Kael Virell had already lost the will to fight.
There was no dramatic collapse to the ground, no violent struggle against fate. Just a silent surrender. It began the moment he stepped outside the healer's house, still aching and dazed, his weight helpless in the iron grip of the one who had so casually taken him—no, claimed him.
A man? A creature? A thing made of power, rage, and something he didn't dare name. A terrifying, serpentine man whose presence bled danger with every movement.
And yet... all Kael could muster was:
Wow.
Not the kind of wow one utters at a sunset, or at a well-cooked steak after a long day. No. This was the kind that whispered defeat, the kind that settled deep in the marrow, heavy and unshakable.
The bitterness crept into his bones with every passing second.
If it came down to choosing—between the grotesque, misshapen beasts that haunted this foreign world and this... hybrid being of man and monster—well, the answer was almost absurdly simple. At least Valkar (or was it Falkar? Kael wasn't even sure anymore) resembled a human being. Mostly.
He didn't fight. There was no point.
No drama in the resistance. No chance to escape. He'd been carried away like a sack of grain—no warning, no explanation, no ceremony. Just brute force, a tail as unrelenting as iron, and a pace that devoured the ground beneath it. And an expression...
Gods, that expression.
Dark. Ominous. So thunderous, it seemed carved from a storm itself. Like the air could crack with lightning from his brow alone.
Kael should've been terrified. He was terrified. And yet, somehow—despite the helplessness clawing at his chest—his mind wandered.
Distracted. Of course. Typical Kael.
As Valkar strode through the city, Kael's sharp eyes caught slivers of wonder. The buildings soared around them, formed not of stone or steel, but of carefully shaped wood and rich clay. And they weren't crude. No, they were alive with art—intricate carvings danced across their facades like stories frozen in time. Symbols—alien and unreadable—wound their way around doors and windows, whispering of myths Kael would never understand.
The world glowed.
Not just from the colors, though those were everywhere—deep reds and sunburst yellows, greens like forest hearts and blues like twilight seas. The clothes of the beastfolk shimmered with crushed berry dyes, flower pigments, earth, and sky all wrapped around living flesh. But more than that, it was the vibrancy. The way people moved. The life that pulsed from every corner.
It wasn't primitive. It was intimidatingly alive.
Kael almost laughed. Bitter and small.
What the hell happened to all the stories?
Where were the oafish, loincloth-wearing beastmen who'd fall to their knees at the sight of a modern man and his miracle knowledge of basic hygiene?
Where were the dumb, pretty brutes who needed saving with a bottle of shampoo and a clever word?
(Screw you, webnovel authors. You lied. You sold me dreams of idiot barbarians with eight-packs and hearts of gold. THIS is not what I signed up for.)
He was in the wrong book. The wrong universe.
And yet... the ground kept moving beneath them. Valkar didn't slow, didn't pause. His frame was a monument of strength—muscles coiled beneath skin like steel wires, tail slicing the air with unearthly grace. Kael felt every shift, every rise and fall of the body that carried him. It should have been humiliating.
It was.
And more.
It was terrifying how easily he fit into that hold. Like he belonged there. Like he was already... claimed.
Then, the voice came.
Low. Sharp. Icy.
"If you're thinking of escaping," Valkar said, words cutting through Kael's spiraling thoughts like a blade, "don't bother. I won't let you go. So it's best if you behave."
No malice. No threat.
A simple promise.
And Kael froze.
The words didn't echo—they landed, heavy and final. Like chains snapping shut.
He didn't speak. Couldn't. His lips trembled, and his breath was shallow.
A war raged behind his eyes—defiance or surrender? Fight or survive? There was nothing left in him, and yet...
He turned his head. Just slightly.
Their gazes locked.
Too close.
Too close.
Valkar's eyes weren't just dark—they were ancient. A storm of shadows. Cold... and yet burning. Not warmth, not desire, but something deeper. Something that saw straight through skin and sinew and into the terrified soul beneath.
Kael should've looked away.
He didn't.
[That face should be illegal. No—it's a sin,] he thought, heart tripping on its own rhythm. Valkar was beautiful in the most dangerous way possible. Not charming-beautiful. Not movie-star-beautiful. But like a forest fire. Like a thunderstorm at sea.
Had he...?
Had he already developed Stockholm syndrome?
Kael almost laughed again. Almost cried.
The man who kidnapped him was also the most beautiful being he'd ever seen.
How pathetic.
His cheeks flushed with shame. And something else. Something darker.
He cursed his weakness, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron.
They left the city behind without fanfare. The buildings faded into the distance. The sounds of the market, the scent of unfamiliar spices, the glint of sun on painted walls—all vanished like a dream.
Now, only wilderness remained.
Mountains loomed ahead, jagged and green-veined. Moss clung to their bones like age-old secrets, and between two cliffs yawned a cave—dark and waiting.
The mouth of it gaped like the jaw of a beast, vines hanging like fangs. Rocks slick with damp pressed close on either side. The air grew cooler.
Kael shuddered.
This? This was his new prison?
No.
No way. A cave?
Inside, it was… minimal.
A single wooden bed, a pile of furs, tools stacked neatly on a shelf, some clay pots, a chair with one broken leg.
Kael blinked.
Even his grandfather's decaying barn in rural China had more comfort.
More soul.
It was hard to believe that anything lived here. Or could.
As he scanned the room, disgust and dread churned in his gut. He wanted to scream. To lash out. To cry.
He did none of those things.
He just... looked.
And Valkar looked back.
Said nothing for a moment.
Then, quietly, almost offhandedly, he said:
"This isn't our home. It's temporary."
The words echoed. Kael didn't know why they struck him so hard. Maybe it was our.
Their eyes met again, and this time Kael turned away first.
He hated how easily that happened.
How Valkar's presence filled every space, every breath.
The silence grew heavier.
But Kael didn't speak.
And Valkar didn't move.
And the cave swallowed the light.
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Dear angels,
Your favorite author has returned once more... Ahem, well, your lazy author, to be precise.
But! I swear I have a good reason—I've been sick, and still kind of am...
Anyway, I'll spare you the drama this time, but get ready—I'll probably be whining a lot in the next update.
Now then—our sweet Kael Virell's story hasn't even truly begun yet, and I cruelly abandoned him for a whole month without a single new chapter. The guilt is real, and I can't help but pity our poor little darling.
Honestly, I just want him to quickly find his place in this world.
(Our precious female—fufufu~)
So! Let's dive right in…
Please cheer me on
I'm about to start writing Kael Virell's journey with his snake—I mean, his majestic dragon lover. I can't promise how many chapters there will be everyday but I'll do my best to at least update a chapter or two a day.
As always,
Erato-san loves you all very, very much!
See you tomorrow—or maybe tonight—with a new chapter.
Wishing you a beautiful, magical day ahead.
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