The alley was shrouded in shadows. Tattered tarps hung between the buildings, forming an improvised roof that barely let the streetlamp light through. Snow fell silently, piling up on the wet stones and on the bodies lying on the ground.
Zein came to an abrupt stop, feeling his breath freeze in his chest. Just a few steps ahead, Lyra was lying down, her white hair spread out like a veil over the pavement. A dark bruise marked her neck.
—Lyra… —he whispered, but his voice barely pierced the silence.
Behind her, two men remained tied hand and foot, their faces bruised and their clothes torn. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the damp winter air. Kio took a step forward, then another, until reality hit her like a storm.
—I'm going for the city guards! Don't move from here! —she ordered before turning and running out of the alley, her cloak billowing behind her.
The wind whistled through the tarps. Snow continued to fall, covering everything with a white blanket. When Kio returned, the alley was empty.
No Zein.
No Lyra.
Only the footprints that the wind had begun to erase remained.
A chill ran down Kio's spine. Her breathing grew shorter, heavier. Impatience started to seep into her thoughts.
«Damn… if something happens to them, he'll kill me.»
—Miss… —the soldier's voice broke through her thoughts.
—…Miss… Miss! —he repeated, tapping her on the shoulder.
—Ah… yes, sorry —she said, blinking to return to the present.
—Could you describe what happened here? —the guard asked, pulling out a small notebook, his hands trembling from the cold.
Kio swallowed hard. She needed time.
—Yes, well… I was with two children. One about sixteen years old, the other eleven. Both with white hair. They were here, but… —
—White hair? —the guard interrupted, raising an eyebrow.
—Yes, why?
—On our way here, I saw two kids climbing into a cart. It was heading toward Fictoma —he said in a calm, almost indifferent tone—. Seemed strange to me, seeing people on that road. Not many dare to travel that way. They say bandits patrol it… or worse, that the dragon roaming those lands sometimes hunts along the path.
Kio's heart clenched in an instant.
—Damn it! —she shouted, spinning around and taking off at a run, her silhouette vanishing into the snow.
—Miss! And your statement?! —the guard managed to call out, but his voice faded into the echoes of the alley.
Meanwhile, Zein and Lyra rode inside a wooden cart slowly making its way along a snow-covered road. The wheels creaked as they sank into the snow, and the sound of the horses' hooves rang softly, muffled by the wind. The vehicle was simple, built from old planks reinforced with blackened nails; lanterns hung at its edges, swaying with every movement, casting a warm glow that mingled with the bluish shimmer of the winter dusk. Outside, the forest stretched in silence: frost-covered trunks, bare branches, and white mounds that hid forgotten paths.
Inside, the air was frigid, yet it offered some slight refuge from the biting wind. Zein held Lyra, her head resting against his shoulder, while snowflakes gathered in the folds of his cloak.
—Are you all right? —he whispered when he noticed her eyes slowly opening.
Lyra tried to answer, but her voice broke before a sound could escape. She only managed a faint nod, her breath still uneven.
—Do you remember what happened? —Zein asked, careful with each word so as not to unsettle her.
She shook her head, her eyes glinting in the lantern's flickering light.
Zein lowered his gaze, clenching his hands tightly. —I'm sorry again for not being able to protect you. When I didn't see you there… I was afraid. Afraid I wouldn't find you. When I did, it felt like my whole body shattered. I… I'm not good enough to protect you…
A brief silence, filled with vapor and breath, enveloped them. Then Lyra, with a trembling gesture, took his hands and held them. When Zein looked at her, she offered a soft, small smile.
He took a deep breath and tried to smile. —Even so… I'm glad we got away from that woman with those thugs' money. I didn't know if I could trust her. Maybe… we should be more careful about who we trust.
The snow lightly tapped against the cart's roof. They held each other to share warmth, seeking comfort in the midst of the cold.
An older woman, wrapped in a thick cloak, watched them for a moment before approaching with a maternal smile.
—Here —she said, covering them with a woven blanket—. That clothing isn't enough for a snowfall like this.
—Thank you… —responded Zein, and Lyra tilted her head in a shy gesture of gratitude.
The woman returned to her seat, adjusting a basket beside her. —And your parents, children?
Silence answered for them. Zein pressed his lips together, and Lyra looked down at the ground. Nothing needed to be said.
—Oh… I'm so sorry… —she murmured tenderly, offering them a piece of bread wrapped in cloth—. Here, this will help keep you warm.
Zein and Lyra hesitated only for a second.
—Don't worry —added the woman with a warm smile—. It's not poisoned.
—Thank you… —said Zein, breaking the bread in half and giving the larger piece to Lyra.
—And you? What brings you to Fictoma? —the woman asked, but when she received no answer, she continued speaking in a cheerful tone—. I'm going because my son will soon be married. I always thought he was good for nothing, but he got a good job, a wife… and now he's respected. I'm so happy for him. Since he lost his father, life was hard, but seeing him succeed… it fills my heart.
—Sounds like you love your son very much, ma'am —the driver remarked with a brief smile, keeping the reins steady.
—Of course I do, he's my greatest pride… —she responded warmly, though her voice faded as a tearing roar shook the entire road.
A violent blow threw them against the floor of the cart, and the air filled with a roar that seemed to tear the sky apart. The woman reacted without thinking, wrapping Zein and Lyra in her arms, shielding them with her trembling body as the wood creaked under the pressure. The driver fell in with them, his face pale and eyes wide, as a colossal shadow lifted them off the ground.
—Wh-what… what grabbed us? —asked Zein, his voice trembling, holding Lyra tightly against his chest.
—A damn dragon… —grunted the driver, a mix of anger and fear in his voice.
—A dragon? What's that? —asked Zein, incredulous.
—A winged monster… a giant lizard that breathes fire —he replied bitterly, lowering his gaze—. I knew it was a mistake to reopen the route to Fictoma without clearing the mountains…
Before anyone could react, the air grew heavy and then, suddenly, light. The entire cart plummeted, spinning amid gusts of wind and snow. The screams were swallowed by the roar of the storm. The woman once again covered the children, pressing them to her chest, while the driver clung to the first thing he could grab.
The impact hit like thunder. Then, nothing. Silence.
Long minutes passed in which only the whistle of the wind sneaking through the wreckage could be heard.
—It's… so cold… —thought Zein, trying to move.
When he opened his eyes, a pale light blinded him. He was lying on an icy floor, and before him rose the entrance to an immense cave, like the mouth of a sleeping beast. Snow seeped through cracks in the ceiling, and gusts of wind danced with the dimness inside. The walls, rough and dark, were coated in a thin layer of frost that glimmered under the faint bluish light filtering from the entrance.
Zein struggled to sit up, rubbing his arms to regain some warmth. His breath became visible, each exhale forming a white cloud in the cold air. His heart racing, he turned toward the depths of the cave.
—Lyra? —he whispered, but his voice was lost in the vastness of the place.
—Where am I? —thought Zein as he advanced with trembling steps into the cave. Each breath was a frozen knife cutting his lips, so he hugged himself, trying to preserve some warmth. As he went deeper, the sound of the wind faded, replaced by hollow echoes and a strange murmur that seemed to come from all around: creaks, drips, deep breaths merging with his own pulse.
Gradually, the temperature began to change. A faint warm breath wrapped around him, as if the innards of the cave held the exhalation of a sleeping beast. Zein kept moving, and soon his eyes spotted splintered pieces of wood scattered across the floor: fragments of wheels, broken planks, pieces of the cart's roof. He pressed his lips together and decided to follow the trail, hoping it would lead him to the others.
The darkness was nearly complete, barely interrupted by the weak light filtering from the entrance. Zein stretched out his arms to feel the path, moving blindly. Sometimes he collided with a rock or tripped over an object, feeling the sting of a splinter embedding itself in his palm or a blow to his shin. But he did not stop. He had to find her.
After a while, his fingers touched something different: damp, soft fabric that gave way under his hand. "Finally, I found someone," he thought with fleeting relief.
—Hey… —he whispered, shaking the body gently—. Are you okay? Hey…
Silence was his only answer. Then, a viscous sensation slipped between his fingers. Zein looked down, and the faint light revealed the dark sheen of a thick liquid staining his skin. He leaned down, slowly turned his body… and his heart stopped. Several broken planks pierced the torso of a woman. Seeing her face, he immediately recognized the lady who had shared her bread with them.
—Madam…? —he murmured, his voice breaking.
There was no answer. Only the echo of her shallow breaths filled the cave. He remained still for a few seconds, then, with trembling hands, he took the blanket she had given them and placed it over her body, lowering his head in silence before continuing on his path.
The sounds grew sharper as he moved forward: metallic thuds, rocks creaking, a low hum resonating through the walls. Each step brought him closer to something he did not yet understand, but fear was no longer enough to stop him. The floor began to slope, and the air grew colder. The cave opened up before him, revealing its true magnitude: a massive dome, like a sanctuary carved for an ancient creature.
In the distance, a golden glow illuminated the ceiling. Zein approached cautiously, shielding his face from the icy wind that descended through a crack high above. Beneath that opening, a mountain of gold and jewels glittered among the shadows: chalices, crowns, gemstones, and frost-covered weapons, piled as if time itself had forgotten them there.
Zein held his breath. Every crunch of snow under his boots sounded like thunder. He moved along the edge of the pile, careful not to make a sound, until two figures appeared against the gleam of the treasures. One was kneeling, trying to move; the other lay beside them, motionless.
—Lyra… —he whispered, recognizing them. There they were: the driver and her.
As soon as Zein saw them, he ran toward them without stopping to think. His boots clattered against gold and snow, echoing through the icy walls of the cave. As he reached them, both —Lyra and the driver— reacted with a start, eyes wide open, a muffled scream escaping their lips. Zein immediately raised his hands, pleading for silence, and as he revealed his face, the tremors of fear slowly subsided.
The relief barely lasted a second. A dull roar descended upon them, and a violent gust hit with such force that Zein had to shield his face. It wasn't wind. It was breath.
The ground vibrated beneath their feet. From the shadows emerged a colossal figure that made the mountain of gold seem insignificant. A dragon. Its scales, as white as the snow outside, reflected the flickers of light filtering from above. Each breath it exhaled raised a cloud of vapor, and its wings, spread wide, covered much of the ceiling. Its head tilted, revealing a row of sharp fangs and a breath that smelled of molten metal and ash.
Zein stepped in front of Lyra without hesitation, arms outstretched, while the driver, driven by instinct, took cover behind them. The dragon opened its jaws, and an incandescent glow began to grow in its throat, lighting the entire cave with an orange radiance. The air grew heavy, vibrating, as if the fire itself were forming inside.
Paralyzed, Zein could only turn his head to one side, teeth clenched. Fear chilled his blood, and his body shook so violently that he could barely stand.
"Damn it… if I had stayed with Kio, none of this would be happening," he thought, feeling shame and terror mix until he lost control. "Forgive me, Lyra…"
The roar of fire filled the cave. A blaze engulfed them completely. But there was no pain. Only heat. A warm, enveloping heat, almost comforting. Zein opened his eyes, confused, and before him, amid the folds of the fire, stood a familiar figure.
Kio was there, firm, one hand extended toward the creature. The cape she wore whipped violently in the airflow, revealing her adventurer's outfit: a tight black top, long gloves with golden trim, fitted pants, and reinforced brown boots, also adorned with golden details. In front of her, a formation of glowing hexagons crackled with energy, containing the flames that threatened to consume them.
—Kio…! —shouted Zein, relieved, but before he could say more, the dragon ceased its attack and roared furiously.
Kio slowly lowered her hand. And in the blink of an eye, she vanished. A buzzing cut through the air. No one saw her move—not even the dragon. Just a flash and then… the impact.
From above, Kio descended with a devastating kick to the monster's skull. The blow echoed like thunder, making the entire cave vibrate. The dragon collapsed with a muffled roar, raising a cloud of dust and frost before lying motionless among piles of gold and precious stones.
—Fool! —Kio roared, her voice resonating with authority among the icy cave walls—. Don't you remember me?!
The dragon, still staggering from the strike, lifted its head with a low, defiant growl.
—Who the hell are you to dare challenge Zyteg, the great…?
But its voice cut off abruptly. A flash of bewilderment crossed its reptilian eyes, and its breathing became uneven. Noticing this, Kio let out a satisfied smile.
—You've grown arrogant, Zyteg. What happened to that little proud one who used to play with me in caves like this, back in your homeland? —she said, crossing her arms with a mischievous gesture.
The dragon's eyes widened, and its jaw dropped slightly.
—Kio?! —it exclaimed, tilting its head in a mixture of surprise and reverence—. Is it really you?
—Yes, who else could tame you with a single kick? —she replied, amused.
Zyteg studied her carefully, blinking several times.
—You look… very different.
—The same could be said about you —she replied, raising an eyebrow—. But if you don't like this look… how about this?
A blue flash swept over her body, and a curtain of smoke enveloped her. When the mist cleared, standing before the dragon was no longer the woman who had just defeated it, but a much younger version: the size of Lyra, with a lively expression and eyes full of energy. Her voice sounded lighter, even innocent, and a playful spark shone in her gaze.
—How about this? —she asked, spinning around lightly.
The dragon stared at her for a few seconds before letting out a deep, hearty laugh that echoed throughout the cave.
—Hahaha, you're just like when we first met.
Kio returned the smile, and without warning, ran toward him to hug his massive scaled head. For a moment, the scene was tender, almost nostalgic. Then, without changing her expression, she delivered a sharp punch with her fist.
—Because of you, "he" almost scolded me —she huffed, puffing out her cheeks.
—He…? —Zyteg lowered his head, not fully understanding.
Kio just sighed and pointed with her finger toward Zein, who watched everything with a mix of confusion and awe.
—See that boy? —she said firmly—. I have to protect him at all costs.
The dragon looked him over, tilting its head.
—But… he doesn't seem special at all —it muttered frankly.
—Yes, I know —Kio admitted, shrugging, though a small smile appeared on her lips—. From the outside, he may seem completely useless, but his potential… is greater than anyone I've ever seen.
Zyteg blinked, surprised.
—Even more than Araphor?
Kio remained silent for a moment. Her gaze drifted away, and a shadow of melancholy crossed her expression.
—Yes —she finally replied, her voice low—. Even more than him.
While the old friends conversed, Zein stood frozen, unable to react, until his legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground, trembling uncontrollably. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled what he had just witnessed.
—She's incredible… —he thought, his mind clouded with fear and awe—. She's nothing like I imagined…
Lyra ran to him and hugged him tightly, her small shoulders shaking as tears slid silently down her cheeks. Zein held her, returning the embrace awkwardly, trying to calm her while his own breathing remained ragged.
Kio approached slowly, her figure returning to its usual form.
—Zein… —she said softly.
He lifted his gaze, his face heavy with remorse.
—I'm sorry…
—Don't apologize —she replied gently—. It was natural for you to doubt me. I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't know how to handle you, I acted selfishly and arrogantly. My duty is to watch over you… and I couldn't even fulfill that.
Lyra looked up, still clinging to Zein, and whispered barely audibly:
—No… thank you.
—May I? —Kio asked, extending a hand toward the girl while murmuring a spell under her breath.
A golden magical circle began to glow intensely in her palm, but it cracked instantly, dissipating into fractured sparks of light. Kio frowned, and Zyteg seemed surprised as well.
The sorceress leaned a little closer, examining Lyra's neck. There were bruises, but one mark stood out in particular: a strange symbol etched into her skin. Her expression hardened.
—Damn… —she whispered, gritting her teeth.
—Kio —Zein called.
—What's wrong?
—What you did earlier… what was that?
—Magic —she replied.
—Even what you did to protect us… and what you did to heal Lyra when we met? —Zein asked timidly.
Kio barely nodded, crossing her arms as she watched him calmly.
—So… —Zein took a deep breath, lowering his gaze—, could you… could you make me your disciple? —he leaned forward, his voice filled with sincerity—. There are so many things I don't know how to do in this world, too many I don't understand… and I lack the power to protect Lyra. So please…
Kio raised a hand, stopping him.
—I'm sorry, Zein. I can teach you magic, even some other things… but I cannot accept you as my disciple.
Zein lifted his eyes, wide with surprise.
—Why not? Is it because I'm weak? Because I'm not good enough?
—No, it's none of that… —she replied, averting her gaze.
—It's because of Araphor, isn't it? —Zyteg interjected, his voice deep and firm.
Kio's expression hardened instantly.
—Don't ever say his name —she warned coldly. She turned and approached the driver, still unconscious from shock—. I'll heal him. Leave me alone for a while.
Then she glanced over her shoulder at Zein, her voice softening slightly:
—Don't worry. I know someone… someone who could accept you as a disciple.
Zein remained silent, watching Kio walk away.
—She must have her reasons —he thought, trying to convince himself.
He let himself fall to the ground next to Lyra and Zyteg, who kept his gaze fixed on Kio. The air felt heavier, as if all the unspoken words hung between them.