The battlefield still echoed in his mind — the clashing of blades, the cries of the fallen, the heavy silence of victory.
Dragonlord walked through the grand halls of the palace, his armor still stained with dust and blood.
Servants lined the corridors, their heads bowed low, their gazes fixed to the ground. Not out of respect, but out of fear.
Aleron, his brother, had already stormed ahead, fury burning behind his every step. He disappeared into the deeper halls without a word.
Dragonlord moved silently, each step heavier than the last, until he reached the door to his chamber.
But he didn't enter. He paused before it, the weight of the battle pressing down on him — the lives he had taken, the lives he had ended with his own hands.
He couldn't bear it. Not yet.
Instead, without a word to anyone, he turned and left the palace altogether. His destination was always the same — a secluded valley deep within the mountains, far from prying eyes, far from the weight of his title.
It was a place he had found centuries ago, a place where no one dared to go, where the very air seemed to absorb all sound. A place where he could be alone.
The valley was breathtaking. Bright, iridescent flowers in every shade imaginable bloomed in the surrounding fields, casting a soft, vibrant glow that illuminated the landscape. Each blossom emitted a delicate, sweet fragrance that filled the air, contrasting the battle-worn smell clinging to his armor. The petals shimmered with an otherworldly luster, almost as though they were crafted from the light of distant stars.
A clear, sparkling river wound its way through the valley, its water so pure that it seemed to reflect the very soul of the land. The soft murmur of the stream as it passed over smooth stones was the only sound, aside from the wind gently rustling the vibrant leaves of the trees lining the riverbanks. These trees, unlike any from other worlds, had long, cascading tendrils of silver and green that seemed to hum with energy, as if alive in a way that defied explanation.
Along the banks, strange creatures fluttered about, their wings iridescent and shimmering like fragments of stained glass. These creatures, some small and delicate, others with shimmering bodies like glowing moths, darted between the flowers, unbothered by the presence of the Dragonlord. They were ethereal beings, unlike anything he had ever seen, their movements gentle and purposeful, as if they belonged to this realm alone. The small creatures appeared to be guarding the peace, and their quiet chittering almost seemed like a soothing lullaby.
Dragonlord walked further into the valley, his gaze heavy, yet drawn to the beauty around him. As his boots crunched softly over the grass, he could feel the weight of the battle start to lessen, if only for a moment. The peaceful atmosphere offered no escape from the guilt that consumed him, but it was a brief reprieve. Here, he didn't have to be the Dragonlord — he was just a weary soul, seeking solace.
He paused by the riverbank, staring down at the shimmering water. It was calm, smooth — so unlike the turbulent storm of thoughts crashing inside him. His reflection in the water was blurry, distorted by the gentle ripples, just as his identity had become after so many years. The name he once carried had long been forgotten — no one had called him by it for centuries, not even himself.
He remembered a time when his name was spoken with warmth, with love.
When will they accept me? he thought. The question rose again, fresh and raw.
Even if they never love me... could they at least care for me? Could they at least stop hating me?
But the memories began to rise — memories of his family, of a time when he had still been innocent, before the weight of power had come crashing down upon him.
He thought back to the time when he had been found, when the man who would become his father had appeared before him. The warmth in the man's eyes, the kindness that had promised him a place to belong. It had been the first time anyone had offered him something — not a weapon, not a title, but a family. He had followed him without hesitation, his heart overflowing with a hope he had never known. A place to belong.
But then, there was Aleron. His brother.
Dragonlord's memories of him were bittersweet. He remembered the first time he had asked Aleron if he could train with him, how his younger brother had looked at him with contempt, as though Dragonlord was beneath him. "A commoner like you thinks he can stand beside royal blood?" Aleron had sneered. "Go train with the slaves. You're not worthy."
The words stung, cutting deep, but Dragonlord had only bowed his head, silently obeying. He had always obeyed, because he feared that any sign of anger, any hint of rebellion, would drive away the fragile family he had been given.
It was then that he remembered his sister, Seraphina.
Seraphina had never hated him at first. She hadn't loved him either, but she had tolerated him. Back then, before his aura had become overwhelming, she had spoken to him like a sibling. But as the years passed, and his presence grew heavier, her tolerance had faded into something darker.
He could still recall the last time he visited her, when the weight of his aura had made her retreat into herself. Her eyes, once open and free of fear, now held only a distant sadness. Not hatred, but resignation. She no longer wished to speak with him.
Was it my fault? he wondered, his gaze still lost in the shimmering waters of the river.
If I had never come, would she have been free?
He missed the way things had been before. Before his power had made him a burden to everyone around him. Before he became a monster, in their eyes.
But still, he hoped. Somewhere deep inside, he still hoped that she might one day understand him, see beyond his overwhelming power, and remember the brother he once was. The small dragon who had only wanted a family.
He looked up at the sky, the distant stars twinkling above him. The peace around him only highlighted what he had lost. The world he had once dreamed of — one without fear, without hatred — now felt so far beyond his reach.
He sighed deeply, his heart heavier than ever. But still, the hope lingered, faint but unwavering.
A thought crossed his mind as he looked at the beauty surrounding him — could he bring his family here? Show them this place that had offered him some peace?
He paused, the thought lingering.
No. He couldn't. The beauty would be tainted, destroyed by the blood of his family. He knew it, just as he knew that Seraphina would never come with him willingly.
But maybe... maybe she wouldn't destroy it. Perhaps she might appreciate it, find peace in the quiet of the valley.
Yet, he dismissed the thought. He knew her better than that. If Seraphina were to come here, it wouldn't stay this way for long. She wouldn't leave it untouched, wouldn't leave it in peace. She would show it to the world, and soon, the serenity of this place would be no more.
It would be shattered. Just like everything else.
No, he decided, not Seraphina. He couldn't bring her here.
He would stay alone.
Meanwhile, back in the palace...
Aleron stormed into his own chambers, the doors slamming against the stone walls.
In a rage, he began to destroy everything he could find — tearing down the curtains, shattering mirrors, punching cracks into the ceilings.
"That weak little god dared to mock me!" Aleron roared, his voice shaking the walls.
"And worse... that damn slave couldn't even kill him!"
He paced furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching.
"What's the point of this cursed ability?" he spat, his voice bitter.
"I can tear the void itself! I can kill anyone, anywhere — even if they hide in another world!"
"And yet... I can't even touch the one standing right in front of me..."
The more he thought about the battle, the more his rage burned hotter.
It twisted inside him, a snake of hatred coiling tighter and tighter.
At that moment, the throne room doors opened.
Their father and mother entered, their faces cold and calculating.
Without a word of comfort for their son's broken pride, they began to speak —
of plans, of betrayals, of a single goal:
The death of the Dragonlord.