She stared into the flame, the silence between them heavy but no longer hostile. The years had chipped away her rage but left behind a deep, frozen sorrow.
Finally, her voice came—low and resolute.
"Then I will fly with you, Barbatos. Until the sky burns. Until the stars scream."
He nodded, a grim satisfaction settling in his eyes.
"Then let them scream," he said. "Because they will remember us. And they will kneel."
And for the first time in years, the wind seemed to still.
Two black dragons had found each other.
---
"Let's go on a date, shall we?"
Lyanna's lips curled into a knowing smile—sultry, amused, and shadowed by that ancient longing she kept buried beneath centuries of frost. She didn't answer with words. She didn't need to. Her silence was rich with meaning as she reached out and squeezed my hand. Her clawed fingers, cold and elegant, entwined with mine.
With a pulse of spatial magic, the Wastes of Tal vanished in an instant.
Across oceans. Across riftwaters. Beyond all borders mortals or dragons dared to cross.
And just like that, we reappeared somewhere untouched.
Somewhere only I could find.
"Are you sure you can handle me?" she asked at last, her voice low and teasing, with a glint in her eyes that reminded me of obsidian kissed by firelight. Prideful and ancient, yet curious.
I didn't flinch. I held her hand tighter, grounding her—grounding myself. Our surroundings shimmered and shifted again, warping around the skill. In the blink of an eye, we arrived beneath twin moons on an land far removed from the chaos of Tal. No gods. No demons. No blood-soaked ambitions.
Just us.
Here, the air shimmered with floating mana particles that drifted like glowing snow. The land was alive with quiet magic. Midnight-blue grass blanketed the island, soft and luminous, glowing faintly under the crimson and silver moons that danced above. Strange flowers, black and amethyst, pulsed slowly with bioluminescence as if inhaling and exhaling in rhythm with the tides. A freshwater lake stretched wide and still, its mirror-like surface perfectly undisturbed, bordered by black crystal stones that sang when touched—a resonance of ancient power I had etched into them myself.
A warm breeze swept across the island, carrying the scent of blacklotus blooms, volcanic salt, and something older—something sacred.
The ground beneath us was obsidian glass, cooled and smooth, cracked with glowing veins of buried mana. Far beyond the cliffs, a crescent-shaped bay shimmered, painted in soft violet hues.
Lyanna blinked at the sight, her wings still hidden beneath her heavy travel cloak, but her expression broke for a moment—softening. Awe tugged at her lips, despite her effort to remain composed.
"This isn't part of Tal," she said finally.
"No," I said, watching her reaction closely. "This place doesn't belong to Tal. I ripped it from the edge of the Black Wing City—in a abyssal layer—and bent it to my will. Molded it with my own hands. I made it for us."
Her eyes narrowed with intrigue. "A hidden sanctuary for seduction?"
I smirked at her, unable to help myself. "For peace. And maybe just a little bit of seduction. If you're in the mood."
A small, amused breath escaped her. Her eyes, once full of old resentments, flickered with something gentler—something more dangerous. Hope.
We began walking, side by side, through the abyss-grown garden I had cultivated from cursed soil and separated space. Strange, radiant plants bloomed at our feet—petals that never wilted, colors that didn't exist in the natural spectrum. The bioluminescent flowers lit our path like stars fallen to the ground. Above, silver-winged birds chirped a haunting melody, something I had stolen from a dying plane of music and bottled into this realm.
The sky didn't storm here. The earth didn't shake. Time moved gently. It breathed, instead of screamed.
"I had something else planned once," I said quietly as we climbed a path that led to a crimson pavilion I'd carved into the side of the mountain ledge—shaped from soulsteel and enchanted basalt. "I dreamed of a city of sin once… a monument to power and indulgence. A den of desire, conquest, and control. I thought it would suit us."
"And now?" she asked, her tone unreadable.
"Now?" I looked over the lake and the horizon beyond. "I think you deserve something more. Something untainted. Not a throne built on corpses. Not another ruin of a world under our feet."
She glanced sideways, a faint tension still in her shoulders. "You're not the same boy who only desired the world's neck beneath his claws anymore."
I met her gaze without flinching. "No. I'm not. I burned through too much of the world to still be fucking it."
We stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the breeze and the faint hum of the stones.
Lyanna stepped closer, her hand brushing mine again—not hesitant, but not possessive either.
"Then lead the way," she said, her voice softer this time. A quiet invitation. A rare surrender from a dragoness who had never bowed to anyone.
And so I did.
We stepped into the pavilion where two obsidian thrones awaited us, side by side, carved with flame motifs and inlaid with starlight ore.
---
A long, winding path made of obsidian veined with starlight curved through the very heart of the island. Each step shimmered faintly beneath our feet, the stones glowing softly in response to our mana signatures. I guided her along it, our strides falling into rhythm—silent, yet synchronized, as though we'd walked this way a hundred lifetimes ago.
Above us, fireflies made of pure mana danced through the air in slow spirals, leaving behind delicate trails of light. But we weren't alone. Not entirely.
From the edges of the crystalline forest lining the path, a presence watched.
Hidden behind the translucent trunks of mana-infused crystal trees, small hands traced ancient grooves along bark that pulsed with life. That presence belonged to Irene—the once-wild forest pixie, a mischievous spirit of the Magic Forest who once lived for pranks, laughter, and moonlit revelry.
But time—and power—had reshaped her.
No longer just a fleeting sprite of petals and light, Irene now walked a far more sacred path. Once tethered to the whispering woods of her birth, she had become the sworn partner of Tuerson, a noble half-dragon of deep magic and tempered fury. Together, they had braved the trials of the wilds, guided by the teachings of the elder dryad Melina—one of the oldest living beings of the Primeval Grove.
Under Melina's ancient instruction, Irene delved into the truths of nature: the geometry of vines, the breath of ley lines, the pulse of life in seed and root. She no longer flitted blindly through nature—she commanded it.
Yet it was not study alone that brought her transcendence.
With the blessing and blood of Lady Westbey her talent in nature got deeper.
When the Void Lord—her sovereign, her god—blessed her with his favor, she shed the limits of her fey lineage. Her spirit was reborn. Her wings became threads of living gray light and void-charged petals. Her laughter was softer now, woven with grace and restraint. Through divine infusion, she ascended as a Void Angel—a rare evolution among the few of her people as she is the only one who even got a chance to do this.
It was from Barbatos himself that she received a sacred gift: the rare and potent ability Plant Growth. Empowered by his void essence, this ability in her hands wasn't a child's spell of vines and blossoms—it had become an extension of will, capable of commanding forests to bloom in seconds or forcing battlefields into thickets of thorns.
Now, she was no longer a trickster lost in the canopy.
She was a conductor of life, a weaver of landscapes, a silent sentinel of her master's vision.
And tonight, she bent every grain of her power to shape the perfect atmosphere—not just for dragons, but for two ancient hearts circling each other again under twin moons.
Tonight, she fluttered in silence between flowerbeds and humming crystals, shaping the very beauty of the island around us. A slight tilt of her hand bent the wind just so, letting fragrant petals drift in a graceful spiral. With every blink, she adjusted the hues of the flora, coaxed sleeping blooms to life, and stirred the scents in the air to perfect harmony. She knew her lord's intent, and her magic obeyed.
She made the path beautiful.
Even for black dragons.
We reached the heart of the land, where the abyss mana was thickest and most serene—a secluded garden dome nestled beneath an arching canopy of glass and blackstone. The dome itself pulsed with protective wards, elemental runes etched deep into every pillar, creating a comfortable warmth that contrasted the cool volcanic air outside.
In the center of the dome floated a table crafted from midnight glass, hovering weightlessly above the moss-covered floor. It shimmered with enchantments—sigils of stability, resonance, preservation. Two high-backed seats faced each other, carved from basalt and veined with glowing silver.
Along the perimeter, rune-carved seashells hung from threads of enchanted spider silk, each one playing a different note from an ancient melody. When combined, they wove together a song only our kind would recognize: the lullaby of the black-winged broods, passed down from mother to wyrmling through shadow and song.
"You built this?" Lyanna asked, her voice soft with awe, and for once, without sarcasm.
"Long ago," I said. "Back when I was still trying to understand what beauty looked like in my eyes."
She turned to me, her expression unreadable but open.
I pulled out her seat without ceremony. She sat with that effortless elegance only Lyanna possessed—predator and queen, shadow and fire. Her long braid, threaded with strands of polished silver, shimmered in the candle-glow of magical lanterns suspended in the air.
The meal began in quiet.
There was no need for words—not at first.
We shared plates of rare meats charred in volcanic flame, tender cuts spiced with ember pepper. Magic-melon slices, chilled in crystalline syrup harvested from glacial lakes, added contrast. Obsidian goblets brimmed with nectar drawn from elemental wells—amber thick and enchanted to dance on the tongue.
We dined slowly, like two dragons forced into civility for the first time in years.
Eventually, as I refilled her goblet, the silence shifted.
"You never told me about this place," she said, her gaze not on the drink, but on me.
"I never thought I'd have someone to bring here," I answered honestly.
She tilted her head. "And now you do?"
I met her eyes. "You already know the answer."
For a moment, her guard lowered just slightly, enough to let a breath of honesty slip in. "You always were the best at saying things no one else dared."
The next course shimmered into being—huge fire-seared abyssal eel of legendary power, carefully wrapped in honeyblossom leaves. A delicacy brought from the Deep Reaches, preserved only by magic and patience.
I picked up the first piece and offered it to her. She looked at me, then leaned forward and took the bite with quiet confidence.
She returned the gesture, lifting one toward me with her claws. I accepted without hesitation.
We laughed quietly, once. We touched fingertips briefly over the plates. But beneath it all, the weight of centuries pressed in—the burden of time. The type of heaviness only our kind could understand.
"Have you thought about staying?" I asked her quietly. "Here, I mean. On this island. Just the two of us. No kingdom. No blood. Just... peace."
Lyanna looked at me, truly looked, and for once the ice didn't come rushing back to fill her eyes.
"I've dreamed of this more times than I can count," she admitted. "But I never believed it was something real. Something a dragon could ever have."
"I'm offering it now," I said.
Her clawed hand slid across the table. She gripped mine—not tight, not claiming, but present. Steady. Her claws didn't cut. They held.
"I missed you," she whispered. "Your scent. Your presence. The way you look at me like every sin I carry was something you expected—and still accepted."
"There were days," I said, voice low, "where I almost turned back. Just to find you again."
She gave a slow, pained smile. "You always knew how to cut past the pride."
Her hand remained in mine. We didn't speak for a while. We didn't need to. In that silence, something fragile began to form—not love, not yet, but the shape of love, the breath of it.
"You've changed," she said eventually. "The boy who stared at the stars... he's still in there. But you've become something more."
"I had to. The world didn't wait for me to grow up."
Her gaze lingered on mine. "And if the world follows you here?"
"They won't find this place. It obeys me. Even the gods would lose their way trying to reach it."
A quiet, peaceful moment passed. Then Lyanna did something I didn't expect.
She chuckled. Just once.
"You planned this too well. Makes me wonder what else you've been scheming."
"Only you. Tonight," I said.
"Flatterer."
"Should we move on to the next part of our evening?" I asked, shifting slightly closer.
She narrowed her eyes, lips twitching upward with dangerous promise. "Do you think I can hold out until then?"
I laughed softly. "I was hoping you'd say that."
Far behind us, Irene smiled quietly, hidden among the blooming roses of midnight. Her task was done.
She would not watch what came next.
Not everything sacred needed witnesses.
---
After the meal, we walked once more—this time descending a gently curving path that led to a cliffside balcony sculpted from shadowed stone and starlight. The sea below shimmered, kissed by threads of floating magic. The tides moved like breath itself, calm and steady, carrying the glowing silhouettes of crystal leviathans. Their massive bodies pulsed beneath the surface like wandering constellations, far removed from the chaos of Tal.
Lyanna stepped ahead, heels clicking lightly on polished obsidian. She leaned against the curved railing, her silhouette backlit by moonlight, the wind tugging at her braid and cloak like unseen fingers trying to steal her away. She was breathtaking—dangerously so, like an eclipse caught in the shape of a woman.
"There were times I imagined this," she murmured, voice barely louder than the waves. "Not the place, not the food. Just... the quiet. Now with you."
I stood beside her, letting the breeze thread between us. "And now that it's real?"
She turned toward me slowly, her face lit by the moon and a thousand unsaid things. Her eyes burned with red—not with anger, but something heavier. Longing. Pain. Desire.
"I don't know if I deserve it," she admitted. Her voice trembled, almost imperceptibly.
"That's not for you to decide," I said softly. "I didn't bring you here for redemption or because of some sense of duty. I brought you because, even after everything... even after the silence, battles, betrayal... I still want you beside me."
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she raised a hand and touched my chest—her clawed fingers brushing over the place where my heartbeat thundered like a war drum. Her touch was light, but her presence pressed down on me like gravity itself.
"And if I fall for you again?" she whispered, barely audible above the wind. "If I give in deeper than before?"
I leaned in, our foreheads almost touching. Her breath mingled with mine, the heat of it rich with emotion and intent.
"Then I'll catch you," I said, voice low and certain. "And I'll never let you fall again."
She smirked, but there was no mockery in it—only temptation wrapped in molten steel. "You always did say the most dangerous things."
I stepped closer until our bodies nearly touched. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, and I could feel the tension—thick, sharp, electric—between us like a string pulled tight.
"Come with me," I whispered, brushing my fingers over her wrist. "Let's end this date somewhere better."
She narrowed her eyes, lips curling into that dangerous smile of hers. "Define better," she purred.
I smirked and snapped my fingers. Reality cracked like glass.
The world around us dissolved. The balcony, the sea, the moonlight—all melted away as space folded around us, bending at my will.
We reappeared in a chamber carved from pure obsidian, high atop the cliffside. Starlight poured through the glass ceiling and danced across velvet shadows. A massive bed rested at the center—its sheets dark as sin, its surface wide enough for wings to stretch and bodies to lose themselves completely.
A wall of clear crystal overlooked the island below, where fireflies still blinked in rhythm and mana shimmered across the gardens Irene had coaxed into bloom. But this place—this chamber—was made for no one but us.
Lyanna walked in slowly, each step deliberate, predatory. Her cloak fell to the floor, revealing skin kissed by moonlight and shadow. Her wings twitched beneath her back as she walked, dragging invisible heat in her wake.
She turned, her voice velvet and smoke. "Wait," she said, disappearing behind a thin veil of magic that coiled like mist.
The chamber grew warmer with her absence, as if holding its breath.
I stood still, heart pounding. Each second felt like it stretched into eternity.
Then I heard her voice—low, sultry, confident. A whisper across my spine.
"Come in."
And I did.
What awaited beyond the veil wasn't just a dragoness. It was Lyanna—mother of shadows, former queen of the North, a flame barely smothered for centuries. Her eyes glowed like garnets in the dark, and her lips curled into something between a challenge and an invitation.
She stood before me, bare and bold, unafraid of being seen, unafraid of being wanted.
No armor. No masks. No kingdom.
Just her.
And me.
Waiting.