Chains rattled softly in the darkness, the sound echoing far longer than it should have.
Jael walked with his head lowered, wrists bound in cold iron, each step dragging the weight of his fate behind him. The guard holding the chain leash moved without urgency, boots striking the stone floor in steady, indifferent rhythms—as though leading another body to slaughter was no different from walking a familiar road.
The passage was narrow and ancient.
Dim flame torches clung to the walls, their sickly orange glow flickering weakly, revealing stone bricks eroded by centuries of blood and neglect. The walls were scarred—deep grooves cut into them by claws, blades, and something else Jael couldn't identify. Dark stains marked the ground, some so old they had turned nearly black, others fresher… sticky.
The smell hit him next.
Iron.
Rot.
Fear.
Jael swallowed, his throat dry. His eyes traced the ground as they moved forward, carefully avoiding the larger patches of dried blood as though stepping on them would somehow invite death closer.
His heart pounded.
This place wasn't just a passageway.
It was a corridor of endings.
"Death isn't only in the arena…" he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible even to himself.
The guard didn't respond.
They walked for what felt like an eternity, the air growing heavier with each step, until they finally stopped before a massive door embedded into the stone wall. It was ancient—older than anything Jael had ever seen. Strange runes were carved across its surface, worn smooth by time yet faintly glowing with a dull green hue.
The door radiated something unnatural.
A pressure.
Jael felt it pressing against his chest, his lungs tightening instinctively.
The guard shoved him forward.
Jael stumbled, chains clinking violently as he struggled to keep his balance.
"Wait—!" he tried to shout, panic flaring in his chest.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Boom.
The sound echoed like a death sentence.
Darkness.
Absolute darkness.
Jael froze.
He couldn't see his hands. Couldn't see the floor. Couldn't see anything at all. The silence was thick, suffocating, broken only by the sound of his own breathing—short, uneven, afraid.
Then he felt it.
A presence.
It was subtle at first, like a weight pressing down on the air itself. His instincts screamed. His skin prickled. Sweat formed instantly along his brow as his heart began to pound harder, faster, louder.
This wasn't the fear he felt in the arena.
This was different.
This fear crawled into his bones.
Why do I feel like this…? Jael thought desperately. This isn't normal. This isn't human fear.
His hands trembled.
Then a voice spoke.
Calm.
Eerie.
"You're more unassuming than I thought."
Jael's eyes snapped toward the sound. His body reacted before his mind could—muscles tightening, breath hitching as he tried desperately to make out the speaker's shape in the darkness.
Nothing.
Just blackness.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Suddenly—
Whoosh.
Green flames ignited along the walls.
Torches flared to life all at once, bathing the chamber in an unnatural emerald glow. Shadows danced violently across the stone as the room revealed itself.
It was vast.
Circular.
The ceiling arched high above, lost in darkness, while strange sigils were etched into the floor beneath his feet. At the center of the chamber stood a man.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Clad in black leather armor that seemed less forged and more grown, hugging his form like living skin. His hair was short and blonde, sharp against the green glow, and his eyes—
Jael's breath caught.
Deep green.
Not human green.
Predatory.
As the light fully settled, Jael noticed something else.
Scales.
They ran along the man's cheekbones and down his neck, faint but unmistakable, shimmering slightly as the flames flickered.
Jael's eyes widened.
"S-scales…" he whispered, his voice trembling.
The man smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It wasn't cruel either.
It was curious.
Amused.
"Is he a dragon…?" Jael muttered under his breath, barely aware he'd spoken aloud.
The man laughed.
A deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the chamber.
"No," he said calmly. "I am not a dragon."
He took a step forward.
The pressure in the room intensified.
"I am a partial wyvern."
Jael's breath stuttered.
A wyvern.
His legs felt weak.
The man's gaze sharpened, his smile fading slightly as his eyes locked onto Jael with unnerving intensity.
"But," he continued slowly, "there is something in you… something that has stirred a reaction in me."
Jael barely had time to process the words.
Suddenly—
His body lifted off the ground.
Jael gasped as invisible force wrapped around his throat, crushing his windpipe. His feet kicked helplessly in the air as he clawed desperately at nothing, chains rattling violently.
"H—how—!" he tried to speak, but only broken gasps escaped.
The man stood still, arm slightly raised, fingers curled as though gripping Jael's neck from afar.
Jael's vision blurred.
Black crept in at the edges.
"H-how is this possible…?" Jael managed through sheer will, his voice hoarse. "D-dragons live in the North… they aren't concerned with the rest of the world…"
The man chuckled softly.
"Is that what you were told?"
He stepped closer, boots echoing against the stone.
"The dragons," he said coldly, "are far more concerned with this world than you believe."
His eyes darkened.
"Especially when those so-called gods rule it."
Jael's chest burned.
Air refused to come.
"But that," the man continued calmly, "is not what you need to know."
His eyes began to glow brighter, green light reflecting directly into Jael's widening pupils.
"What I need to know…" he said, voice dropping into something dangerous, something ancient, "…is why a mere human is able to give me the same reaction I feel when facing a god."
The chamber fell silent.
Jael hung there, suspended between consciousness and oblivion.
And somewhere deep within him—
Something stirred.