The Serpent's Fall
Alric's rage was a simmering poison. The humiliation of being defeated by Lara and Eleanor, the sheer audacity of her defiance, had festered into a deep, burning hatred. He had watched them from a distance, a shadow among the mountains, but he knew they were out of his reach for now. His cunning, however, was as sharp as his claws. If he couldn't get to Lara directly, he would strike where it hurt the most: her old life, her supposed protectors, the very people who had cast her out. He would go back to the academy, to the elders, and expose their lies, their betrayal, and their monumental failure to control the prophecy. He would burn her world to the ground from the inside.
He arrived at the academy under the cloak of night, his human form a deceptive guise of calm. The moon cast long shadows across the familiar courtyards, and the very air hummed with the magical wards he had helped construct. He moved like a ghost, slipping past the patrols until he reached the inner sanctum, the very heart of the elders' power.
But he wasn't the only serpent in the nest. A figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path. It was Jorik, Lara's personal guard, his face a mask of grim determination. "I knew you would return, Alric," Jorik said, his voice low and steady. "You always were a coward, striking from the darkness."
Alric sneered, a flicker of dragon fire igniting in his eyes. "Brave words, Jorik. You're a loyal dog, aren't you? What is it you're protecting? The elders' fear? Their pathetic attempt to hide from the inevitable? The Princess of Fire is no longer their pawn. She has awakened, and she will tear this place apart."
Jorik's stance didn't waver. "She is my charge. And you will not poison her home with your lies. Not while I still draw breath."
The confrontation hung heavy in the air, a clash of two very different loyalties. Alric, driven by a twisted desire for power and revenge, and Jorik, motivated by a quiet, unyielding devotion to the girl he had been sworn to protect.
The Mad Dragon
Alric's control, always a fragile thing, began to crack. Jorik's words were like stones, chipping away at the carefully constructed facade of his sanity. The frustration of his failed mission, the humiliation of his defeat, and the unshakeable loyalty of this simple guard were a perfect storm.
"You're a fool!" Alric roared, his voice no longer human. "She is a walking disaster! A threat to us all! The elders knew it. They tried to stop it, but they were weak, and now it's too late!"
He lunged, not with a weapon, but with a torrent of raw, unbridled magic. Dark, swirling energy erupted from his hands, a wave of pure malevolence aimed at Jorik. But Jorik was ready. He met the assault with his own powerful dragon magic, a wall of bronze-colored light that held firm against the darkness.
Alric's rage intensified. He shifted, his body contorting and growing until he stood as a monstrous, shadowy dragon, a corrupted twin of the magnificent beasts of old. He was no longer trying to reason or manipulate; he was a force of pure destruction. His roars echoed through the academy halls, a sound of madness and unchecked fury.
"You will not stand in my way!" he bellowed, his voice a cacophony of thunder and fire. "She is coming! The Princess of Fire is coming, and she will bring with her the Prince of Shadow! They are the prophecy! The Twin Flames of destruction! And you, you insignificant guard, will die for your pathetic loyalty!"
With each word, Alric's magic grew wilder, a storm of shadow and fire that ravaged the courtyard. The academy wards began to flicker, unable to contain the sheer force of his madness. Jorik, standing in the eye of the storm, fought with every ounce of his strength, his loyalty a shield against the encroaching darkness. He knew he couldn't defeat Alric, not in this state. He could only hold him back, protect the elders, and buy time.
In the end, it was Alric's own power that betrayed him. The unchecked fury, the raw magic, was too much for his corrupted form to contain. A piercing scream ripped from his throat as the dark energy he wielded began to tear him apart from the inside. He was a dragon consuming himself, a fire burning with no purpose but its own destruction.
Just then, a figure emerged from the elders' chambers, a robed and ancient man who had heard the commotion. Elder Kaelen, the most powerful of the elders, saw the wild, uncontrolled magic and the corrupted dragon at its center. He raised a hand, and with a word of ancient power, a great net of golden light descended, ensnaring the rampaging dragon. Alric's monstrous form buckled, then shrank, collapsing into a twitching, broken human body, his flesh seared and his mind in tatters.
The Dungeon and the Truth
Alric was taken to a dungeon deep beneath the academy, a place meant to hold the most dangerous of magical threats. The cell was sealed with ancient wards that hummed with a power even Alric could not break. He was a prisoner, his body weak, his mind fractured, and his magic sealed away. But even in his madness, his delusions of grandeur remained.
"When I marry her," he would mumble to the guards, his voice a hoarse whisper. "When I am King of the dragons, I will tear this place down. The elders will beg for my mercy. She will be mine, and we will rule over all."
He was being tended to by a healer, a compassionate woman who saw the broken man beneath the monster. But even her magic could not mend his fractured mind. The poison of his rage had seeped too deep.
One evening, Jorik himself came to the cell, standing outside the golden bars, his face grim. Alric looked at him, his eyes wild and unfocused. "Jorik," he slurred. "My loyal guard. Soon you will serve me, too. When Lara is my queen, you will be my personal servant."
Jorik's voice was firm, a cold, sharp blade cutting through Alric's delirium. "You are wrong, Alric. You will never marry her. You are a fool."
Alric's eyes snapped into focus, a flash of his old hatred returning. "Lies! She is the Princess of Fire. I am the Prince of Shadow. We are fated. It is the prophecy!"
Jorik shook his head. "No. You are not her fated mate. You are a corrupt copy, a twisted mirror. The true Prince of Shadow is her brother. They are the Twin Flames, fated to rule together, to balance the worlds. But you will not be a part of their destiny."
The words hit Alric with the force of a physical blow. His face, already contorted with pain and madness, twisted further. A guttural scream, half rage and half agony, ripped from his throat. The truth, so long buried, was a poison far more potent than any magic he had ever wielded.
"And you are not the true King," Jorik continued, his voice a relentless hammer against Alric's delusions. "Lara's fated mate is the silent one, the prince of an ancient tribe , who has been watching over her since childhood. He is Hades, the rightful King, and he will claim his Queen. You were just a pawn, a serpent in a nest that you thought was yours."
Alric's world shattered. He was not a prince; he was nothing. His life had been a lie, his power a corruption, and his destiny a fantasy. The rage consumed him, but this time, it was a quiet fire that burned only within, a slow, agonizing descent into madness from which there would be no return. The truth was a poison, and it had finally done its work.