Chapter 93: Little Flame...
For a heartbeat, Keiser didn’t move.
The implication struck him like a blow to the ribs. It was a well-known fact that dragons could recognize their own kind, their blood carried a resonance, a rhythm older than runescripting itself.
But dragonkin couldn’t. No wonder Tyron had been unable to sense it, he had only his memory of what the relic looked like to rely on.
But if she, the dragon child, could feel something... and it was sleeping...
Keiser exhaled through his teeth. "Here? Did we find it?" His eyes darted through the dark as he pushed forward, one hand outstretched to feel his way around. His fingers brushed against wooden crates, ones he was certain he’d already checked. Nothing. Just the same crates.
The dragon child huffed softly, guiding his hand toward where they stood. "Here..." she murmured.
Keiser looked down. In the darkness, it felt as though he were being pulled in, swallowed by it. The sensation was too familiar.
It was the same suffocating void he’d felt the day of the betrayal, when his sword had let him close his eyes for the last time. The same darkness. The same cold weight of steel pressing into his chest, holding him upright by the hilt.
That same feeling crawled up his spine now, and the thought, the one he’d been fighting to bury, began to gnaw at him again, refusing to let go.
This girl... this child, she was what his sword had once been. He hoped, no, he prayed, that he was wrong. Because if she truly was the dragon he thought she was, then every inch of the blade that had pierced his death, the steel at its core, the polished fragments of bone that shaped its hilt, had been her.
And that would mean he had carried her corpse while she breathed against his neck now.
He forced the bile back down his throat and muttered under his breath, "If that’s true, Gideon... " ’you fucking bastard,’"I’ll cut my own damn hand off, before I let myself held such a sword again."
The dragon child tilted her head, not catching any of the words he had said.
"It’s here," she murmured softly. "It’s sleeping. It doesn’t want to wake up yet."
Keiser shook his head, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth. "No, little flame," he said quietly, tension roughening his voice. "Whatever it is, it doesn’t sleep. It’s not human, it never was. It was supposed to be just a relic, something that merely felt familiar to yo---"
He barely had time to finish before the dragon child yanked hard on his hood. The sudden pull choked him mid-word, jerking his head back and dragging his steps a few steps back. "---u, damn it," he hissed, stumbling to catch his balance.
A second later, three sharp whooshes cut through the dark, slicing the air exactly where he would have stepped. Each sound was followed by the splintering crack of stone, fragments scattering across the ground. If he hadn’t been pulled back, if she hadn’t stopped him, those blades would have gone through his throat.
Keiser exhaled hard, forcing the burn in his lungs to settle. "Good catch, little flame," he muttered under his breath.
But the momentary relief vanished as fast as it came.
From somewhere deeper in the dark, he could hear the mage, muttering viciously under her breath, the burnt smell of runes thickening in the air. Seventh wasn’t giving up. Every few seconds, another flare of fire burst from her direction, painting the undercroft in frantic flashes of gold and shadow.
The dragon child on his back twitched, her tail curling tighter around his arm. "She’s angry," she murmured softly. "Like her screaming blades."
"Yeah," Keiser muttered dryly, sidestepping behind an overturned cage as another arc of blades crackled past, searing the wall beside him. "She’s not the only one."
The dragon child tugged his hood again, this time not to warn, but to direct him. She was pulling him somewhere else, deeper into the maze, her claws brushing against his neck as she leaned forward urgently. Keiser hesitated, frowning.
"Hey, wait," he said quietly, ducking low as they ran. "Not human, remember? You’re probably feeling something else. Tyron’s ahead, up the floor, but..."
"Not him," she interrupted, her voice firm, strange for someone so small. "You said something else. Not the Sleeping one either."
Overhead, the muffled screams and shouts grew louder, explosions rattling, the patter of boots and clash of steel echoing through the floors above. The sounds of sixth princess’ envoy, maybe. Or mercenaries. Or both. Either way, it meant time was running out.
The ground trembled faintly under his boots. Dust rained from the cracked ceiling. "Of course it’s getting worse," he muttered, his tone darkly amused.
Then his foot hit something heavy. He lurched forward, catching himself on one knee just as a low growl rumbled ahead. His dagger came up by instinct. In the flickering light of the blades runes, he saw the faint outline of a beast, massive, low to the ground, its ribs showing, eyes glinting faintly blue.
It bared its fangs, then stopped.
Keiser froze. The dragon child didn’t move, either. She simply tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing as a faint shimmer passed through the air.
The beast, let out a low, uneasy whine. Then, as if sensing something a predator, it lowered its head and backed away, vanishing into the dark.
Keiser exhaled, slow and deliberate. His heartbeat pounded hard enough to ache. "You didn’t spoke to it," he muttered.
The girl blinked at him. "Why would I?"
He almost laughed, half disbelief, half exasperation. "Because it could’ve attack us!"
She tilted her head again, her frilled ears twitching. "No. It knows me."
Keiser bit back his retort. That tone, the simplicity of it, wasn’t arrogance. It was truth. The beasts didn’t attack because they recognized her. Or worse, feared her.
He swallowed hard. He’s faced with the reality again, that she’s not just any dragon.
He forced his legs to move, pushing forward again, every step measured but tense. The child’s claws dug lightly into his shoulder, her tail swaying with each stride as she continued guiding him, tug to the left, pull to the right, a gentle tap when to duck.
"Little flame," he said under his breath, eyes flicking toward the faint shimmer of mana trails ahead, "next time you stop me, try not to choke me."
Her small giggle was almost out of place amidst everything. "You’re too slow."
He huffed, shaking his head. "You sound just like---" He cut himself off before the name Aisha left his tongue.
Another growl echoed nearby. He didn’t bother to look. The air was thick with mana, heat, and smoke. The dragon child didn’t flinch, so he didn’t either.
As they moved, Keiser’s thoughts turned grim again. The beasts were retreating from her, the mage was hunting them blind, and the mercenaries were tightening the noose. But more than that, the child was leading him somewhere. Somewhere she claimed wasn’t human, wasn’t Tyron, but something else.
Keiser slowed to a halt, his boots grinding against the debris-strewn floor. The air here was heavy with heat and the acrid tang of dust, smoke, and raw mana, the aftermath of chaos.
He’d found the center. The middle of the undercroft.
Where the largest cage had once stood.
Now the entire section was gone.
The ceiling above had collapsed completely, caving inward like a wound torn open. Shafts of blinding white light speared down from above, mana infused light, crackling faintly with unstable energy, searing through the haze. It was so bright it burned his eyes, forcing him to raise an arm to shield his face.
The stones around him glowed with runic residue, bleeding a dull green. Crates and cages had been flung everywhere, splintered wood and twisted metal scattered. The floor was fractured, parts of it caved inward while others jutted up in sharp, uneven angles.
And through that violent wreckage, Keiser saw them.
Up there.
Through the hole, one level above him, illuminated by the broken light.
The sixth princess.
She stood near the edge of the collapse, her wine dress shredded and darkened by what seems to be soot and blood. One side of her head glistened red, a cut that had painted her hair and shoulder in streaks of crimson, but her stance was steady, defiant even as her knees trembled.
Beside her, Tyron was helping her stand, one arm under hers, his other hand gripping something on his hand so tightly the veins stood out on his wrist. He looked pale, terrified, and yet unyielding.
Keiser’s breath caught. His gaze followed the direction they were both looking, not at him, but at someone across the crater.
Across from them, on the opposite edge of the ruined floor, stood Olga.
Her once perfect braids were undone, her leather armor torn at the shoulder, one knee braced against a fallen beam. Her bow was drawn, string taut, an arrow nocked and gleaming with mana light. She wasn’t aiming at beasts or mercenaries. She was aiming straight at...
"...Lenko," Keiser whispered.
The boy stood at other end of the crater, his stance uneven, one hand clutching his own ribs. He was shaking, eyes wide, but not from fear. Something else burned there. A strange, trembling light.
In his other hand, glowing faintly even through the grime and blood...
Was the heart.
Tyron’s mother’s heart.
The dragon’s heart.