Chapter 957 — The Bound Flame
The sky over Evermere's western front was thick with smoke and ash — the kind that never fully lifted, the kind that clung to the lungs like regret.
From the ridge of a broken hill, two figures watched the chaos unfold below.
Zerathis crouched low, a shimmer of shadow crawling up his armor as he masked his demonic aura. Serenya knelt beside him, her expression focused, violet eyes gleaming beneath her hood. The camp spread out before them — sprawling, militarized, reeking of war and holy arrogance.
Dozens of white banners bearing the sigil of Evermere — a rising sun over crossed spears — fluttered in the wind. And in the center of it all, chained to the ground by shimmering bindings of divine light, was a creature that made even the air shudder.
A dragon.
Her scales were once radiant gold, but now dulled by dust, dried blood, and burn marks where celestial runes had been branded across her wings. Her eyes — molten amber, faintly glowing even in exhaustion — watched the camp with a mixture of wrath and agony.
Serenya's voice broke the silence. "By the abyss… that's no ordinary dragon."
Zerathis didn't answer at first. He was frozen, his claws digging into the dirt. When he finally spoke, his voice was low — almost reverent.
"No… it's her."
Serenya turned toward him. "Her?"
"The true dragon," Zerathis said, his tone tight. "Kael and I freed her years ago from the Eternal Dungeon beneath the Ashen Spire. She was weak, near death — said she was going to disappear into slumber until the world healed."
He stared at the massive form below, his crimson eyes hardening. "And now she's here. Bound. Used."
Serenya followed his gaze, her wings twitching under her cloak. "Then Kael was right. She's his aunt."
Below, a sound tore through the camp — a guttural roar that made the hill tremble. The dragon jerked violently against her chains, golden light bursting around her in waves. Soldiers screamed as several were incinerated where they stood. But before she could take another breath, a flare of blinding white descended upon her.
A man stepped into view.
The hero.
He was tall, armored in radiant silver and gold that shimmered with divine symbols. A sword hung at his side — long, curved, and humming with the faint resonance of celestial power. His hair was pale as frost, his face too calm, too composed for someone standing before a chained god.
And his voice carried effortlessly across the camp.
"You still resist, beast?" he called, tone dripping with righteous disdain. "You claim purity, yet you sided with the daemon spawn. You harbor chaos within your veins."
He stepped closer, resting his hand on the dragon's snout as if to calm her — and then struck her with the back of his gauntlet. A burst of divine energy exploded on contact, searing a glowing mark into her scales. She screamed again, the sound echoing for miles.
Serenya flinched, her eyes narrowing. "He's—he's hurting her."
Zerathis's claws flexed, his aura threatening to surge before he forced it back down. His voice shook with barely controlled fury. "If I move now, we'll both die. But I swear to the Abyss, I'll remember his face."
The hero raised his sword, driving its tip into the ground beside the dragon's head. "You will learn obedience," he said coldly. "The gods have returned, and I am their will. Your flame will serve righteousness, or it will die."
He turned and strode away, leaving priests and soldiers to rebind the dragon's wings.
The ground beneath Zerathis cracked slightly where his claws dug in. "He talks of righteousness," he muttered darkly, "but he reeks of tyranny."
Serenya's gaze followed the hero, her voice quiet. "You think Kael will kill him."
Zerathis let out a humorless chuckle. "Kill him? No. Kael doesn't just kill men like that — he erases them. He'll take that smug little hero's divine favor, peel it apart rune by rune, and feed it to the void."
He looked at the dragon again, his expression softening for a fleeting second. "But if that truly is his aunt… I don't know what he'll become when he sees her like this."
Serenya turned toward him, her voice serious. "Then we have to be careful with what we tell him. You've seen what happens when Kael's emotions control his power. If he loses himself…"
"The Hollow burns with him," Zerathis finished grimly.
A beat of silence passed between them. The camp below was still alive with noise — priests chanting, soldiers reforging chains, the faint hum of divine wards tightening around the dragon's form.
Serenya touched her communicator crystal. "We should send word now. He needs to know before he hears it from anyone else."
Zerathis hesitated, glancing one last time at the dragon. Her molten eyes lifted — for a brief instant, their gazes met. Recognition flashed in her exhausted stare.
Zerathis bowed his head slightly. "Hold on, old one. He'll come for you."
Then he turned to Serenya, his voice hard. "Send the message. Tell Kael everything — the dragon, the bindings, and the hero. And tell him… the gods' hound is beating his family."
Serenya nodded. The crystal flared with a pulse of crimson as the message went out.
Far below, the dragon stirred weakly, a low rumble vibrating through the air. Somewhere deep in her chest, under the weight of chains and runes, a spark of golden flame began to burn brighter — faint, but alive.
And when the wind shifted, it carried the faintest whisper from her lips — one only Zerathis's keen hearing could catch:
"Tell my nephew… I remember."
Zerathis's expression turned grim. "Oh, he'll remember too."
The two vanished into the smoke, leaving behind a camp full of zealots, a wounded goddess, and a hero who had no idea what wrath he had just invited.