Katarina's shadow slowly separated from that of the dragon, like a veil of silver mist retreating against the light. The flickering glow of a solitary torch brushed across the cold stones, casting her slender, almost unreal silhouette upon the ground.
She adjusted the folds of her immaculate robe, then bowed deeply. Her silver hair cascaded forward, grazing the icy floor.
"As agreed, I shall follow the heroes. Evelyra entrusted me with this task yesterday, and I will not fail her."
Her voice, clear and soft, could barely conceal the tension tightening her chest. In her eyes shimmered that strange light — a mix of respect and a silent, almost nostalgic affection.
The Dragon God observed her in silence. His breath made the walls tremble, each exhalation echoing like the rumble of a slumbering volcano. His slit pupils caught the faint gleam of the torch — two molten shards of gold in the darkness.
"Hmph… you haven't changed, Katarina. Ever faithful, ever in Evelyra's shadow."
His voice rolled through the chamber like distant thunder.
A faint smile touched the servant's lips. She raised her head gracefully and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"That is my place… and I accept it."
With slow, deliberate steps, she backed away. Her shadow stretched behind her, moving like a silent tide. Before melting into it, she lifted her gaze toward the colossal creature.
"Take care of yourself, Lord Dragon. We shall meet again."
Her body gradually faded, swallowed by the shifting darkness. The chamber returned to its oppressive silence, broken only by the deep, steady breath of the dragon.
The god closed his eyes for a moment and sighed — a vast exhale that made the very stones vibrate.
"Evelyra… you entrusted me with far more than just this child."
Then, the last trace of Katarina vanished, and the lair fell once more into endless shadow.
---
Across the plains of Narhok, the morning mist stretched like a silver veil over the rolling hills. The black towers of the dungeon pierced the sea of fog, rising like claws striving to tear the sky. Sunlight struggled to break through the clouds, bathing the valley in a pale, lifeless glow.
The commander of the royal guard — a man of imposing stature and an ashen beard — raised his hand. His silver armor glimmered faintly through the haze.
"Slow down," he said calmly. "Proceed with caution. One wrong step, and we're done for."
The knights obeyed, tightening their formation. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and metal on stone was muffled, swallowed by the mist.
Ahead, a figure appeared — a guard, one of those who had accompanied the heroes. His armor was caked with mud, his cape torn. He was gasping for breath, his eyes red and weary, yet they brightened at the sight of the commander.
"Soldiers! You've finally arrived… the dungeon… it…"
He nearly collapsed to his knees, caught by two knights.
Behind him stood another man — the one who had alerted the king — scanning the surroundings nervously.
"What happened here?" the commander asked, firm but not angry.
"The heroes…" the guard panted. "They fell into a chasm — a part of the dungeon never explored before. We tried to follow, but…"
The other man continued hesitantly:
"…But the dungeon changed, Commander. The corridors moved. The walls closed in. It was as if it… breathed."
The commander's hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he stared at the fortress — a shifting silhouette in the fog.
"Very well. We won't go in blindly. The heroes are counting on us."
The knights nodded. A gust of wind rose, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and sulfur.
---
The heavy gate of Narhok Dungeon groaned as they pushed it open. A rush of cold air escaped, laden with dust and ancient soil.
And there, in the silent hall… they saw them.
The heroes.
Lying on the ground, unconscious, their armor dulled, their bodies marked by the fall.
The commander knelt beside them. His gaze moved from face to face, a furrow forming between his brows.
"How… did they end up here?" he murmured.
"We don't know, Commander," a guard replied, his voice trembling. "There was nothing… and then they appeared. As if they had been… brought back."
A tense silence followed. The commander rose slowly.
"Gather them. We're returning. The rest can wait."
The knights lifted the heroes carefully. As they exited, the light of dusk enveloped the scene.
The mist gradually dispersed, revealing a sky streaked with gold and crimson.
And yet, in the valley below, the dungeon remained — dark, motionless, watching.
---
A few hours later, in Elaria.
The gates of the royal capital opened beneath the heavy steps of the procession. The crowd had gathered along the streets. Murmurs rippled through the people as the heroes were laid on the ground, unconscious but alive.
"It's them… the conquerors of the dungeon…" whispered an old woman, hands clasped.
"They survived?" gasped a young boy, eyes wide.
The knights formed a protective circle around the fallen, keeping the crowd at bay. Among the restless silhouettes, a lone shadow stood apart.
Katarina.
Her dark cloak concealed her face, yet her silver gaze gleamed beneath the torchlight. No one noticed her.
Her attention fixed on Yuki, still unconscious. Then, slowly, Yuki's eyelids trembled.
For an instant, their eyes met.
One, hidden within the crowd — a messenger of shadows.
The other, a heroine returned from the abyss.
And as Yuki blinked… the shadow was gone.
---
Later, in Elaria's throne room, the light of the chandeliers danced across gilded walls. Itsuki stood tall, her gaze steady despite her exhaustion.
"…That is all," she concluded in a composed tone.
Her report on the dungeon was precise, almost military. Yet beneath her calm voice lingered a shadow — the weight of a premonition she could not name.
Something, or someone, had brought them back.
And no one yet knew the price.
The king, his brows slightly furrowed, regarded her for a long moment in solemn silence.
"Very well. You may go, representative of the royal heroes."
Itsuki bowed deeply, her gesture filled with solemn respect. A subtle tension left her shoulders as she straightened. Then, without another word, she turned and slowly crossed the throne room. Her steps echoed on the polished marble, reverberating against the golden columns.
When she crossed the threshold of the great door, a faint breeze made the torch flames flicker. The room then returned to its ceremonial calm, bathed in wavering light. The king remained motionless, his gaze fixed on Itsuki's silhouette until she vanished behind the heavy doors.
A thick silence settled. Only the dancing flames disturbed the shadows.
The king slowly ran a hand across his brow, his features drawn by fatigue. His eyes wandered into the void, as though seeking answers within the marble patterns beneath his feet.
"A dragon…" he murmured, voice low and incredulous. "Beings of legend said to have vanished millennia ago… and yet, what she describes matches too well with the ancient chronicles."
The prime minister — a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face and a carefully trimmed beard — frowned, folding his hands across his stomach.
"Your Majesty, with all due respect to your wisdom… the heroes may have fallen prey to hallucinations. Fear, exhaustion, the darkness of the dungeon — all these can play tricks on the mind."
The king lifted his gaze toward him. Calm, yet piercing, that look alone was enough to silence him.
"What I fear are not illusions… but signs. Shifting shadows, an awakened dragon, heroes displaced without battle… It all bears the scent of a greater design."
He rose slowly, the royal cloak whispering against the steps of the throne.
"If this is indeed the work of demons, then they no longer strike openly. They move in shadows — calculated, patient… as if studying us before they strike."
The prime minister forced a wry smile, hiding the unease flickering in his eyes.
"Perhaps. But there's no need to give in to paranoia. The royal army stands vigilant, and the Church blesses our lands every month. The demons will not breach our walls so long as faith and crown remain united."
The king said nothing. He stood there, gaze fixed upon the trembling light of the torches. His silence grew heavy before he finally spoke in a deep, somber tone:
"And if what lurks is neither demon nor god? If a forgotten power is stirring once more beneath the shadow of our certainties?"
His words rang through the vast hall like a prophecy. The torches seemed to waver harder, casting long, shifting shadows across the pillars.
The prime minister let out a nervous laugh, seeking to break the tension.
"Your Majesty, legends are but children's tales. The people need faith, not fear. As long as you stand tall, they will believe that nothing can threaten Elaria."
He took a few steps forward, his boots striking the marble, and added with a hint of condescension:
"Leave the worries of nobles and commoners to me. You, keep the image of a strong and steady king. Now is not the time to tremble before phantoms."
The king remained silent. Yet in his eyes shone a worried lucidity — that of a man who senses the storm while others still marvel at the clear sky.
He sat down slowly, his fingers tightening around the armrest of his throne.
"Stories," he thought bitterly, jaw clenched. "But every legend is born from a buried truth. And if that truth were to rise again… no wall will shield us."
His gaze lingered on the moving shadows along the columns. A chill ran down his spine.
"These shadows… they're unnatural."
He drew a slow breath, then spoke in a measured tone:
"Shadow Knight."
A figure detached itself from the darkest corner of the hall, barely perceptible in the gloom. The knight bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty."
The king lifted his chin, his voice hardening.
"You heard the report. The heroes did not fall on their own. Someone — or something — pulled them from that dungeon. I want to know who. And why."
The knight nodded slowly.
"I understand, Sire."
"From tonight onward, none of those heroes are to take a single step without our knowledge. Their training, their words, their movements — everything. I expect a full report each night."
The knight bowed even lower.
"It shall be done."
The king paused, then added, his tone turning to ice:
"And if any of them betray our trust… or approach the demons… do what must be done."
No words followed. But the knight understood. He inhaled deeply — and the darkness seemed to answer his call. The shadows around him shivered, stretching like waves of night. In an instant, his body dissolved into the gloom; his outline blurred, then vanished entirely.
Even his shadow was gone, swallowed by the absolute black.
Where he had stood, only a suffocating silence remained — as though the world itself refused to admit he'd ever been there.
The king exhaled slowly, his gaze lost in the flickering torchlight.
"Gods, demons, heroes… and now these shadows. If the legends are waking, then I must be ready to sacrifice everything… even the light of the throne."
His whisper faded into the heavy air before he concluded, barely audible:
"No matter the price."
The torches flickered one last time. Then silence fell again — heavy, complete — as if the entire palace were holding its breath.