It was not a ritual… But a summoning of something that should have remained asleep.
The surface of the black water split without a ripple, and a pale hand emerged, slowly, deliberately.
No sound, no disturbance— and in the palm of that hand… an eye.
An open eye, alive, staring directly at Draven.
It was as if time itself had stopped, out of respect for what had emerged from the basin.
Draven did not recoil. No fear crossed his face.
He clenched the ancient wooden box, took a single step forward, then knelt on one knee before the black water.
He spoke in a steady voice, devoid of hope:
"I have brought what we were searching for."
The darkness beneath the surface quivered as if something in its depths had awakened.
Draven opened the box with measured slowness.
Inside lay an ancient dagger, its edges rusted, yet at its core, a gem pulsed with suffocating light, like a captive heart that knew no rest.
On the walls, ancient symbols ignited, glimmered briefly, then extinguished all at once.
As the silence grew heavier, an engraving appeared on the dagger's blade:
The symbol of the Tree of Life.
Only then did Draven understand:
he had not come to offer a sacrifice— but to remind something of an ancient promise.
This place lay at the heart of the human kingdom, in a land ruled by no justice.
Within a forest whose leaves were woven from darkness, stood a palace that nearly touched the clouds.
At its heart, a basin of black water, surrounded by a woman and two men, bound, helpless… with no escape.
From the basin emerged a woman without features.
"Izanami no Mikoto."
Her face had no shape, only a dense blackness that devoured the light.
She lifted her head slowly.
No eyes… and yet, she looked.
A gaze of hunger.
Her consciousness clung to the bound, a silent hunger that knew no mercy.
She approached the first man. She raised a finger, placing it between his eyes.
And in that instant— she pulled a thin, glowing thread, a thread unseen… until the moment of the end.
The thread of fate.
In the blink of an eye, his body collapsed, turned to skeleton, then to ash, vanishing into the air.
She lifted the thread to a place where no mouth existed, and swallowed it.
And in that instant, her features formed.
Her face returned, radiant with an unnatural beauty, a beauty stolen from countless souls.
The two remaining victims did not scream.
Their voices were choked before they could even form.
She looked at them coldly, and said in a tone devoid of feeling:
"Annoying."
Then her hand moved.
Their bodies split, blood splattering across the floor, onto the walls.
She turned toward Draven with a slow, deliberate smile, a promise without mercy.
Her voice, soft yet lethal, spoke:
"Well done, Draven… and now, come closer so I may give you your gift."
He set the box on the ground.
He stepped forward, then another, until he stood before her.
She placed her hands on his cheeks.
She leaned closer, their breaths mingling—And the darkness poured forth.
A dense black energy streamed from her eyes, flowing like liquid smoke, piercing Draven's own vision.
His body convulsed violently, his breath stolen, then he fell into the basin.
He sank into the depths, not to be killed… but to be remade.
He vanished for a moment heavy with dread, then emerged.
His body trembled, fists clenched tight, a strange heat crawling through his veins— not power… but a pulsing void.
He spoke in a broken voice:
"…Something moves within me. But it… is not mine."
She looked at him, eyes gleaming with silent savagery.
"Of course not," she said coldly.
She stepped closer, her shadow swallowing the light around him.
"What has entered you now is not power…
but a heart."
She tilted her head slightly, her smile widening.
"A heart that can endure… will find its path opened."
She raised her hand toward his chest.
"When we break the second seal of Arkam's bonds… we will know."
She paused, then added, mercilessly:
"Is your heart strong enough to withstand the power of the silver coin?"
She smiled.
"That… will be your reward."
She stepped even closer:
"Not much remains for us to reclaim our glory, and take back what was stolen from us."
Then she smiled deeper.
"But not before we bring Kai to our side."
In the heart of darkness, a promise was made…
Chains tightened around Lilithia's wrists.
She was dragged from the cell.
Dark electric chains crept along her wrists and ankles.
Her head hung low.
Her flowing Black hair veiled half her face.
She passed between two lines of soldiers.
Rigid stares that saw her as a thing, something to be delivered to the end.
The square was crowded with the Drachians.
Eager faces.
Whispers low.
Children on shoulders— learning how "justice" is made.
Smoke preceded the scene.
At the center, wooden platforms were erected, beneath them, a pile of logs soaked in oil.
And to the side…
the corpse.
Villiam Darkwell.
Laid without dignity, prepared for burning, as if death alone had not been enough.
Lilithia did not lift her head. But she saw him.
The hand that once promised her life was now cold, still, bound by death.
Above the square, sat those who had passed judgment.
In the kingdom of the Drakhaens, judgment was not spoken on the ground… but beneath the throne of sovereignty.
A space suspended above reality, where the squad leaders gathered.
Kisho was present, his gaze unwavering. Ragen's absence… a decision in itself.
Commander Kurozen did not move.
His presence was decree itself.
Silence around him
was not hesitation— but fear of something that should not be summoned.
Commander Mirei, eyes lowered, frost-colored gaze.
No anger.
No mercy.
She did not look at Lilithia, as if she did not deserve judgment. Human in appearance… but nothing human in coldness.
Commander Raiga gripped his weapon, not to vote… but to strike.
Commander Oboro remained in the shadows.
Unseen.
Unheard.
Yet the decision passed through him before anyone else.
Commander Shira
sat back, relaxed.
A lazy smile that did not belong here.
Eyes roaming between the square, the wood, the corpse.
Not cruel…
nor merciful.
More dangerous— he enjoyed it.
The platforms rose at the heart of the square .
Black wood, soaked with years of screams, and the scent of death that had never faded.
Lilithia was pushed upward.
The restraints tightened before hands could touch her.
Electric chains pulsed once, forcing her to kneel.
She bowed over the platforms, not willingly… but because her will had been stolen.
Beneath her, the crowd was silent. Not a silence of respect—but anticipation.
At the far end, Villiam's pyre was set.
Lilithia looked at the outstretched body.
Villiam.
The hand that once promised life was now cold.
"Sorry…" she whispered, unsure if to him… or herself.
The High Judge stepped forward.
Ryozin
He raised his hand, and the square fell deeper into silence.
He spoke, clear and cold, knowing no hesitation:
"In the name of the sovereignty of the Drakhaen Kingdom…
and the order that keeps this world from collapse, we pronounce judgment."
He paused, looked at Lilithia as at a flaw in an equation.
"Lilithia… accused of killing Villiam Darkwell and defiling justice."
She did not lift her head.
Did not defend herself.
Did not ask for mercy.
As if everything inside her knew this was the end.
Kagetsu continued:
"Therefore, the sentence shall be carried out immediately."
He gestured to the suspended blade.
"Execution… by beheading."
Then he turned, gesturing to the other body.
"As for Villiam Darkwell… he shall be purified by fire, erasing his traces from this world."
In that moment— the flames beneath the pyre trembled, as if they understood his name.
The fire ignited.
Black smoke rose, wrapping the square like a communal shroud.
Above the platforms, the blade descended.
Not swiftly, but with deliberate weight.
Lilithia closed her eyes.
Not in fear… but as if hearing something no one else could.
And in the moment the blade hovered— the chains shuddered.
The platforms trembled.
Smoke swallowed a scream yet to be born.
Before the blade could fall— a sound erupted.
Not a scream… but a roar.
A roar tearing the sky as if it had never been stable.
The square shook.
Platforms cracked.
Flames recoiled, afraid.
The people lifted their heads.
The sky… no longer sky.
A colossal shadow tore it apart.
Eyes glowing like embers, ancient consciousness burning, merciless, unbound by judgment.
Outstretched wings stole the horizon, swallowing light, making the city smaller than a scream.
Some fell to their knees.
Others stumbled back, unconscious.
Children silenced, as if fear had just learned its own name.
A collective cry erupted:
"Impossible… the Black Dragon!"
Even the judges did not move.
Kisho clenched his fist.
Kagetsu froze.
And Lilithia— she opened her eyes.
The roar was not unfamiliar.
It was… familiar.
The dragon descended. As its claws touched the ground, darkness contracted around it, yielding to its master.
Time halted.
Then— the massive body shrank.
Wings retracted.
The roar faded, turning into heavier silence.
And in its place, a man stood.
Majestic beauty, neither human nor beast.
Eyes burning red, like embers never cooled.
Long black hair flowing,like a living shadow.
The commanders recognized him immediately.
Even before he spoke.
and Ragin.
Absent when absence was a choice.
He emerged behind him.
He raised his voice so all could hear:
"Lower the blade. The Black Dragon… commands this."
The blade halted.
The flames died down.
And the city realized— that the judgment about to be carried out was not the last.
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© 2026 Lobna. All rights reserved.
-To be continued...-