The air in the chamber was still when the door creaked open.
Vael stepped in, her silhouette framed by the pale candlelight, the gleam of her golden eyes piercing the dim.
"…I heard everything," she said.
Mei stiffened in her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the cushion. Reider sat on the bed's edge, posture straight, silver hair catching the soft light. His gaze lifted toward Vael, steady and unreadable.
"Is that why you said you understand what it's like to be feared?" he asked.
Vael closed the door behind her, the latch clicking softly. For a long moment, she said nothing. The silence stretched between them, heavy as stone.
Then she breathed out. "Yes."
Mei's brow furrowed. "Because you're a dragon?"
Vael gave a short, humorless laugh — a sound that carried a strange melancholy. "Because no matter how much I prove myself," she said quietly, "to humans, I will always be something to fear. Something to control. Or destroy."
Reider's eyes followed her as she moved further into the room, her expression guarded. "Does that bother you?"
Her lips quirked faintly, not quite a smile. "Once, maybe. But fear is a simple thing. A survival instinct."
Her gaze drifted to Mei, then returned to Reider. "You've felt it, haven't you? Even if you don't show it."
He was silent for a while, then spoke evenly. "I don't fear what I don't understand. I try to learn it."
A small spark of amusement flickered in Vael's eyes. "Then you'll learn something today."
She turned away, walking toward the tall window. The moonlight painted her in silver and shadow as she stared out across the darkened kingdom. "Dragons were never the only ones."
Mei frowned, uneasy. "What do you mean?"
"The world humans remember," Vael said, her voice softer now, "is only a fraction of what existed. They tell stories, believing dragons were the last of the mythical beings to walk this land."
She tilted her head slightly, the moonlight glinting off her golden eyes. "But the world is far older than human memory."
Reider watched her in silence.
"There are others," Vael continued, lifting her hand, fingers curling as though tracing invisible threads in the air. "Beings beyond human comprehension."
Mei's tone sharpened. "Like what?"
Vael's expression turned distant. "The gods."
Reider's head tilted slightly. "Gods?"
She nodded. "They do not interfere the way humans imagine. But they exist. They watch. They shape."
Mei shifted uneasily in her chair. "You're saying gods still walk this world?"
"No." Vael shook her head slowly. "They do not walk. But they watch. They whisper. They shape things in ways mortals can't see."
Reider's eyes flickered faintly. "And what about the Creator?"
At that name, Vael hesitated. The candle flames seemed to dim, as if the air itself drew a breath.
"The Creator," she said finally, "is different."
Mei frowned. "How?"
Vael looked down at her palm, voice low. "The gods follow rules. They maintain balance. They have limits." She closed her fist. "The Creator does not."
She turned back to face them, her gaze carrying a weight that made Mei's breath falter. "The Creator does not simply exist."
Mei's voice was barely a whisper. "…Then what does the Creator do?"
Vael's eyes gleamed like fire through amber. "The Creator decides."
For a moment, the room was silent — no sound but the faint hiss of wind against the window. Reider and Vael locked eyes. Something unspoken passed between them — understanding, or perhaps recognition.
Outside, the wind howled softly against the castle walls.
---
Mei's trembling hands reached for the worn satchel by her feet. The leather creaked as she undid the strap, pulling out an aged, folded parchment. The motion drew both Vael's and Reider's attention.
Reider said nothing, but his crimson eyes followed every movement.
Mei unfolded the paper with care. The edges were torn, the ink faded but legible. The air seemed to shift — heavy, expectant — as she began to read.
> "To my child…
If you are reading this, then fate has finally begun to move."
Vael's expression hardened. Reider's remained unchanged, though something in the stillness around him felt heavier.
Mei swallowed, continuing, voice steadier now:
> "You were never meant to be found so soon.
But now that you have awakened, your path must begin."
Reider's voice was calm, but the tension behind it was sharp. "Who wrote this?"
Mei looked up at him, shaking her head. "There's no name."
Vael stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she peered at the parchment. "Keep reading."
Mei nodded and read the final lines aloud.
> "Find me in the land that existed before time itself.
Where even the gods dare not tread.
There, you will learn the truth."
The last word lingered in the air like an echo.
Reider's eyes narrowed slightly — a rare shift in his otherwise calm expression.
Vael crossed her arms, stepping back. "…A land that existed before time?"
"You know where this place is?" Mei asked quickly, hope and fear colliding in her voice.
Vael exhaled, her gaze distant. "There are many forgotten places in this world. But if this letter speaks truth… there's only one it could mean."
Reider's tone was steady. "Where?"
Vael's eyes closed briefly, as if recalling something ancient. "…The Ruined Expanse."
Mei's eyes widened. "That place is a myth."
Vael gave a quiet, bitter laugh. "So are dragons. So was Reider. And yet, here we are."
Reider's fingers tapped lightly against his knee. "Tell me about it."
Vael nodded slowly. "The Ruined Expanse isn't just old — it shouldn't exist. It's a land outside recorded history. So ancient even the gods refuse to acknowledge it."
Mei clutched the letter tighter. "Then how does this writer know about it? How could anyone?"
Vael's voice lowered. "Because whoever wrote this isn't ordinary."
Silence fell. The candlelight flickered, shadows crawling up the stone walls like silent whispers.
Reider spoke at last. "I will go."
Mei's eyes widened. "Reider—"
He turned to her. "If this letter is meant for me, I can't ignore it."
She said nothing — her fingers trembled slightly against the parchment.
Vael's gaze lingered on him before she sighed. "…Then we'll find it."
Reider looked at her. "You're coming?"
A small, confident smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "I can't let you wander into a land even gods fear, alone, can I?"
Mei looked between them — torn between terror and reluctant trust. The candlelight danced in her eyes, flickering like uncertainty itself.
Reider lowered his gaze to the parchment. The ancient words glowed faintly in the light of the fire, and he whispered under his breath:
"Who are you?"
Outside, the wind rose, wailing through the towers of the castle — a sound like old voices stirring from slumber.
And on the desk, the letter lay open in Reider's hand, its words burning softly in the firelight.
To be continued…