Ramien stood on the frozen lake, mist curling upward to meet the dark, heavy sky.
The place was familiar—he had been here as a boy, small and powerless, bullied for not being a fighter like his brother, and for the dragon he bore, which resembled that of the last Ashen King, King Renard.
Both dragons had downward-curving horns, the tips curling just beneath their throats.
Back then, he had been in control. But at his weakest, an evil spirit had awoken within the dragon—a spirit intent on erasing anyone who opposed its master. That was the day Ramien lost control, the day the dragon had to be sealed. It explained his caution, the distance he kept from the spotlight, and the dragon's hatred for Damien.
Memories flashed, rapid and relentless. He watched the ice beneath him tremble, cracking along unseen lines. Once free, the dragon would unleash hell. Nothing could stop it.
Regret pressed down on him. He had failed to tell the truth to his parents, failed to ask Damien to seal the dragon sooner… even being friends with Reinna now seemed a curse. In the past, King Renard had been stopped by Reinna's ancestor, Liam of the Golden Line, but at the cost of his life. Now, the stakes were higher: countless lives, the academy, and perhaps even his own, balanced on a knife's edge.
A massive form rose from the mist—dark, immense, and impossibly powerful. The air vibrated with its presence.
Xyldrak, the dragon, hovered before Ramien, its eyes locking onto his. "You can rest now. I will take over," it rumbled, voice deep and chilling.
"Xyldrak—wait!" Ramien stammered, reaching out. "You can't leave this Soul Dimension! I promise I won't seal you again… just don't go—please!"
The dragon lowered its head, breath whipping violently around him. "I, Xyldrak, have only one purpose: your good, Master. You do not know what you truly want."
"You choose obedience over right. You let the world acknowledge your little brother instead of you. That is wrong." The dragon's voice dripped authority. "I will show the world who deserves respect."
"Xyldrak, no—" Ramien lunged, hand outstretched, but the dragon vanished.
"No—no, no, no!" Ramien fell to his knees, tears streaming. If only he had listened to Damien. If only he had sealed the dragon and kept the truth hidden… none of this would be happening.
In the dorm, Alpha, Ace, Victor, and Reinna stood frozen. Dark clouds rolled across the sky. Thunder cracked, and scales began creeping over Ramien's skin. Their worry wasn't for the storm—it was for him.
Alpha placed a hand on Ramien's forehead. Immediately, his consciousness plunged into the Soul Sea, where he found Ramien huddled in a corner, silently crying.
"What's wrong?" Alpha asked softly.
"Xyldrak is free," Ramien said flatly.
"....who?"
"My dragon… the evil spirit. The academy is doomed. Hardly anyone will survive."
Alpha's gaze lifted to the sky, then he remembered the thunder, then back to Ramien. "No way… don't tell me…"
"Warn everyone," Ramien insisted, gripping Alpha's arm. "Warn my brother. Get him away from Xyldrak—far away."
Alpha's hand shimmered with light, and in an instant, he returned to the dorm.
"We are in trouble, guys—" he began.
Before he could finish, Damien teleported into the room.
Seeing Ramien, Damien froze. His body stiffened, breathing hitched. For the first time, the dorm mates saw terror etched across his face—raw, unbridled panic.
The sky over the academy had turned black, thick clouds rolling and twisting as if the heavens themselves were in pain. The dorm mates including Reinna stood frozen in the room, watching with increasing horror what happened outside.
Outside, the academy shuddered beneath the storm. Wind tore banners from their poles, snapping them like whips. Lightning split the sky in jagged flashes, briefly illuminating the towers—and the gryphons struggling to stay airborne. Fae students clung desperately to railings, their delicate wings battered by the gale.
"Guys—Ramien, he's gone," Ace said sharply.
They turned at once.
The bed lay empty, the mattress sunken and cold.
"Run—!" Damien shouted.
He didn't wait for them.
Damien launched himself through the window, shattering the glass as he went. The others followed on instinct—
—and the building behind them exploded into fragments of stone and flame.
They hit the ground hard, breath knocked from their lungs. There was no time to recover. They rolled to their feet at once, bodies moving on instinct.
Victor and Alpha drew their daggers. Damien summoned his sword. Ace raised his wand, grip tight.
Then they noticed the ground.
Cracks spread beneath their feet—but not like broken stone. They glowed faintly blue, branching and pulsing like veins beneath skin.
Realization struck all at once.
The dragon roared.
The world lurched.
They weren't standing on the ground at all.
They were thrown violently into the air as the massive creature surged upward, its back rising beneath them. The wind exploded around them, screaming in fury as they were flung apart in different directions.
And above the storm, the dragon ascended.
Damien braced himself for the brutal impact of the ground—but instead, he was caught by something weightless, soft, almost unreal.
He opened his eyes.
Derian held him midair, eyes locked onto his, brows drawn tight with concern. He lowered Damien gently to the ground, then turned his gaze skyward.
"Are you okay?" Derian asked, already watching the dragon.
"What chance do we have of stopping that thing?" he added, not waiting for an answer to his first question.
Damien's jaw tightened. "Zero percent."
Derian stiffened.
"If the entire academy—every elite fighter—joins forces," Damien continued, eyes never leaving the sky, "we might have a forty percent chance."
Derian stared at him, disbelief flashing across his face. "Seriously? Is this the guilt you've been protecting him from all this time?"
"This isn't the moment for sarcasm, Derian," Damien snapped. "That dragon wields ice and mist. If it blankets the area in darkness, we'll lose contact with each other."
Above them, the mist thickened—cold, alive, spreading outward—until even the dragon's shadow seemed to dissolve into the sky.
"You're the fastest," Derian said, pink mist coiling around him like breath. "Find Professor Giga. Warn her. Tell her to bring the elites—and the lecturers."
"And you?" Damien asked, unease tightening his chest. Something in Derian's tone felt reckless.
Derian's gaze never left the sky. "I'm going to test this bad boy's strength."
Damien hesitated. "Just… be careful."
With a shimmer of displaced air, Damien vanished.
Derian's dreamlike violet eyes locked onto the shape moving within the storm. A slow smirk curved his lips as he lifted into the air, mist spiraling beneath his feet.
"You mortals are ignorant" Xyldrak roared.
Derian simply cupped his hand over his mouth, shouting back, "yeah, we get that a lot" gaining the attention of the dragon.
Derian surged forward, pink mist snapping beneath his feet as he closed in on the dragon.
Mist hardened along his arm, shaping into a sharp arc. He swung.
The attack didn't pierce. It broke apart the instant it touched Xyldrak's scales, scattering into frozen fragments that slammed back into Derian and sent him skidding through the air.
He steadied himself quickly.
"…Yeah. That figures."
Xyldrak's wings shifted, and the air grew colder.
"You strike without understanding," the dragon said.
Ice and mist poured toward Derian from Xyldrak's throat in rapid succession—not one attack, but many. Blades of frost. Crushing waves of cold. Pressure from every direction.
Derian reacted instantly.
The mist around him pulled inward, wrapping close to his body instead of flaring outward. His movements changed—shorter, tighter. He stopped advancing.
Attack abandoned.
Ice slammed into the mist barrier. The force bent him backward, but he twisted, redirecting the impact, slipping sideways before the next strike landed.
Another blast.
He ducked, mist cushioning the fall.
Another.
He vanished in a blur and reappeared several meters away, breath sharp, fingers numb—but still standing.
Xyldrak increased the pace.
Attacks came faster now, layered and overlapping. Derian didn't counter. He dodged, folded, absorbed. Every motion precise, controlled, practiced.
Cold crept into his limbs. His jaw clenched.
Still, he endured.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
The dragon slowed.
Xyldrak's eyes narrowed as it studied him. "You should have fallen."
Derian exhaled, frost spilling from his lips. "Yeah… people usually do."
A heavier strike followed—meant to end it.
Derian crossed his arms. The mist spiraled tightly, dispersing the force just enough to keep him airborne. Pain flashed through him, but he didn't break.
Silence followed.
Xyldrak hovered, watching.
"…You are not attacking," the dragon observed.
Derian didn't answer right away. He straightened, mist flickering unsteadily around him.
"Because I already checked," he said. "I can't beat you—not in this form"
Understanding flickered across the dragon's gaze.
"You are delaying."
Derian smirked faintly. "Exactly."
For the first time, Xyldrak did not strike immediately.
And that pause told Derian something was wrong.
The mist around the dragon shifted—not outward toward him, but sideways. Xyldrak's focus slipped, gaze sliding past Derian as if he were already fading from importance.
Derian felt it instantly.
"No," he muttered.
Xyldrak turned its massive head, scanning beyond the shattered spires, beyond the fog-choked air.
"A familiar presence," the dragon rumbled. "One bound by blood."
Derian's heart kicked hard.
"Hey," he snapped, forcing his mist to flare. "Eyes on me."
Xyldrak didn't even glance back.
"You are no longer my concern," it said coldly. "You survive because you are irrelevant."
Ice burst outward—not aimed to kill, but to push. The force slammed into Derian, throwing him back through the air. He twisted, mist cushioning the impact as he barely kept himself upright.
By the time he steadied himself, Xyldrak was already moving.
Wings beat once—twice—and the dragon surged forward, mist trailing behind it like a wound in the sky.
"Damien," Derian breathed.
He shot after the dragon, mist snapping beneath his feet as he pushed his speed harder than before. His chest burned, frost biting deep, but his eyes stayed locked on the retreating shape.
Not yet, he thought grimly. I'm not done.
Not like this.