— enriched, deepened, but NOT continued past your ending —
The Uncomfortable Gaze
The rhythmic DOOM of the ceremonial drum echoed through the golden hall, each beat vibrating through the marble floors and into my chest. The shirtless drummer, his muscles defined like carved stone, moved with the precision of a warrior, sweat glistening under the warm glow of a hundred braziers.
Golden music notes shimmered in the air as the dancers on the dais spun and swayed, their silks blooming in red, gold, and deep purple.
The King, seated upon his towering throne of hammered gold and dragon motifs, let his gaze drift across the dazzling spectacle. But the brilliance of the hall wasn't enough to keep his attention anchored.
His brow furrowed.
"WHERE IS LUCINA?"
The music dimmed in my awareness as a woman in a jewel-toned ensemble glided forward. Her dark hair cascaded down her back like a river of ink, and her every movement radiated practiced elegance. Bracelets CLACKed at her wrist as she rested a hand on the steps of the throne, leaning just close enough to appear intimate—yet maintaining a calculated distance.
"Perhaps she finds it too uncomfortable to see you, Your Majesty," she said, her voice sweet but sharpened at the edges.
Her knowing smile didn't reach her eyes.
A muscle in my jaw tightened. "TURN," I said, looking away, refusing to let her see the irritation spark across my face.
But she wasn't finished.
Her finger traced slowly along her collarbone, the motion intentional, seductive, bold.
"Or perhaps she fears you'll ask her to come to your bedchambers again."
Her insinuation hung in the air like a poisonous perfume. Around us, the dancers' movements continued, but the hall suddenly felt colder.
I exhaled, voice steady with quiet authority.
"Why else would she be late to the royal banquet? Tell her she may remain in her room… if she does not wish to attend."
"Satisfied" didn't begin to describe the faint smirk that pulled at her painted lips.
A servant nearby swallowed hard—"GULP"—his gaze darting nervously between us, almost as if terrified of the tension crackling between the King and the purple-clad woman.
She turned her attention to me again, now wearing an expression meant to feign concern.
"It seems like you aren't feeling very well, Your Majesty," she murmured, her voice soft but her eyes alight with victory.
Moments later, she stepped into the center of the hall as another rhythmic DOOM of the drum resounded. The purple shawl slid from her shoulders—SLIDE—revealing a meticulously adorned costume beneath. As she spun, rose petals drifted like snowfall from the ceiling, catching in her hair.
Her thin veil—FLUTTER—moved with the graceful snap of a butterfly wing.
Every twirl, every arch of her back was designed to captivate.
And yet, even as the hall filled with pink and gold light, the weight of Lucina's absence pressed heavily against my ribs.
---
🛡️ Blocked at the Door
Beyond the grand hall's threshold, beneath the towering stone archway inlaid with lapis tiles, chaos brewed.
A guard, tall and broad-shouldered, planted his spear across the entrance like a barrier. His jaw was clenched, expression rigid, though sweat gathered nervously at his temples.
Facing him were two women—
One with long, white hair shimmering like frost under torchlight, draped in a stunningly fitted dark dress.
The other smaller, dressed simply, clutching the hem of her lighter garments as confusion creased her brows.
"WHY CAN'T WE ENTER THE BANQUET HALL?!" the smaller woman demanded, her voice trembling with both courage and desperation.
The guard flinched, raising his voice to hide his panic.
"T-THE FORMER QUEEN ORDERED ME TO LET IN ONLY THE PERSON SHE GOT THE DRESS FOR!"
The white-haired woman's eyes widened. She stepped forward, nearly glowing with indignation.
"THESE ARE THE CLOTHES SHE GAVE HER! THEY WERE JUST ADJUSTED TO FIT—LOOK PROPERLY!"
The guard stared.
Really stared.
For the first time, he seemed to see the white-haired woman—see the way the dress clung elegantly, the way her beauty shone brighter than even the former Queen's jewelry.
His thoughts raced chaotically:
'W-Was this human always this beautiful?'
'Giaret said she'd look messy… worthless… but she looks even more captivating than Giaret herself!'
His cheeks flushed. His grip on the spear tightened.
I can't let her go inside. If she goes in looking like this… the King's eyes… the King's attention… it will shift. And everything will fall apart.
Driven by fear—fear of failure, fear of disobeying the former Queen—he thrust out a hand.
"LEAVE AT ONCE!" he bellowed.
The smaller woman stumbled with a startled—
"EEK!"
The white-haired woman rushed to hold her, eyes frantic.
What do we do? If you don't show up, the King will misunderstand everything! He'll think you're rejecting him! Misunderstanding your intentions!
The smaller woman, trembling, looked down.
Her thoughts were too tangled to form words. Only silence—
"…"
The guard remained unmoving, spear firmly blocking the entry.
His decision was final.
And the King—still seated within the hall—continued watching Giaret dance, unaware of the storm brewing right outside the banquet doors.
---
The hall glittered like a jeweled cavern, awash in candlelight and the soft shimmer of gold-leafed pillars. Musicians played a sensual, undulating melody while dancers spun in endless circles, their skirts fanning out like vibrant blossoms. I reclined on my throne, raising my wineglass to my lips, letting the alcohol dull the lingering irritation from earlier.
The reddish drink glowed beautifully, matching the fiery tones of the woman pirouetting below.
A young man seated close to me—the one with the shoulder tattoo and perpetual smirk—leaned in.
"Hakan, doesn't that woman remind you of a red poppy?"
I arched a brow at him.
"A red poppy?"
He gestured toward the dancer: a sultry woman wrapped in red and gold fabric that clung to her curves in deliberate, strategic ways. Her dark hair fluttered around her as she spun, and each step seemed to coax the faintest blush up my neck.
The young man chuckled knowingly.
"Now that's a flower worth dying for."
I took another slow sip of wine. A flush crept onto my cheeks—not out of embarrassment, but heat. The dancer was captivating, but my thoughts were not so easily bewitched.
Even surrounded by beauty, my mind wandered. Memories crept in like old ghosts—memories of a man whose shadow I had lived under for so long.
Everyone loved and admired my brother.
The thought surfaced sharply, slicing through the haze of wine.
Everyone looked up to him. I looked up to him. I wanted everything he had.
Raikan.
The great Raikan, whose name still carried weight like thunder across the Tayar lands.
I remembered watching him from afar, jaw clenched in envy and admiration—wanting his strength, his certainty, his brilliance. There had been times, countless times, when I imagined myself standing where he stood, wearing the mantle he bore so effortlessly.
He was the warrior who united the tribal Tayar clans into one kingdom.
He was the Great King.
The image of him—broad-shouldered, powerful, unshakable—burned bright in my mind. Then another memory slipped in: a stern woman with silver braids, her voice echoing like a prophecy.
"You must become the Great King and lead the Tayar tribe."
A battlefield flashed before me—crimson sky, ashes drifting through the air. Raikan's body, bloodied but still fighting. And then the moment where everything shattered.
"RAIKAN!"
I remembered screaming his name as he collapsed. We had been forced to fight in human form because the container for the hatchlings was too small. The battle had turned brutal, desperate.
A warrior at my side shouted, "WATCH OUT, HAKAN!"
Raikan lay on the ground, struggling to breathe. His eyes found mine.
"Hakan... I…"
He exhaled shakily, voice weakening.
"I want to see Giaret…"
His love. His Queen. The woman who now schemed in the shadows of my own palace.
Her influence still tainted everything—even now.
Lucina
Outside the banquet hall, chaos had erupted beneath the carved golden archway.
A muscular guard blocked the entrance with his spear, sweat trickling down his temple as he faced two distressed women. The smaller one—dark-haired and dressed simply—looked up with trembling fury.
"WHY CAN'T WE ENTER THE BANQUET HALL?!"
The guard, panicking, blurted out,
"T-THE FORMER QUEEN SPECIFICALLY TOLD ME TO ONLY LET IN THE PERSON SHE GOT THE DRESS FOR!"
Beside her, the white-haired woman stepped forward, radiant in a jewel-toned gown that hugged her form elegantly.
"THESE ARE THE CLOTHES THE FORMER QUEEN GAVE HER! THEY'VE JUST BEEN ADJUSTED TO FIT HER BODY BETTER!" she shouted.
But the guard couldn't hear reason—not with his heart thrashing in confusion. His gaze lingered shamelessly on the white-haired woman.
Was this human always this beautiful?
Giaret told me she'd look like a mess... but she looks even more captivating than Giaret!
The realization terrified him.
I can't let her go inside.
I have to make sure the King only pays attention to Giaret today!
Driven by fear—not authority—he thrust his arm forward.
The smaller woman stumbled back with a startled cry.
"EEK!"
"LEAVE AT ONCE!" the guard roared, masking his panic with false dominance.
His internal justification was cold, almost cruel:
The King does not care about this woman anyway. No one will care if I treat her a bit roughly.
The dark-haired woman collapsed, shaking. Her friend immediately caught her, eyes wide in heartbroken outrage. Her jaw dropped as she cradled her companion.
"WHAT SHOULD WE DO?! If you don't turn up at the royal banquet, then the King is bound to misunderstand your intentions!"
Desperation cracked her voice.
She cried toward the sky:
"HELP ME, PUKA!"
A small, bright bird flapped its wings above them, glowing faintly under the night sky—yet utterly unaware of their distress.
The darker-haired woman, defeated, lay in her friend's lap, misery weighing her down. Her thoughts drifted away from the present, slipping into the past.
A younger self.
A towering figure she had admired.
One name echoed like a heartbeat:
"I IDOLIZED RAIKAN."
Hakan
I reclined on my throne, one elbow propped lazily on the carved golden armrest, my fingers curled around a cup of deep red wine. The banquet hall sparkled: jeweled lanterns swayed above, dancers twirled below, and every polished surface reflected the overwhelming radiance of celebration. But none of it could dull the heaviness inside my chest.
The dancer in red commanded the attention of the entire room—fiery, alluring, moving like a flame that wanted to burn the world down with every sway of her hips.
"Hakan," murmured the young man beside me—the one with the tattoo curling over his shoulder. He leaned closer, voice playful. "Doesn't that woman remind you of a red poppy?"
I raised my eyes to the dancer again. "A red poppy?" I echoed, tone unreadable.
He chuckled, flashing a confident smirk. "Now that's a flower worth dying for."
His words were meant to tease. To provoke. But they only stirred the ache lodged beneath my ribs.
The music swelled. The dancer spun, golden jewelry flashing like sparks. The applause was lively, enthusiastic—an admiration that felt like a ghost of another memory.
Because no matter what spectacle unfolded before me, one truth always returned:
EVERYONE LOVED AND ADMIRED MY BROTHER.
The bitterness was sharp, a familiar blade.
I LOOKED UP TO HIM AND WANTED EVERYTHING HE HAD.
I LOST TRACK OF THE NUMBER OF TIMES I PICTURED MYSELF IN HIS SHOES.
Raikan.
The name alone carried weight—echoing across the room, across my heart, across every standard I felt chained to.
He united the Tayar tribes.
He forged a kingdom from scattered clans.
He was the warrior everyone revered.
He was "The Great King."
And I?
I lived in the shadow of a legend.
A voice from the past intruded—stern, almost prophetic. A woman with silver braids glaring down at me as though she could see my future carved in stone.
"YOU MUST BECOME THE GREAT KING AND LEAD THE TAYAR TRIBE."
Her words were an order, a burden, a cage.
Then the memory shifted—violently.
To that battlefield.
At battle flashback
Dust. Blood. Screams. The metallic scent of death thick in the air.
I remembered the heat—the smoke—the frantic pulse of panic as I saw him stumbling, his powerful form collapsing under the weight of his wounds.
"RAIKAN!"
The shout tore out of me, raw and helpless, as I watched my brother sink to his knees.
We had been forced to fight in human form—small container, too many hatchlings, not enough space to transform. Vulnerable. Exposed.
Swords clashed nearby. A warrior fighting beside Raikan screamed:
"WATCH OUT, HAKAN!"
But all I could see was my brother—my hero—my ideal—bleeding out on the ground.
Raikan turned his head. His eyes—fading but warm—found mine.
"Hakan… I…"
His breath hitched. The words trembled like a dying flame.
"I want to see Giaret…"
Giaret.
The woman he loved.
The woman he trusted.
The woman whose name he spoke with his last strength.
Little did I know then how those memories would twist—how truths would blur—how desires, loyalties, and betrayals would entangle.
Flashback
Another flash—black and white, soft around the edges, almost dreamlike.
Giaret had once embraced me. Me, not Raikan. Her arms around my waist. Her face close, tender.
Raikan's voice echoed over the memory:
"She told me that she loves me for who I am… not for being the King."
"You should meet someone like that too, Hakan."
His warning felt heavier now.
Sharper.
"Not a woman who seduces you because she wants to be Queen,
BUT A WOMAN WHO TRULY LOVES YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE."
Yet in the end, Raikan had still declared:
"I want to be buried in Mezaluc with her."
"She's the only woman who truly loves me."
The truth… and the contradictions.
Those contradictions followed me into the moment I confronted her myself.
chamber, clothed only in a loose white robe. Giaret turned, her expression soft—too soft—and walked toward me with measured steps.
"I know you truly loved Raikan, Giaret," I told her, the admission heavy on my tongue.
She looked into my eyes, and for the first time, her voice trembled with something I could not identify.
"YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON I'VE EVER TRULY LOVED, HAKAN."
A lie?
The truth?
Or just another one of her dangerous half-truths?
I didn't know then.
I'm not sure I know now.
But her schemes did not end there.
I remembered the cold command from the dark-robed elder:
"IF GIARET GIVES BIRTH TO ANOTHER GUARDIAN DRAGON, THEN YOU MUST MARRY HER."
Even now, her influence poisoned the edges of my kingdom.
Her latest plan was underway outside the banquet hall.
At banquet entrance
"WHY CAN'T WE ENTER THE BANQUET HALL?!" the small, darker-haired woman cried out. Her voice trembled—frustration, embarrassment, fear all woven together.
The guard stood rigid, spear raised.
"T-THE FORMER QUEEN SPECIFICALLY TOLD ME TO ONLY LET IN THE PERSON SHE GOT THE DRESS FOR!"
The white-haired woman stepped forward, her beauty sharp enough to stun.
"THESE ARE THE CLOTHES THE FORMER QUEEN GAVE HER! THEY'VE JUST BEEN ADJUSTED TO FIT HER BODY BETTER!"
But the guard was staring.
Staring too hard.
His thoughts were written across his face:
W-Was this human always this beautiful?
Giaret said she'd look like a mess… but she looks more captivating than Giaret herself!
Panic twisted his features.
I can't let her in.
I must make sure the King looks only at Giaret today.
His arm snapped forward—too quickly, too harshly.
The smaller woman stumbled with a startled yelp.
"EEK!"
"LEAVE AT ONCE!" he barked, voice cracking.
Inside his mind:
The King doesn't care about this woman anyway.
No one will care if I'm a bit rough.
The white-haired woman gasped, jaw dropping in pure horror. She clutched her friend tightly.
"WHAT SHOULD WE DO?! If you don't turn up at the royal banquet, then the King is bound to misunderstand your intentions!"
Her voice quivered.
Her fear was real.
"HELP ME, PUKA!" she cried toward the sky as a small glowing bird fluttered above them, oblivious.
The smaller woman lay on her friend's lap, defeated, despairing, the world spinning around her.
Only one thought echoed in her mind—
"I IDOLIZED RAIKAN."
Hakan
The pounding in my skull—sharp, relentless, merciless—suddenly eased. It was as if an unseen hand had lifted the weight pressing down on me.
I CAN NO LONGER FEEL MY HEADACHE AS WELL.
My vision, once blurred by darkness and pain, slowly brightened. Shadows peeled away. In their place bloomed a radiant glow—soft, celestial, almost unreal. Hazy flecks of white and purple danced before my eyes, dissolving into a scene so serene it stole the breath from my chest.
And then I saw her.
She stood a short distance away, illuminated by the pale brilliance of the full moon. A garden of blue and white hydrangeas framed her like a painted dream. Their petals shimmered under the moonlight, each one reflecting shades of lavender and silver.
Her hair—white as snowfall, smooth as silk—flowed down in shimmering waves. It rippled softly as though stirred by a breeze that touched only her. The delicate gown she wore clung to her form, dark as midnight yet adorned with gold accents that caught the light like constellations.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
Large, golden-brown butterflies drifted around her. Their wings glowed faintly, as though dusted in amber light. They circled lazily before descending toward my feet.
CHATTER.
The whispery flutter of their wings filled the quiet night.
Heat rushed across my face. Embarrassment? Awe? Something deeper? I didn't know.
My attention fixed on the butterflies—their strange, mesmerizing color.
"ARE THOSE… BLACK BUTTERFLIES?" I asked, barely managing the words. My voice cracked on the edges of wonder.
She met my gaze and gave the gentlest smile, soft enough to unravel something tight inside my chest.
"NO," she replied simply.
Silence settled again, but it was not empty. It pulsed. It vibrated with something I couldn't name.
My heartbeat kicked hard against my ribs.
BA–BUMP. BA–BUMP.
Her eyes—why did they feel like home? Why did they strike so painfully, so tenderly against the depths of my memory?
There was a familiarity there, a truth just beyond reach, calling to me.
My throat tightened.
The name—one I had whispered only in fractured memories, one tied to feelings I could not fully understand—rose unbidden, trembling.
"IS THAT YOU… LUCINA?"
…to be continued…