From the low threshold of order 24, I had clawed my way to the peak—one step away from the high-legendaries. One more push, and I would become a High Legendary Lifeform, the base true powerhouse in the Starry Sky.
But before I dared to take that step, I would first complete a conquest I had once deemed impossible:
The unification of Tal.
Unfolding my titanic wings, I burst from the depths of the dragon pond, soaring through layers of enchanted sky barriers. I soared high into the sky, casting a massive shadow over the land below as dragons were training in their arena.
"Before I begin the conquest, I should have all my generals here."
The words slipped from his lips like a ritual invocation, low and resolute—yet the silence that followed was far louder.
The wind curled around him, tugging at the long edges of his mantle like a serpent whispering of past sins. Below the balcony, the valley burned with twilight, yet it was not the fading sun that heated my blood tonight.
No.
It was the thought of her.
The one he had denied longer than I dared admit—even to myself.
Her.
His first fire.
The sovereign flame from which his bloodline descended.
And the only wound he had never allowed to heal.
He had run from her not with steps, but with years.
Buried himself in wars, in rituals, in the comfort of conquest and the cold steel of power—anything to drown out the siren call that haunted him in her eyes.
Eyes that did not beg nor plead for long, but waited. Eyes that had never belonged to anyone… but had always lingered too long on him.
She had taken a form that mocked the gods. A sculpted homage to divine cruelty: dark hair cascading like raven's silk, skin pale as starlight upon obsidian, the silhouette of a warrior-queen forged in forgotten epochs. A body clothed not in armor, but in challenge.
A mirror of Scathach—yes—but more than imitation.
She was wrath wrapped in allure. Majesty dressed as temptation.
And she was meant to walk beside me.
Yet I have rejected her.
Not physically—no, I had always kept eyes on her.
But in spirit. In soul. In resolve.
Because deep down, a sliver of my old human self still clawed for control.
That small, pathetic shadow of morality… that whispered of taboo, of shame, of laws that were never written for creatures like them.
How many times had I felt her presence?
In the brush of heat down my spine? In the way the air thickened when she entered a room? In the dreams I pretended to forget—where her breath laced my neck, and her voice asked not for permission, but recognition?
He had labeled it madness.
But dragons do not go mad. They awaken.
I had mistaken my delay for discipline, my rejection for principle. But no—I was simply afraid. Afraid to admit that my blood called to hers. That the fire between us was not unnatural, but I wanted to.
Nine years.
Nine years of deep thoughts.
Nine years of watching her from afar, punishing myself with the purity of restraint.
But restraint was for mortals.
I was no longer human.
And whatever part of me still clung to that illusion... it will burn tonight.
She had always been mine—waiting in silence, like a crown unclaimed, a promise postponed.
But no longer.
The conquest of the world could wait.
It was time I conquered the last piece of myself—and in doing so, take back what fate had shaped for me alone.
So I flew as a massive door, hundreds of meters wide, appeared before me, and I vanished from the Dusk island.
---
The sky above the northeastern edge of the Tal Continent was a shattered dome of ash-gray and black clouds, swirling endlessly in a rage. It had not seen true sunlight in centuries. This was a cursed sky—where thunder no longer cracked but growled, as if some ancient god were forever on the verge of waking. Here, storms were not weather; they were law. A kingdom of ice and ruin ruled by frost and silence.
Below, glaciers rose like jagged fangs from the earth—immense, primal, and cruel. Their pale-blue peaks clawed upward, as if trying to pierce the skies and drag them down into the land. This land did not forgive. It did not forget. Snow didn't drift here—it hurled itself at the earth in blizzards sharp enough to strip flesh from bone. Only the mad, the monstrous, or the exiled could survive this realm. Fewer still could call it home.
Barbatos stood atop one of these peaks, a silhouette against the storm, motionless as a statue carved from void obsidian. He did not shiver. He did not blink. No breath fogged the frozen air before his maw. The cold here was not merely numbing—it was consuming. But it didn't touch him.
It couldn't.
His wings—vast, armored, and veined with glowing golden lines pulsing with unstable heat—were folded against his back like a cloak of living shadow. His black scales shimmered faintly in the dim light, marked by the same golden lines that whispered of energy, death, and dominion. His eyes, twin flames of crimson light, stared down from the summit, fixed on the structure far below.
There, nestled at the base of the cliffside like a fortress carved by man, lay the city.
A monument of ice stone, dragonmark, and frozen willpower. Its towers spiraled upward from the glacier itself, connected by serpentine bridges of frost-glass and darksteel. Pale-blue flames flickered atop its walls, refusing to die. Columns jutted from the frozen rock like ribs of some ancient beast, and enormous dragon statues guarded every gate—each carved in her image.
Her city.
"So this is what you've built, M*th€r…"
Barbatos did not speak with malice. Nor accusation. His voice was low, calm—like a warlord pondering the ruins of an ancient battlefield. There was something else in it, too. Not anger. Not longing. Curiosity. A quiet storm of questions with no answers.
Nine years. Nine years without a single message. Not even a flicker of magical presence during the war against the Demon Legions. Not when he razed the Southern Principalities. Not when he crowned himself Emperor of the world, forcing Throne to back down. She knew where he was. She always knew. And yet, she remained in this icy prison, alone.
Was it guilt? Punishment?
Or was it defiance?
He didn't know. But he would.
Barbatos didn't just want domination.
He wanted unity.
He wanted the flame that burned in his veins to be passed through the roots of the world, into every soul loyal to him. He wanted Lyanna — not just as an estranged M*th€r, but as a general, a queen, a symbol.
And, perhaps, something more.
With a thunderous rustle of wings, Barbatos descended.
---
Lyanna sat atop her throne of ice and ancient magic, sculpted from a glacier that predated mortal history. She did not speak. Her obsidian-black hair flowed like a midnight river behind her, caught in the cold wind that slithered unnaturally through the palace walls. Her face was still—calm, but far from at peace. She wore no crown, no cloak, no gaudy mantle. Her armor was a seamless bodysuit forged from the dragon hide of a White Dragon Beast and silver thread, etched with crimson runes that glowed faintly with suppressed power. It clung to her like a second skin, sculpting her silhouette into something both regal and lethal.
Around her stood twelve figures. Silent. Watchful. Not courtiers, nor family—former retainers of Barbatos himself. Given to her without condition. Without warning. Without a word. Soldiers. Assassins. Seers. Now, they were her only family in exile.
Her eyes opened.
"He comes," she said simply, and the frost trembled.
A gust of wind tore through the outer towers. Somewhere far below, a dragon roared in anguish or awe. One of the twelve—a slim, sharp-eyed goblin hybrid clad in frost-metal armor—stepped forward and bowed.
"Shall we prepare something, Lady Lyanna?"
Lyanna rose. Slowly. Gracefully. Unyielding.
"No. Prepare tea."
---
The throne room was a temple of ice and silence. Half of it was carved directly into the frozen mountain. The other half had been constructed through sheer will, bound in magic and shadow. Frost coated every surface. Crystals grew along the pillars like veins, pulsing softly. The chamber echoed with quiet, unnatural stillness.
Barbatos entered without fanfare.
He did not roar. He did not announce himself.
He simply walked.
Each step was a thunderclap against the cold stone, and yet he moved with the precision of a god who had nothing left to prove.
Lyanna sat on her throne like a queen carved from glacier and grief. She did not stand to greet him.
"Barbatos, my s*n," she said, her voice smooth and distant.
"M*th€r," he replied—not as a king, not as a ruler—but as her s*n.
They stared at one another. Not like family. Like titans recognizing their reflection in one another's shadow.
She gestured to the seat beside her throne. It was smaller, but not lower. Equal, but not familiar.
He took it.
"You've changed again," she said, her eyes tracing the new power burning faintly along his aura and body.
"So have you," he answered. "I expected a shattered exile. Instead, I found a sovereign."
Her lips curled faintly. "Perhaps the cold reminded me who I was. Or maybe I simply remembered what I was before I tried to be something else."
He looked around. "And what are you now?"
She turned her gaze outward, toward the world beyond the frost-glass windows.
"A dragon who no longer flees."
Barbatos stood and approached the balcony. The frozen sea below roiled in distant agony, heaving against the cliffs like some slumbering leviathan. His voice was low.
"Then why are you still here?"
"To fix what I broke."
He didn't answer.
She didn't explain.
The silence between them was an old wound—one that had never scarred.
"Nine years," she finally said. "You had wars to win."
"I did."
"You always had something more important than me."
He clenched his jaw. The accusation wasn't false.
But it wasn't fair either.
"I had everything because of you," he said quietly.
She rose, her aura flaring like a winter storm. Her presence expanded—not violent, but enormous. Unforgiving.
"Do you expect me to bow now, Barbatos? To return to your court as a decoration? A captured queen to parade around your loyal dogs as proof the mighty Dragon King can even tame his own M*th€r?"
"No," he said, stepping toward her. "I came to ask you to walk beside me. Not as a relic. Not as a burden. As my general. As my mate."
Her laugh was bitter. Wounded. Real.
"General? You command things far older and stronger than I. Your name alone moves continents. What would I be to you now, Barbatos? I'm just the dragoness who birthed you… and vanished."
"You didn't vanish," he said. "You survived. That's more than most."
She turned her back on him. He didn't move. Her voice, when it returned, was sharp as razors and quiet as snowfall.
"Why now?"
He answered without pause. "Because I am preparing to conquer the Realms Beyond. And I want you to be there."
She turned around fully now—stunned, disbelieving. He stepped closer, voice steady.
"You built this place. You command two hundred thousand dragonblooded monsters—descendants of the thirty thousand I once gave you. They already kneel to you. They obey you without question. But they are mine by blood and will. If I march upon this place, they will fall into rank without needing a word."
Her eyes narrowed. "So you intend to take the Tal Plane next. And after that?"
"All of them. Until only one Throne remains."
"You want to become the Supreme God."
"Yes," he said. "And I want you at my side. Not behind me. Beside me. General. Mate. M*th€r."
She stared at him. Her eyes trembled for the first time.
"I thought... you hated me."
"I didn't understand you. I thought I had to be cold to burn bright. But all I did was freeze the one person I should've kept warm."
A long silence passed. The cold didn't seem so sharp anymore.
Then, carefully, she stepped down from the dais.
"And if I say no?"
"Then you will remain here," he said. "And the Tal Plane will still fall under my shadow. But you will not stand beside me. You will simply... remain. Cold. Forgotten. A memory and when my army marches here"
Barbatos extended a hand — clawed, calloused, cracked from war.
Her breath hitched. Not from the cold.
From memory.
From fear.
From hope.
"Let's walk," she said softly.
---
The tunnels beneath the palace were ancient, older than any kingdom, carved by wyrms of legend and reinforced by magic and sorrow. The pair walked in silence at first, their footfalls echoing like ancient heartbeats through the ice.
The city was alive with frozen flame, but the outer walls were nearly deserted. M*th€r and s*n walked through ancient tunnels of ice and black metal. Neither spoke at first. They simply walked.
Finally, she asked, "Why now? After nine years?"
"Because the world is ready. And so am I. But I don't want to leave you behind after you are the one who brought me to this world."
"You sound like a human," she finally said, a half-scoff hiding something rawer.
"Maybe they taught me something worth keeping," he said with a faint smile.
"Hmph. I doubt that." Her pride was sharper than her tone.
She stopped.
"You rejected me."
He met her eyes. "Because I feared you. Not your power—your presence. You were always more than I could face."
"And now?"
He stepped close.
"Now, I can face anything. Even you. Even us."
She didn't speak.
But this time, she didn't turn away.
---
The sky above them remained an endless canvas of ashen clouds, a ceiling of sorrow casting a dull gray pall over the lifeless tundra. Winds screamed through shattered glaciers like ancient spirits mourning what had long since been lost.
Barbatos walked beside Lyanna in his humanoid form, his black cloak trailing like liquid shadow behind him. His draconic eyes burned dimly beneath the deep hood, reflecting the colorless world around them. His pace was steady, each step deliberate, as though the land itself had to respect his passage.
Beside him, Lyanna moved with quiet grace. Her boots crunched through the frozen crust of the earth. Her long hair, jet black streaked with silver like cracks in obsidian, was tightly braided down her back. Folded beneath her heavy fur-lined mantle were her wings—tucked away, restrained, but not forgotten. The one-piece white dress made white dragon beast she wore clung like a second skin, its flowing shape both elegant and dangerous.
They walked in silence. But it was not the silence of strangers, nor of awkwardness. It was the deep, ancient quiet of beings bound by blood, history, womb—and questions too heavy for mere words.
Barbatos broke the silence, voice calm but sharp, like a blade drawn slowly. "You knew I'd come for you."
Lyanna didn't look at him. Her crimson eyes were fixed in the distance. "Of course you would. After you conquered everything else… why not your past?" Her smile was faint, bitter, and familiar. "I would have done the same."
He chuckled. The sound was warm and dangerous. "You sound bitter."
"Am I not allowed to be? I raised you—barely, yes—but I did. And when you rose, you looked at me not as your M*th€r... but as a pawn on your board."
He stopped walking, his boots rooted in the frost. "And if I did? If I saw you then as a liability, it was because you were. You chose exile before the war began. You chose survival over battle."
She turned toward him, her crimson eyes narrowed to slits. "I chose peace, Barbatos. Is that a weakness to you now?"
He looked away, his gaze trailing over the bleak horizon. "Not weakness. Just... incompleteness."
Her expression didn't soften. The wind tugged at her braid. "So what now? Do you want an apology? A vow of loyalty? Surrender?"
Barbatos stepped forward, the heat radiating from his body pressing back the cold like a defiant hearth. "None of that. I want you to rise. I want you at my side—not beneath me, not behind me—as mine. As a general. As a Dragon who remembers what she is."
She looked away, the permafrost cracking slightly beneath her shifting weight. "You say that now, but I remember how you looked at me back then. Like I was something that needed to be silenced."
He was silent for a moment. Then: "I looked at you... like someone I couldn't afford to lean on."
His words struck deep, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she let out a dry, bitter laugh. "At least you're honest now."
He studied her closely. Even in this desolate cold, her presence was radiant. Not soft—never soft—but undeniable. Her dragon body bore scars, not just on the surface of her scales but etched deep into her spirit. She had endured. She had fought. And she had built something from the ashes.
"I've watched you," he said. "Your people thrive. Even here, in this wasteland of wind and frost. You kept them alive when no one else would. You protected them."
Lyanna's lips curled. "And you thought I was weak."
"I was wrong."
The words stilled her. She blinked once, then gave the smallest of smiles. "That's twice now you've surprised me. Don't make it a habit."
They resumed walking. This time, the silence felt heavier—like ice that had begun, at last, to crack.