The Black Dragon Fortress – Grand Hall
Days after the confrontation, the Golden Legion, led by Zervanth, withdrew.
Alongside her retreated the demon lords Malzavir and Nezira, each returning to their own domain, burdened not by defeat alone—but by existential loss.
For Azariel, newly unsealed, had not fought them.
He had simply… spared them.
Without reason. Without mercy.
And that alone was enough to shatter their pride.
Zervanth, who once scoffed at ancient recordings—of a dragon kneeling four centuries beneath a half-human, half-demon hybrid—never imagined she would witness it herself.
But she did.
And in that moment, face-to-face with Azariel, she realized everything she believed in… was but a fragile shell.
The dragon race, once thought supreme, had been surpassed—effortlessly, mockingly.
Yet even amidst ruin… she earned something rare:
Recognition.
One glance from that being affirmed she was not a nobody.
And that was enough to resurrect her from ashes, to breathe fire back into her.
Now she stood, a storm of flame before the Queen of Dragons—the woman who had raised her to believe glory was birthright, that dragons were unconquerable.
The hall was still.
The throne of the Black Dragon gleamed in timeless luster,
Yet the queen's eyes bore only disappointment… and pity.
She still saw her daughter as a child.
A child who had just faced the first crack in the illusion of dragonic supremacy.
But Zervanth sought no comfort.
She shattered the silence with a voice that shook the chamber:
"If not for his mercy… I and the entire legion would lie buried beneath the earth."
Then louder, her tone transformed from a whispered confession into a commander's threat:
"I speak now not as your firstborn, but as commander of the Golden Legion, O Queen of Dragons.
How dare the bearer of the Black Flame send an elite squad to confront a being who—
with a mere wave—could sever our wings?
He did not move his lips. He bore no blade.
He simply commanded… and we were undone."
She paused. Her next words, quiet as a dagger's whisper, cut deeper:
"Yes… you can restore me with dragon's soul, for my noble remorse.
But my soldiers?
The ones who believed in me…
Who will return them to me?"
Her voice echoed through the hall—undeniable, immeasurable.
Zervanth, daughter of dragons, had spoken as an equal.
And for a fleeting moment… perhaps she truly was.
⸻
Kazpheryn, Queen of the Black Dragons, remained silent.
Her daughter's words were a bare truth that required no unraveling.
She gazed at her long…
How she had grown.
Then sighed, and spoke with a voice woven from regret and revelation:
"Do not underestimate our black blood, my daughter.
I know your faith has been broken…
in your forebears, your leaders, even in me.
But we were all born into an ancient ruin, and I… I birthed you into it.
That betrayal which buried our pride, our strength, our dominance—
It is the root of what we now endure."
She paused—
The memory of that treachery weighed on her tongue.
Then she continued:
"Azariel… the one you faced and survived, is proof of your strength.
Had I faced him in his full power, I would not claim certain victory.
But you…
If you reach your brilliance…
You might."
She never answered the question about sending the legion.
But all in the chamber understood—
helplessness… and despair.
And nothing is crueler than life when it drags the mighty into the realm of the powerless.
⸻
Northern Palace –
The King still slumbered, suspended between absence and waking.
His body floated and fell all at once,
while a voice—cold, suffocating—gnawed at his soul.
Hatred. Suppression.
From someone unknown.
Shattered dreams…
Familiar faces without names…
and a scream inside:
"Who are you? Who am I?
Where is the truth?
Guide me…
Time has betrayed me, crushed my patience, destroyed my soul."
Then—darkness broke.
He opened his eyes.
A warm weight pressed against his chest… familiar.
He was resting… in Azariel's arms.
He awakened in that same position, leaning into him.
And for the first time—
he felt peace.
The room was still. Fragrant. Sunlight poured in like a gentle spell.
In the corner sat Kray, her silence edged more by worry than fear.
Beside her, Lupera avoided Azariel's gaze—gaze that even ice dared not meet.
She searched for a reason why Kray remained composed… amid madness.
The King leaned back, attempting to rise—
but Azariel's arms gently pulled him back, whispering:
"Don't worry…
I've taken care of everything."
Just one sentence… and the weight fell from his chest.
He turned inward, sensing a new energy awakening in his body.
A pure aura pulsed—one of knights and honor.
"So in the end…
that one… was helping me in his own way,"
he murmured, understanding dawning—
yet hatred for needing help still burned within him.
He looked at his arm.
The tattoo had grown—
another ring.
"Seems there are… many more rings to come."
Then came the voice of the Blue Sovereign, silent until now:
"Indeed… and many trials.
Forgive my weakness.
I am but a piece on the board,
a messenger between you and those who decree, mend, and destroy."
The King had known that from the beginning…
But only now did the loathing deepen.
He stood, Azariel beside him, looking into a garden reborn—
birds singing, air swirling, flowers blooming.
He turned to Azariel, smiling warmly, and said:
"What can I say, when you're beside me?
What a shame it would be to say anything at all…
How shameful. How shameful."
⸻
Hours earlier –
Azariel carried the King through the scorched palace.
Servants dropped in terror, knights froze mid-breath.
Only Kray followed, unshaken.
He halted in the heart of the palace and spoke:
"Impose Purpose."
A vast magic circle bloomed, with Azariel at its center.
Arrows of radiant light shot outward—piercing minds.
In a single instant…
consciousness fled.
Then, the palace began to heal.
The fires died.
The walls rose.
Time itself bent backward—
not by force… but by submission.
Servants floated gently into their rooms.
Knights returned to their posts.
As if… nothing had ever happened.
⸻
Now –
From a distance, Kray and Lupera watched in stunned silence.
A child carved from stone… expressionless, lifeless.
And a being of pure killing instinct… smiling.
A nightmarish scene.
And yet—
Kray smiled back.
She stood, stepped forward, and embraced him:
"Noxfyr… my child.
Welcome back."
He returned the hug, whispering with a small smile:
"I… will always return."
The days of strangeness had passed.
The palace restored, as if time itself had erased the blood.
In solitude, the King sat in his study—
hunched over his notebook, as always.
But this time…
he wasn't alone.
Azariel sat beside him, silent, serene—
a presence that lightened a weight unseen.
No words. No movement.
Just silence, speaking louder than dialogue.
⸻
One day, a familiar voice knocked on the door:
"Noxfyr… we wish to speak with you."
It was Kray.
Before the King could reply—
Azariel snapped his fingers.
In a flash, Kray and Lupera appeared before the desk—
ripped from their place by spatial magic.
Lupera's pupils widened.
Her jaw clenched in quiet rage.
She said nothing.
The magic used was called Dimensional Void,
a spell reserved for teleportation—
never used on others unless by consent.
To use it forcibly…
was an insult to her very essence.
Lupera was no human.
She was a spiritual beast of legendary standing.
The insult was clear.
And worse—
days ago, Azariel had drained her mana without permission.
He had approached her, placed his hand atop her head, and said:
"I'll take a little… my little one."
She had snarled… but stayed silent.
And now, again…
silence.
Kray saw it all—
and chose silence too.
For judgment… would be reserved for the King.
He met her gaze—
no anger in his eyes.
Only disappointment.
Not because she was insulted—
but because she accepted it.
He despised weakness.
He scorned submission.
And in that moment, Lupera was both.
Still—
he knew her silence was not surrender,
but calculation.
She weighed gains and wounds.
Her pride would heal…
but her daughter, whom the King vowed to save—
would not survive her rage.
Silence reigned.
The King watched.
Azariel smiled softly, as if nothing occurred.
Until Kray broke the silence:
"Noxfyr…
I don't know what this creature beside you is,
nor the nature of your bond.
But from what I've seen—
he knows no ethics. Respects no principle.
I've followed you in silence… loyal, obedient.
But I cannot stay silent while my friend is humiliated.
Especially not when it doesn't come from you.
My silence… ends here."
At that moment, the King's lips curved into a cruel smile.
Rare pride flashed across his face.
He said, with a voice of noble command:
"Now… I can call you Mother.
You've earned the place—
in my mind and soul.
Your courage only added glory.
May my spirit shelter you in certainty,
and my eyes behold you…
as noble."
Kray felt it—
a title born of unending honor.
Her heart raced.
Sweat beaded her brow.
A foreign power merged with hers—
not conflicting, but completing.
The King never knew…
how much his words meant.
Nor the direct impact they carried.
A powerful being—knowing his power—
yet blind to its consequence.
And in that moment—
forces beyond fate and law
converged…
for one reason:
To stop the King's awareness—
for a single second.
One second.
To blind him…
lest he understand,
lest he exploit,
lest he create something
that could never be bound again.
Whatever force intervened…
paid dearly.
Because what it tried to suppress…
was a mind that breathes omnipotence…
and exhales dominion.
⸻
Hall of the Void –
In another plane of reality,
the Hall of the Void blazed in its eternal chaos.
But something had changed.
Every version, every incarnation, every reflection—
noticed what had been hidden from the King.
Even those indifferent… now turned their gaze.
All eyes gathered on a figure standing in the center.
Silent.
But observed.
Then, a voice echoed from nowhere—
from every direction at once:
"It seems this was never your little theater after all.
This wasn't a story to watch—
but one that writes itself.
And now I say this, from my place afar:
Whoever's playing with the King…
could play with you next,
Void Lord."
And in that moment—
the Void Lord's smile widened.
He reclined on his throne,
raised his hand…
A plate of sweets appeared.
He picked one.
Ate it slowly.
Eyes fixed on the gate…
… watching the King.