The council chamber rang with accusation and panic. Nobles raised their voices until the air itself seemed ready to crack.
"The prince's ties to brigands cannot be hidden anymore!" one declared, slamming his palm against the polished table.
Another shot back, "No—this reeks of foreign sabotage! The treaty beast vanishes, a village destroyed, and now rumors spread in the capital before word even reached us? Tell me that is coincidence!"
Arlen stood quietly at the edge of the hall, observing, calculating. His face was calm, but his thoughts churned like storm tides.
No coincidence. No accident.
The nobles thought in terms of weakness, betrayal, or negligence. But Arlen saw the patterns. He always had.
Rumors too perfectly timed. Nobles receiving letters seeded with lies before official riders had even reached them. Whispers spreading among guilds and merchant houses with uncanny speed.
This was orchestration.
Not Kael—not the rogue Summoner who haunted his every step. This was something wider, older. An organization with reach and patience, one that thrived on making men fear shadows more than swords.
When the chamber threatened to dissolve into chaos, Arlen moved.
"Enough," he said sharply. His voice cut through the din, drawing eyes like a blade draws blood.
He looked each lord in the eye. "This is not failure of the prince. This is the work of those who would see Greyspire rot from within. Fear has been planted—carefully, deliberately. A corpse stolen, a treaty beast vanished, and whispers seeded among our people before the dust had even settled."
He let that sink in. Some shifted uncomfortably. Others frowned, considering.
Arlen's lips curved into the faintest smile. "This is not incompetence, my lords. It is war by other means. And if we fracture now, if we turn our blades inward, then those orchestrating this fear have already won."
Silence followed.
For a moment, Arlen let the quiet stretch, heavy and suffocating. Then he bowed slightly, hiding his true thoughts.
Kael, you are dangerous—but you are no spider weaving webs this vast. No, this reeks of something deeper. Whoever they are, they've shown their hand. And I will find them.
Far below Greyspire, where magma coursed through veins of black rock, a primal roar shook the dungeon's foundations.
Pyraflame soared above, its molten wings beating heavy gusts of heat. Below, the newborn titan lizard—hatched from the pulsing egg only days ago—slammed its obsidian-plated tail into a summoned golem. Stone exploded under the force, fragments scattering across the chamber.
On a platform carved from basalt, the little girl clapped her hands with unrestrained joy.
"Good! Megalania, you're so strong!"
The name had come to her instinctively, spoken with the certainty of a child who understood something far older than herself.
And the beast listened.
Already Megalania's body had grown, surging at a terrifying pace. Where once it had been the size of a large hound, now it stood taller than two men stacked atop one another, its scales jagged like volcanic glass, its eyes glowing with molten fire.
Kael watched from the shadows, arms folded.
Half the carcass consumed, and already its growth is unnatural. A Titan in truth, birthed from a Legendary carcass and sharpened by bloodline mutation…
The thought should have unsettled him. Instead, it filled him with grim certainty.
The girl wiped sweat from her brow and turned to him, grinning despite the heat. "Brother Kael—Megalania will protect us, won't he?"
Kael allowed the faintest nod. "If he continues like this, he will one day shake the earth."
Megalania roared again, the sound reverberating through the cavern, making even Pyraflame tilt its head in respect.
Kael looked at the girl, then at the beast. A Summoner and a Titan, bound together at the start of both their journeys.
Above, nobles tore themselves apart over shadows and rumors.
Below, in fire and stone, Kael was raising something that would one day make shadows irrelevant.
The royal carriage rattled along the cobblestone highway, its crest gleaming in the sun: the twin lions of the imperial house. Inside sat two women dressed in regal finery, their postures graceful, their eyes sharp.
The younger of the sisters glanced toward the horizon, lips curving into a calculating smile. "Two days more, then Greyspire shall be ours to pluck like a ripe fruit."
The knight captain riding alongside the carriage leaned close to the window. "Your Highnesses, we will arrive within forty-eight hours. All routes are clear, and advance heralds are already preparing your reception."
The older sister gave a soft laugh, her voice silk threaded with steel. "Good. Let the people see us come not as guests, but as heirs to destiny. Greyspire has been too long in our brother's shadow."
Word of their march had already reached the capital. And with it, the prince's temper had flared like a storm. Reports flowed in, whispers of nobles aligning with his sisters, rumors taking root in markets and guildhalls.
Arlen had delivered the news himself, watching the prince's hands tighten until his knuckles whitened.
"They dare," the prince spat. "On the heels of slander, they ride to capitalize?"
Arlen bowed, his face unreadable. "So it seems, Your Highness. Their timing is deliberate. The rumors weakened your stance, and now they come as saviors to a shaken land. It is…effective strategy."
The prince paced, fury radiating. "Then we must break their momentum. I will not see Greyspire slip from my grip."
Arlen's thoughts remained his own. Momentum is all they need. And perhaps…just perhaps…they are not acting alone.
Deep below, the dungeon stirred. Kael stood with arms crossed as Megalania squared off against a summoned foe—one of his own creations. A lesser wyvern, sleek-scaled and snarling, wings scraping against the basalt ceiling. Its presence radiated raw might, equal to the young lizard's own.
"Fight," Kael ordered simply.
The girl clung to the rail of the platform, her eyes wide with both awe and fear.
Megalania roared and lunged. The wyvern's claws scraped against its obsidian hide, sparks bursting as they locked in primal struggle. Fire clashed with scale, tail with wing.
But something shifted.
Kael's eyes narrowed as Megalania's dorsal spikes began to glow faintly, each one vibrating with a low hum. The beast's tail slammed into the ground, drawing not just its own fire but the surrounding mana itself.
The dungeon reacted violently. Lights in the walls flickered. The ambient flow of mana wavered, dropping like a tide sucked away before a storm. The girl staggered, clutching her chest as the air itself grew heavy.
Then—
With a deafening roar, Megalania arched its back, the spikes along its spine igniting with molten light. It expelled the gathered energy forward in a torrent of flame—no, more than flame. A concentrated lance of fire, white-hot, tearing through the wyvern and the cavern wall alike.
The wyvern shrieked once before its body crumbled into ash.
The cavern wall groaned. Then shattered.
Beyond the broken stone lay a hollow space—a cavern untouched by Kael's construction. Faint, ancient carvings glimmered along its surface, pulsing once as though awakened by the breach.
Kael's gaze sharpened.
Another secret buried beneath my dungeon?
The girl tugged at his cloak, voice trembling yet curious. "Brother Kael… what's in there?"
Megalania lowered its head, steam curling from its jaws. Its molten eyes fixed on the opening, a rumble echoing in its chest.
Kael stepped forward, shadows flickering around him.
"We'll find out."