As the preparation of the carriage went on, I noticed an unusual rush in the halls. Servants passed by with quick steps, their arms filled with scrolls and sealed tomes, murmuring amongst themselves in panicked tones.
What is happening?
Before I could take another step, one of the figures we had met earlier approached me—her expression calm, yet her voice urgent.
"There was a breakthrough regarding the history we know of," she said.
"A breakthrough?" I tilted my head slightly. "What do you mean?"
"As the general public knows, Solviel played a huge part in the Dragon's Liberation Era—particularly in bringing an end to the reign of Dragonlord Ira. But it turns out there was... another figure who played a crucial role during that time."
My brow furrowed. "May I know who?"
She glanced around briefly, lowering her voice. "One of the ancient dragons… Malawak."
The name sent a chill through me.
"Wait… Ancient dragons were active during that time?"
"Yes," she nodded. "Too active, in fact. The ancient dragons weren't like the dragonlords we know now. Their strength far surpassed them—they are, after all, considered the ancestors of all modern dragons. To the dragon race, they were akin to deities."
"But why would one of their kind—one that ancient—help kill a dragonlord? Why betray their own?"
The woman took a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. "Some say Solviel tamed Malawak. Others believe Malawak formed a pact with the King of Mourning during that era to end the war. Both Solviel and Malawak suffered heavy losses throughout the conflict… and perhaps, in the end, Malawak chose to stop the war his own blood began."
I stared at the floor, trying to imagine such a creature—an ancient dragon choosing peace over kin.
"So what happened to Malawak?" I asked softly.
She sighed. "Who knows? Likely, he returned to his slumber—hidden deep within the world, waiting until something grand enough to shake him from his rest occurs again."
A dragon asleep beneath the world.
My gaze turned toward the high windows of the sanctum, where faint rays of morning light pierced through the dust dancing in the air.
Something grand enough to wake an ancient dragon…
Was that what we were walking toward?
Was this the beginning of it all?
As I returned to Queen Jeisha's side, my path gently curved toward the inner garden—its scent of morning dew and mountain herbs still clinging to the stone paths. That's when I saw her.
A woman.
A blind beauty with hair like molten gold, resting beside one of the temple ponds. She sat unattended, as though solitude was her constant companion, and she welcomed it with grace. There was something peaceful—almost sacred—about how comfortably she belonged in that space, her toes just brushing the grass, her face tilted toward the sky she could not see.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly made my way toward her.
"Oh dear, you're the princess who came, aren't you?" she said suddenly, her voice soft and velvety, like the whisper of silk brushing skin.
I froze, surprised. Despite her blindness, she knew I was near—knew who I was.
"Um… yes," I replied cautiously. "I came here regarding the future war… with the dragons."
She tapped the stone ground beside her, a silent invitation to sit.
I hesitated—then accepted.
"The Elven Queen is also looking for Solviel," she said, not bothering with introductions, as if time didn't matter to her.
"Yes," I nodded. "She might be of help."
"Then you must be looking for my daughter," the woman continued, turning her head slightly in my direction.
I blinked. "…Your Lady Gadriel?"
"Yes," she said, her lips curling into a tired but knowing smile. "Unfortunately, the sight of me might be concerning to you."
"Not at all, my Lady," I said quickly, unsure how to address her but unwilling to offend.
She nodded gently. A breeze fluttered across her gown. Then she turned her face toward the pond again, as if seeing something beyond the still water.
"Solviel is weaker than before," she said without preamble.
My breath caught. "Wha…"
"Oh, it might be surprising to you," she added, "but unfortunately… Solviel alone won't be able to help much."
I gripped the edge of my dress, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"
"You already know she has missing fragments," the woman said softly. "We managed to recover two of them recently… That still leaves twelve left to be found."
"Twelve…" I echoed.
"Yes. And three of those were stolen by someone."
My fingers stilled.
Stolen?
"By who?" I asked, my voice low.
"We do not yet know," she said, her voice carrying the weight of old sorrow. "But whoever they are, they're skilled. Dangerous. And they've learned how to suppress a spirit's echo."
My heart dropped. If Solviel's fragments were not just scattered but actively being taken—then we weren't fighting against fate alone.
We were fighting against something—someone—who was already moving in the dark.
"I…" I looked to her, to the woman whose golden hair caught the light like threads of dawn. "I didn't expect to hear this today."
"No one ever does," she smiled faintly. "But I've lived long enough to know when power begins to fade. Solviel burns bright, but she is flickering."
I closed my eyes, just briefly, and drew in the air of the mountain.
Twelve left.
Three stolen.
And now… the war wasn't just coming—it had already begun.
"May I ask for a favor, dear?" she said, her voice as light as drifting feathers.
I turned to her, surprised by the sudden softness in her tone.
"If it is within my power," I replied earnestly, "then I will be willing to help."
She reached for my hand gently, wrapping her delicate fingers around mine with the care of someone handling fragile glass. Her touch was warm, almost trembling with emotion.
"If you find her…" she said, her voice just above a whisper, "tell her… Don't come home. No matter what."
The words struck something deep inside me. I parted my lips, trying to form a response, but nothing came. I couldn't find the right words.
"You see," she continued, her voice a bittersweet melody, "Luna—my daughter—she's just resigned from her position to carry the prophecy. She wanted to be free of it. And I don't want her to return… only to have it chain her again."
Her hand moved, gentle as moonlight, caressing my face. There was no magic in her touch—only the aching warmth of a mother's love, the kind that burned into your heart without ever needing fire.
When… was the last time I felt something like this?
A mother's touch. A mother's voice.
Something in me cracked, and I forced myself to keep my voice steady.
"If that is your wish," I said, softly but with conviction, "then I—Vanessa Van Vokhsina, Princess of the Crimson Vampire—will uphold it."
A faint smile curved her lips, and she gave a slight, graceful bow—not one of royalty, but of gratitude.
I stood quietly for a moment longer, letting the wind carry away whatever words we no longer needed to say.
Then I returned to Queen Jeisha's side, still feeling the warmth of the woman's hand lingering in mine.
A mother who only wanted her daughter to be free.
And a daughter… who may not even know someone was fighting to protect that freedom.
Queen Jeisha and High Seer Vareon were in the middle of a hushed discussion when I returned—though "hushed" might not be the right word. I could see their mouths move, see the tension brewing between them, but the words? They were a blur, slipping past my ears like wind over water.
Was it the runes? The entire temple was steeped in wards—etched into the walls, flickering faintly beneath the floor, and spiraling across the high ceiling like constellations. I hadn't noticed it at first, but now that I was closer… it was like being wrapped in a soft fog, muting everything beyond the physical.
I couldn't hear the words, but I could feel them.
Vareon's desperation clung to the air, like a man trying to hold back a tide. His hands moved quickly, his eyes wide with suppressed panic. Queen Jeisha stood firm, but even her regal composure was cracking—her jaw set tight, fingers twitching with irritation.
Whatever they were discussing… it wasn't ordinary.
I raised my hand and gently tapped one of the nearby walls with my knuckles. A soft knocking sound echoed, just enough to make my presence known.
Queen Jeisha turned her head sharply. "Oh, Vanessa. You're here on time."
"I try to be," I said, stepping closer. "What's the problem?"
Vareon turned to me, adjusting the sleeves of his robe. "After long discussions and cautious arguments with Her Majesty," he began, voice low and worn, "we've come to one desperate conclusion… in case Solviel's power is not simply waning, but dampened deliberately."
So they already knew. Or perhaps they suspected more than I had been told.
"And what," I said carefully, "is so frightening about this plan that even you, Queen, look ready to draw blood?"
There was a pause. A long one.
Queen Jeisha's gaze shifted to Vareon. Her lips were pressed thin. It was clear my words had struck a nerve, but I wasn't sure if I had offended her—or simply said what she herself didn't want to admit aloud.
"You see…" Vareon muttered, biting at the nail of his index finger, a strange nervous tic for someone so revered.
Then came the blow.
"Vanessa," Queen Jeisha said, "we are going to awaken… an ancient dragon."
The words dropped like iron into still water.
"What!?" I couldn't help but exclaim, the echo of my voice chasing itself across the temple.
An ancient dragon?
Had they lost their minds?
I cleared my throat, trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts storming inside me.
"But… how would we even wake an ancient dragon from deep slumber?" I asked, keeping my tone composed despite the weight of the idea.
Vareon turned to me, eyes lined with sleeplessness. "We need to find the Great Sage of the Silent Age. Only she hold the rite necessary to stir such a being."
The name made my blood chill. The Great Sage... That had always been my own pursuit, the very cornerstone of my personal journey. Yet it felt surreal hearing it spoken as part of someone else's plan.
"But finding the Great Sage is no easy task," I said, echoing what I already knew too well. "No one even knows their whereabouts—not even a whisper or trace."
Queen Jeisha folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Then perhaps this is where your path and ours converge, Vanessa. You seek the Great Sage, and we need them. But it isn't only the Sage we must reach."
She paused.
"The real dilemma is making contact with an ancient dragon… without losing ourselves in the process."
A name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. "Are we talking about… awakening Malawak?"
At the mention of the dragon, even the candle flames seemed to shudder.
"There is no certainty we could ever find Malawak again," Vareon replied grimly. "And even if we did, not all ancient dragons are like him."
Queen Jeisha nodded solemnly. "Malawak was rare. A dragon who swore himself to peace and loyalty. His presence was stabilizing. He chose harmony. But the others…"
She let the words trail, as if even speaking of them might draw their gaze.
"The others have their own morality, if you can call it that," she said at last. "Some follow laws older than time. Some revel in chaos. And worse… some live in madness."
A quiet settled over us.
"To awaken one of them without knowing which slumbers beneath the veil…" She looked at me with heavy eyes. "It could bring disaster upon not just our kingdoms—but the universe itself."
A beat passed before Vareon, hesitant but resolute, offered, "There is… another option."
Queen Jeisha turned to him with a brow raised.
"We could try contacting one of the Pillars."
The word carried weight. Even the runes around us seemed to dim for a moment in reverence—or fear.
Pillars.
Beings of such incomprehensible power that kingdoms appeared as flickering lanterns before them. They dwelled in their own realms—places untethered by time or law, towering higher than skies, vast as worlds.
They were not gods, nor monsters, but foundations.
Each Pillar governed a concept, a force, a principle that anchored reality: Time, Memory, Flesh, Silence, Blood, Dreams… Some so abstract they defied language.
They were not saviors. They did not deliver justice. Nor did they bring destruction for sport. They were observers—the balancing weight on the great scales of existence.
And yet…
Every 500 years, a Pillar could fall. Whether from death, a challenger's ascension, or by passing the mantle to a chosen heir, the world shifted. Their power remained, but their face changed.
To contact a Pillar was to step into myth… or madness.
"They may not intervene," I murmured aloud, "but they've seen what others cannot. If one of them chose to speak, we might finally glimpse what lies behind Solviel's fading light…"
"Exactly," Vareon said. "We don't need them to fight. We only need truth."
But even truth from a Pillar came with its own price.