The gates of Caster groaned open, admitting the Dragonlord, battered and bloodied from the western battle. His armor hung in shards, his severed right arm a throbbing wound, its regeneration slowed by the Demon Lord's cursed blade. Normally, his draconic essence would knit such a wound within a day, but the curse stretched his healing, leaving him weak and barely mending. Pain clawed at him, yet a fragile warmth flickered in his chest—Seraphina had called. His sister. Perhaps his family had finally accepted him.
He limped into the throne room, boots echoing on polished marble. Stained glass cast fractured light across towering pillars, painting the air with hues of crimson and shadow. Seraphina stood alone by one, her pale hair glowing like moonlight, her back to him.
"I'm here," he said, voice raspy but firm. "Tell me, Seraphina."
She turned slowly, hazel eyes unreadable. "I never thought... you'd come," she whispered, voice trembling.
He frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"
Silence thickened, heavy and suffocating. Then, softly, "I'm sorry... it has to end this way."
Her eyes flared with faint magic, not an attack but something worse. The Dragonlord's body lurched, a searing pain ripping through his soul. His draconic essence, which could mend cuts and bruises in moments, faltered, bound by her spell. Every minor wound would now linger, unhealed. He gasped, sweat beading on his brow. "You... stopped my combat healing..."
Seraphina's gaze flicked to a pillar, her face pale with guilt. "My turn... is over," she choked, voice breaking. "It's yours now." Her eyes screamed: Why did you come? Trembling, she turned and slipped into the shadows, her footsteps fading. She was a child once, her laughter my only home. Was that a lie too? he thought, his heart twisting.
Seraphina fled the castle, her wings slicing the night as she soared toward her sanctuary, a tower carved into the cliffs of Dawnspire. The wind stung her face, but her mind drowned in memory. She was six, wandering Caster's gardens, flowers brushing her hands. The Dragonlord, barely older, chased after her, his steps hesitant, eyes bright with something unsaid. "What do you want?" she'd asked, turning. He'd frozen, mumbling about her braid looking nice, then gone silent, red-faced. She'd rolled her eyes, skipping away, but his awkward shadow followed. Now, the memory burned. Why did he chase me like that? Did he think I still loved him? Her chest ached. Why did he come to Caster? He should've gone to his valley, like always. Why didn't I ask him? Regret gnawed at her. I can't leave it like this. I'll ask why he came. Banking sharply, she turned back to Caster, wings cutting the storm-heavy sky.
In the throne room, a figure stirred. King Aric stepped from behind the pillar, his sharp features cold as steel. "Father?" the Dragonlord rasped. "Why hide?"
Queen Selene emerged, her silver gown glinting like frost. Arlone followed, smirking, his void staff pulsing faintly. "Didn't expect you to show, brother."
"Seraphina called me," the Dragonlord said, voice hardening. "To speak."
Arlone's laugh was sharp, like a blade on stone. "Oh, you'll see."
Aric raised a hand. "Queen. Now."
Selene's eyes flared black. Dark mist poured from her hands, twisting like a living shadow. It wove into the walls, the stone, the minds of those beyond. "They're mine," she said, voice ice.
The doors burst open. Hundreds of soldiers—his soldiers—flooded in, eyes vacant. Dragons with scales glinting like obsidian, elves with bows drawn taut, celestials whose wings cast eerie glows—all bent to Selene's will. Among them, Captain Torren, who had trained under him, and Captain Valthor, a dragon whose scarred scales bore their shared battles.
The Dragonlord's blade hissed into his hand, gleaming with defiance. "Torren, Valthor... stand down." I taught them honor. Was I forging my own end?
No response. They attacked.
He fought like a faltering storm, his one good arm slowed by fatigue and Seraphina's spell. Without his combat healing, each cut and bruise lingered, sapping his strength. Valthor's claw raked his shoulder, drawing ebony blood that oozed like shadow. An elf's arrow pierced his thigh, the pain a constant burn. He spared where he could, disarming Torren with a labored twist, knocking a celestial unconscious with a hilt strike. I swore to protect them. Now I bleed for it. But their numbers overwhelmed him.
He spun, blade carving arcs of light, shattering a pillar that crashed in a cloud of dust. The throne room trembled, chandeliers swaying, glass shards raining down. These are my people. I trained them. I can't kill them. Yet each strike he blocked, each soldier he spared, drained him further. His armor cracked under Valthor's tail swipe. His breath grew ragged.
Aric's voice cut through: "I gave you a home, boy. You were never one of us. Why resist your fate now?"
The words pierced deeper than any blade. I still see the father who carried me through Caster's gardens, his laugh warm. Where did he go? His heart fractured, but he parried a celestial's spear, arm trembling. "I fought for you," he growled. "For all of you."
Selene's laugh was cold, her mist tightening around the soldiers' minds. "You fought for glory, not family. You're a threat, nothing more." Her voice was gentle once, singing me to sleep. Now it cuts like frost.
Arlone stepped closer, void staff pulsing with dark energy that drained the air. "You always thought you were better," he spat. "Look at you now, crawling like a worm." Arlone, who sparred with me at dawn, grinning. Was it all a mask?
The Dragonlord's gaze flickered to the shadows, hoping for Seraphina's return. She called me. She wouldn't... But the shadows were empty. I failed them all. I vowed to unite us, to be their strength. Despair clawed at him. Why am I killing them? Should I have died first?
The battle spilled into the courtyard, the throne room's doors splintered by Valthor's charge. More soldiers awaited, their blank eyes a mockery of loyalty. The courtyard's marble cracked, its central fountain shattering under a dragon's roar, water mixing with ebony blood. He fought on, vision blurring, his blade heavier with each swing. A celestial's mace struck his ribs, cracking bone. An elf's dagger slashed his back, shadow-dark blood soaking his cloak. Without Seraphina's spell, these wounds would have closed in moments. Now, they piled up, each a weight his body could no longer bear.
Hours passed in a haze of pain and steel. He stumbled, catching himself on a shattered statue. I wanted their love. I wanted a family. All I brought was war. The thought burned, sharper than any wound.
He fell to his knees, blade clinking against stone. Arlone raised his staff, void energy swirling like a storm. "Time to end this, brother."
High above, Seraphina's wings beat against the wind, Caster's spires looming. Her heart pounded. I'll ask him. Why did he come? She dove toward the courtyard, landing with a gust.
Pain erupted. Arlone's void-laced dagger gleamed, plunging toward the Dragonlord's chest. Seraphina shouted, "Arlone, stop!" and sprinted forward, her wings trailing light. Too late—the blade pierced his heart, shadow-dark blood blooming. The Dragonlord gasped, turning slowly. For a heartbeat, he thought it was her blade, but Arlone's sneer gleamed, the angle clear. He locked eyes with Seraphina, sorrow flickering in his gaze.
Aric and Selene stepped into the courtyard, faces cold. Ebony blood bubbled at his lips. He looked at them—Aric, Selene, Arlone, Seraphina—and whispered, "I'm... sorry... to all of you..." If my death brings you peace, let it be my last gift.
Arlone scoffed, wiping his dagger. "Pathetic." Selene turned away, her mist coiling tighter. Seraphina's lips parted, a choked sob escaping as she sank to her knees, hands trembling, eyes glistening with guilt. I was too late. Why did I leave?
Darkness closed in. Maybe... I can finally rest, he thought.
"Or maybe not... after all, I've taken too many lives."
And with that final thought, darkness claimed him—quiet, cold, and absolute.
[END Chapter 8]