornate doors, Constantine hesitated, his fiery red gaze narrowing as a faint, coppery scent wafted toward him—metallic, sharp, and unmistakable.
Blood.
Without a word of warning, he shoved the heavy doors open. The scene inside stopped him dead in his tracks.
The grand hall of his sanctum was a charnel house. The bodies of his clansmen, loyal Crimson Flame Dragons, lay strewn across the polished floor, their lifeblood pooling in dark, viscous puddles that reflected the torchlight.
The academy guards faltered behind him, their faces paling to a sickly white as they took in the scale of the massacre.
"How... how did this happen?" one of them stammered, voice trembling.
Before anyone could react further, a suffocating, tangible wave of pressure descended upon them, crushing the air from their lungs.
Constantine's dragon aura surged to its peak, an overwhelming force of pure, unbridled fury and bottomless grief. His body trembled with the effort to contain his rage as his gaze swept across the desecrated hall, finally settling on the royal throne at its center.
A figure, cloaked entirely in shifting black shadows, rose slowly from the throne, their face hidden deep beneath a hood.
"Who are you?!" one guard demanded, shaking off his fear to prepare an attack.
But before he could even strike, the guard and his comrades simultaneously collapsed, lifeless, without so much as a final cry. Their bodies hit the floor with a series of dull thuds.
Constantine's breath caught in his throat as the figure suddenly appeared directly before him, moving with ghostly, impossible swiftness.
"You..." Constantine growled, his teeth bared in a snarl of pure hatred.
"Shadow."
"Good," the figure murmured, their voice a low whisper that dripped with cruel amusement.
"You remember me. That saves us some time."
Constantine roared, a raw sound of anguish and rage, summoning a maelstrom of Crimson Flames to his hands. But before he could unleash his attack, an invisible, immense force slammed into him, pressing him brutally to the cold stone floor.
"Your strength is impressive," the Shadow mused, sounding almost bored, "But it was never truly yours to keep. It belongs to me now."
The Shadow raised a pale hand, and with a wrenching, tearing sensation, a surge of dark energy began to pour from Constantine's chest.
He howled in visceral agony as the Black Dragon Scale was forcibly torn from his very soul, its chaotic energy coalescing into a swirling orb of darkness in the Shadow's outstretched grasp.
The Shadow examined the glowing, pulsating black scale with a sinister, satisfied smile.
"Beautiful," he whispered to himself. "And now, I'll take back what else you stole from me."
With another casual gesture, the Shadow began extracting the shimmering, pure remnants of the Primordial Power Constantine had absorbed during his previous battles.
"Stop..." Constantine gasped, his strength fading rapidly, his vision dimming. "Stop... I'll... I'll kill you..."
"You'll try," the Shadow taunted, his laughter echoing coldly in the deathly silent hall as he systematically drained Constantine of everything—his power, his pride, his very life force.
When the Shadow left, he left only utter devastation in his wake.
Constantine's broken, lifeless-looking body lay motionless amidst the ruins of his sanctum and his clansmen, his chest barely rising with shallow, ragged breaths.
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Hours Later
A combined search party of Silver Dragon guards and academy officials carefully combed through the smoldering wreckage of the sanctum.
"Over here! I found him!" someone shouted, their voice tight with urgency.
Under layers of ash and stone debris, Constantine lay battered and burned, his magnificent crimson scales dull and cracked.
But nestled at his chest, faint but resilient, a single, small flame the color of pure white snow flickered stubbornly against the darkness.
One of the rescuers knelt, his eyes wide in awe and disbelief.
"By the ancients... Primordial Magic... It's Heartfire. He used the last of his life force to preserve his own core."
Another figure, a senior Silver Dragon official, stepped forward, gazing down at Constantine's fragile, preserved form.
The man spoke softly, his voice filled with newfound reverence:
"The Crimson Flame Dragon King... truly, saving him was the right choice."