Smoke curled into the dark sky, thick enough to blot out the moon.
Dead bodies littered the streets.
Knights, royals, commoners, even horses. The once-proud city now burned in ruin.
The ground trembled as fire devoured the city.
Houses crumbled, their wooden beams collapsing with a sickening crack. The air was filled with the scent of burning flesh and the desperate cries of those still running for their lives.
"Run!" a soldier shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the roar that followed.
The roar wasn't human.
Flames swept through the streets like an ocean wave, turning soldiers and commoners alike into silhouettes swallowed by light. Amidst the chaos, a woman clutched her daughter close, her arms trembling as she tried to push through the stampede of bodies.
"Mother, I'm scared!" the little girl cried.
"I know, sweetheart, hold on—!"
Another explosion shook the ground. The force sent the mother sprawling, and her grip slipped. The child tumbled away, rolling across the cobblestone.
"LINA!"
The mother's voice cracked, but before she could reach her, a strong hand seized her wrist.
"Don't! You'll die if you go back!" a man barked, his armor dented, blood staining his sleeve. He was a knight—one of the few still standing.
"My daughter's there!"
"I'm sorry!" he said, pulling her back as she struggled, her screams echoing in the firestorm.
"Mama!!"
The little girl's voice cracked.
Small and terrified, she rose to her feet on trembling legs. The air shimmered with heat. She turned just in time to see the upper floors of a burning house sway dangerously. Her pupils shrank.
It was falling toward her.
Lina froze.
A sudden rush of wind cut through the roar of the flames. A silver streak shot past her, followed by the clang of steel cleaving through wood. The falling rubble split apart and crashed harmlessly around her.
The woman who landed in front of her wasn't a normal soldier. Her long brown hair was tied back, her armor lighter and more fitted for movement. She turned to the girl, eyes sharp but warm.
"Can you stand?" she asked gently.
Lina nodded shakily.
"Good." The knight turned sharply. "Hector!"
Lina turned as a man approached—a tall knight with blond hair and a scar cutting down across his left eye.
"Get her out of here," he ordered one of the guards who came running behind him. "Evacuate everyone you can to the western hill. Move!"
The guard saluted and lifted Lina into his arms. The girl looked back one last time, watching as the woman knight-Lila- swinged her blade to remove the rubble.
Hector turned to Lila beside him.
Her sword was still in hand, gleaming in the light of the burning city. "You think he's still alive?" she asked, half a smirk on her lips.
"If it's Lucien," Hector replied, resting his blade on his shoulder, "he's probably coughing up blood and complaining while saving half the city."
He pointed to his face, "Did you forget who gave me this scar?"
She smirked, punching his chest lightly. "You mean the time you lost to a sickly brat?"
"Exactly."
Lila let out a short laugh despite the chaos. "He'd better not die before I get to punch him for that."
Hector chuckled. "That's the spirit."
Nearby, a soft glow bloomed.
A woman in white knelt beside the injured, her silver-blond hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Her expression was calm, almost serene, as her hands hovered over a soldier's burned arm. Light poured from her palms, warm and gentle, knitting flesh back together.
The Saintess had arrived.
"Easy," Saintess Rihanna murmured, her voice steady despite the chaos. "You'll live."
Around her, panic eased—if only a little.
Further down the street, a tall figure stood amidst the stampede, his presence commanding without effort.
"This way!" the Duke of the North barked, his voice cutting through the screams. "Move to the outer gates—don't stop!"
Duke Aether von Varvien hauled debris aside with brute force, shoving civilians behind him as fire licked at shattered stone. His cloak was scorched, his armor cracked, but his movements were relentless.
"Why now…" he muttered under his breath, jaw tight. "Why did the dragon have to awaken now?"
He looked up as a deafening roar split the sky.
The ground shook. Roofs ripped away as a shadow blotted out what little light remained.
When the flames parted, it appeared.
A dragon—massive, crimson-scaled, its wings wide enough to block out the horizon. Each beat of its wings stirred a storm of fire and ash. Its eyes burned black, bottomless and cruel, as it let out another roar that sent shockwaves through the city.
Men and women dropped to their knees in despair.
And then, amidst the falling ash, a figure appeared.
He hovered above the burning rooftops, his boots resting on a platform of blue light, golden magic wings unfurling from his back. His coat was torn, one sleeve blood-stained, but his eyes—bright gold—were steady. A faint smirk curved his lips despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
The figure raised his sword.
"So this is what you've been hiding behind all this time," he said, his tone dry, almost bored.
The dragon laughed, deep and rumbling, flames twisting in its wake.
It hadn't expected this vermin to appear.
But oh… this was interesting.
Its voice slithered through the air, venomous and cold.
"Lucien Carl Varvien…"
The dragon hissed, it's voice dripping with venom.
"What a distasteful creature," it continued.
"A fragile human dares stand before me? You could not even fill the shadow of my claw!"
Lucien tilted his head lazily. "You talk too much."
The dragon snarled, sweeping one enormous claw toward him. Lucien darted upward, slashing downward as the air itself split with a shockwave. The beast roared as blood sprayed from a clean wound across its foreleg.
Below them, the city shook from the impact.
Lucien steadied himself midair, brushing soot from his shoulder. "You should get that looked at," he said casually. "I'd recommend a doctor… oh wait, you burned them all."
The dragon's growl deepened, shaking the clouds. "Mock me all you wish, little boy. You will fall like the rest!"
A blast of fire exploded from its throat. Lucien's wings flared as he cut through the blaze, splitting it apart with one elegant swing. His expression didn't even flicker.
"Still can't hit me," he murmured, landing lightly on a tower's edge that was already half-destroyed.
The dragon glared down. "Without that sword, you are nothing!"
Lucien twirled the sword lazily, then smiled.
"This?" He glanced at the weapon, its edge glimmering faintly with blue light. "A gift from my brother. Forged from the strongest iron, blessed by the Saintess herself. You could call it divine, and probably worth a small country."
He paused, sheathing it.
"But I wouldn't waste a divine weapon on something as ugly as you."
The dragon's fury ignited, its body swelling with dark flame. "You insolent mortal!"
Lucien only tilted his head. "That's new. Usually they call me sick, not insolent."
"You—!"
The dragon roared and launched a column of fire. Lucien sliced through it with a single arc, the flames parting like silk. Sparks glimmered across his golden wings as he raised his hand.
A glowing blue sphere of magic formed at his fingertips, humming with quiet power. The heat from it was enough to make the nearby flames tremble.
"You know," Lucien said, his voice steady as the heat distorted around him, "you might be right."
The dragon snarled. "About what?"
"I am sick."
The dragon's eyes narrowed. "Then die with that sickness—"
"But—" Lucien's smirk returned as the sphere floated toward the dragon, stopping right in front of its chest.
Lucien's smirk widened, faintly mocking.
"But I never said I was weak."
He snapped his fingers.
The sphere expanded, swallowing the world in blinding light.
The explosion tore through the sky, shaking the heavens. The dragon's final roar was lost in the blast as fire and lightning collided, painting the burning city gold for one, brief, beautiful moment, the entire world was light.
When it cleared, Lucien hovered amidst the drifting ash, chest heaving. Blood slid down his chin as he coughed softly, wiping it away with the back of his glove.
He looked down at the burning capital — the kingdom in ruins, the dragon's roar fading into silence.
A weary grin crossed his lips.
"Well…" he muttered, voice hoarse. "Guess that settles it."
Cheers erupted the moment his boots touched the ground.
"Lucien!"
"He did it—!"
"Lucien! Lucien!"
"Hero of the capital"
"Our saviour"
Voices blurred together as people stumbled closer, wounded, soot-stained, alive because of him. Faces tilted upward in awe, relief, disbelief. Someone laughed through tears. Someone else dropped to their knees.
Lucien blinked, momentarily stunned.
Ah… so that's why they're looking at me like that.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
Ahead of him, a familiar group waited.
Duke Aether stood at the front, armor scorched and cracked, his posture rigid as his sharp eyes locked onto Lucien as if checking—again and again—that he was truly standing.
Beside him, Saintess Rihanna had risen from where she'd been tending the wounded, her hands still faintly glowing. Her calm expression faltered the moment she saw Lucien's pale face.
Lila leaned on her sword, exhaustion written into every line of her body—until she noticed him looking. Her lips curved into a relieved smile.
Hector, soot-streaked and bleeding, lifted one arm and waved enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot. "Oi! You alive over there, hero?"
Lucien let out a quiet huff.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Well," he murmured lightly, "they're definitely going to call me sick again after this."
He took a step toward them.
His body stopped.
The smile faded.
Something clenched painfully around his chest—tight, sharp, wrong. His breath caught halfway, refusing to move no matter how hard he tried. Lucien frowned faintly, confusion flickering across his face.
…That's odd.
The noise around him dulled, as if the world had sunk underwater.
"Lucien?"
The Duke's voice was closer now. Too sharp. Too alert.
Lucien tried to answer.
A violent cough ripped out of him.
Warm liquid splattered across his palm.
For a single heartbeat, he stared at it without comprehension.
Red.
Too red.
The cheers collapsed into silence.
Saintess Rihanna's eyes widened. "Lucien—"
His vision swam violently, the ground tilting beneath his feet. Lucien exhaled, the sound shaky, almost amused.
"…Huh," he muttered faintly. "Guess I really did overdo it."
His knees buckled.
"LUCIEN!"
The shout tore through the street—raw, panicked.
He felt himself falling backward, strength draining from his limbs as darkness swallowed the firelight, the ruined capital, the horrified faces rushing toward him.
The last thing he heard was his name.
"Lucien!"
"Lucien—!"
"LUCIEN!"
Then everything went black.