The city of Everhart was still scarred by fire. Black smoke clung to the air even days after the dragon's fall, carrying the faint bitterness of ash and ruin. Streets once lively with merchants and children now stood half-empty, their stones cracked and blackened. Burned beams still jutted from collapsed houses, and families huddled in temples whispered prayers as if afraid that fire might yet return. The people spoke Andy's name in reverent tones, voices trembling with awe, yet their eyes were shadowed by unease. A Dragon Warrior was a savior… but also a reminder that monsters of legend walked again.
Inside the palace, shadows of another kind gathered. The great hall glowed with chandeliers, their crystals casting fractured light across walls lined with banners of Everhart. The long table stretched like a judge's bench, nobles seated in grim silence. At its head sat Lord Everhart, posture rigid, expression carved from stone. Beside him, Andrew stood in polished armor, the gleam of metal unable to hide the bruises of his pride. The atmosphere was heavy, every breath filled with the iron taste of politics.
"You understand the situation," Lord Everhart said, voice even, eyes fixed on Andy. "Everhart stands because of you. The people whisper your name. The kingdom will hear it. But fame cuts both ways. A blade unsheathed can protect… or it can wound its master."
Andy's fists curled at his side, the fire in his veins stirring. "I fought because I had to. Because people were dying. Not because of your banners, not for your House."
A shadow of a smile ghosted the Lord's lips. It was not warmth—it was calculation. "And yet, here you stand. A Dragon Warrior. The first in centuries. Do you not see? The kingdom will not allow such a power to wander free. If Everhart claims you, shields you, then you will be given a place. If not—" His gaze slid across the table, to the whispering nobles. "—you will be seen as a threat. And threats are removed."
Andy's jaw tightened, molten gold flickering in his eyes. Before the fire in him could ignite, a light touch steadied him. Nia's hand brushed his lightly, her grip subtle but firm. He turned, meeting her gaze—her silver eyes sharp, protective, refusing to yield.
Her voice cut through the hall like glass striking marble. "So you mean to chain him. To parade him as a weapon while calling it protection?"
Lord Everhart's eyes narrowed. "Better a weapon in my hand than a sword hanging above our necks."
The silence was suffocating. Nobles shifted uneasily, torn between fear and admiration. Andy forced down the urge to spit fire into the Lord's face. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Nia's grip tightened. She was telling him silently: Not here. Not now.
The Lord's gaze lingered on their joined hands. His expression hardened further. "This conversation is not over," he said at last, the words final as a gavel.
The summons was dismissed, but the chains of politics had only grown heavier.
Andrew remained behind as Andy and Nia left. His eyes followed their backs, burning with emotions he could not untangle. Once, he had believed the destiny of Everhart was his—he was the heir, the chosen, the pride of his House. Yet now, it was Andy, a nobody, who had the cheers of the people and the bond of his sister.
His hands trembled on the hilt of his sword. It should have been me…
But beneath the bile of envy, another thought crawled in: fear. He had seen Andy fight, seen the raw chaos of his fire. That kind of power was not human—it was something waiting to consume everything. A man like that could not be trusted, no matter how noble his words sounded. Perhaps his father was right. Andy needed chains. Or perhaps… he needed to be destroyed.
Later that night, Andy escaped the suffocating walls of the palace and found himself in the gardens. Moonlight poured over fountains and hedges, the night air cool and quiet compared to the chaos of the day. He leaned against a marble railing, his blades resting at his side. The exhaustion in his body was deeper than wounds—it was the weariness of being watched, judged, weighed like a weapon instead of a man.
Footsteps approached. Nia appeared, silver hair catching the moonlight like strands of light. She walked to his side, her presence soft but grounding, and leaned against the railing beside him. For a while, they said nothing, listening to the gentle splash of water in the fountain.
"I don't trust him," Andy said at last, voice rough. "Your father. He doesn't see me. He sees what I am. What I can do. Nothing else."
Nia's eyes lowered. "He sees everyone that way. Even me."
Andy turned to her, caught off guard by the bitterness in her tone. She twisted the ring on her finger absently, the faint silver glow reflecting the moon.
"When I defied him in court," she continued, her voice soft but taut with emotion, "I wasn't his daughter. I wasn't Everhart. I was just… me. And it was terrifying. But it was also the first time I felt free."
Andy studied her, the way her hands trembled faintly, the way her eyes burned with quiet strength. Words rose in him—how she was the reason he still stood, how without her, fire would have consumed him long ago—but the words lodged in his throat.
She lifted her gaze, meeting his. Her cheeks warmed, a flush of rose in the pale silver of her skin. "Andy… when I said I chose you…" Her breath caught, but she pressed on, voice shaking but true. "…I didn't mean just because of the System."
His heart stumbled. The world seemed to hush—the fountains muted, the night still, the stars leaning closer to listen. He could see his reflection in her eyes, and for the first time, it wasn't just fire. It was something gentler, something frighteningly fragile.
They leaned closer, breath mingling, the inches between them charged with a gravity stronger than any chain.
And then the moment shattered.
Shouts echoed from the gates, urgent, panicked. Messengers stumbled into the courtyard, their voices carrying across the gardens. "From the northern ridge! Strange shadows in the mountains—dragon-kin, perhaps! Villages are fleeing, scouts are wounded!"
Andy cursed softly, the fragile silence broken like glass underfoot. Nia's flush deepened; she pulled back slightly, though her hand lingered on his.
Duty had returned, heavy and cold. But her fingers pressed against his knuckles just a moment longer, a promise unspoken. He squeezed back, his answer silent but sure.
The System's cold chime pierced the night.
> [Warning: New Threat Detected.]
Dragon-kin Activity: Confirmed.
Adaptive Trials Pending.
Andy lifted his head, golden eyes burning faintly in the moonlight. "Peace never lasts, does it?"
Nia's lips curved into the smallest, fiercest smile. "Then we'll face it—together."
Somewhere beyond the palace walls, across the dark ridges of the north, a roar that did not belong to man rolled through the night. It was deep, old, and hungry. The shadows had begun to stir again.
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