Far to the north, where the sea carved its patient claim against stone, rose a structure that could not be mistaken for accident or nature.

  From a distance it might have seemed like a swelling of the earth itself. A terraced rise of packed soil and timber, reinforced with pale stone that caught the light like bone. But once drawing nearer, the illusion of natural formation dissolved. Lines were too straight. Angles too intentional. Walls rose in flat layers, fitted with watchtowers that pierced the sky like rigid spears.

  This was no mound.

  It was the so-called kingdom.

  A vast joining of wood, earth, and quarried rock. Structures shaped by years of labor, a majestic testament to human will. Even without understanding its purpose, it commanded awe in a way.

  Outer walls rose first from the earth like a pale scar carved into the coastline. Massive blocks of quarried stone surrounding the entire structure, each cut with precision, locked together to form a sturdy barrier. And in the middle of all of it, stood what could only be the heart of the place. The castle.

  Layer upon layer of fortified stone climbed toward the sky, each tier narrower than the last, creating a stepped silhouette that suggested both crown and blade. The lower levels were heavy and defensive, almost brutal in their construction. Higher up, the architecture sharpened. Tall windows of colored glass caught the light and fractured it into muted jewel tones across pale walls. Slender spires reached upward, their tips capped in burnished metal that reflected the sea’s distant shimmer.

  At the gates, motion replaced stillness in an instant.

  Men in polished metal leaned over the battlements, while signals were relayed down the walls in sharp, practiced motions. Along the approach, carts halted mid-roll, horses reared, and riders twisted in their saddles to stare upward at the descending silhouettes.

  A line of armored figures advanced from the gatehouse, their steel heads catching the light. Behind them, robed officials clustered with waxed tablets and styluses clutched in tight fingers, whispering urgently as they assessed what approached.

  Then one figure stepped forward from behind the shield wall. Raising one hand, the archers along the walls held their draw tightly.

  Two dragonlings descended slowly, stirring dust into spirals as they lowered themselves before the gate.

  The man stepped ahead of the line, a voice carried far and wide. “You approach the Crown’s gate without heraldry or banner. State your intent.”

  Pointy leaned forward slightly from Sylth’s back. “Tourism maybe, if our presence isn't an inconvenience?”

  Sylth’s head tilted. “What is tourism?”

  “Not now,” Pointy hissed under her breath.

  Several of the men glanced sideways at one another, uncertain whether insult had just been spoken. The waves of confusion and apprehension clogged the air, not that it wasn't already dense before. Palpable levels of hostility arose from that man, his words as incoherent as ever to the dragons.

  Amid the clipped, frantic chatter of the smaller humans, a second group emerged from the crowd nearby. At their head walked a figure conspicuously unarmored — the only one among them not clad in iron. By scent, by posture, by the fragile cadence of his steps, he was the weakest of them all. And yet the tension shifted around him. He spoke, raising both hands in an open gesture, and though his words were no clearer than the others, their effect was unmistakable. The line of steel parted, and the gates yawned wider.

  Once within the thick embrace of stone walls, noise swallowed them. The scrape of boots, the distant clang of metal, the murmurs of a watching populace. The unarmored human did something astonishing. He approached Iono of all dragons. Each step tightened the posture of the others behind him. Hands hovered closer to sword hilts.

  The fragile creature stopped within reach and extended one bare hand. “Hello. I am Gavril.” He dared come closer still.

  Iono lowered her head to inspect this oddity, causing him to flinch a little before resuming his approach. His gaze fixed solely upon Iono’s eyes, he shifted half a step closer, slow enough for the two hatchlings to slowly lose interest in his presence.

  Iono watched him with curious indifference, humans were always this way. They stepped toward teeth as though the world had promised them protection. Jaws were decoration, claws were ceremony. Not a sliver of surival instinct between any of them.

  “Remarkable…” he murmured another word she didn't know, more to himself than to her. While his fingers brushed against Iono’s muzzle, she leaned further, causing him to stumble back with a laugh.

  He finally turned his gaze to look at Sticky, who sat right behind her neck ridge. “How did you tame such magnificent creatures?”

  Sticky raised an eyebrow. “We didn't.”

  His laughter sounded false and forced, but he nodded. "Of course, I'm sure you haven't. You may follow me.” He said hading back to his carriage.

  The air smelled of dust, and oiled metal, sweat, and food. A jumbled chaos of sights and sounds that both fascinated and repelled the young dragons. Humans swarmed around them like ants, watching them delve deeper into the city, leaving the cold embrace of the gates far behind.

  In the meanwhile, the two dragons were communicating through mana as usual. “That one looks like a good target.” Sylth mused, eyeing the unarmored human.

  “Sure we can take that one too, but let's check the castle first.” Iono replied, her eyes fixed on the towering monstrosity at the heart of the city. “Royalty could be better prey.”

  Sylth inclined his head. “Fair enough.”

  After a long procession through winding streets and tightening corridors of stone, they arrived before a stretch of manicured gardens enclosed by tall iron fencing. Beyond it, trimmed hedges and pale gravel paths framed a residence that stood apart from the crowded sprawl behind them.

  Guards lined the entrance in rigid silence as the outter gates were drawn open, giving way to the wide garden before them.

  The structure ahead was not the towering fortress at the city’s heart, but neither was it a common dwelling. Its walls were clean-cut and symmetrical, windows tall and shiny. Yet still bowing to the greater crown that loomed in the distance.

  Gavril stopped just short of the doors and turned to face them, folding his hands neatly behind his back. “You two are dragon riders, aren’t you?”

  Sticky and Pointy exchanged a brief glance. No words passed, but the answer settled between them. “Yes,” Sticky said at last.

  Gavril’s smile deepened, thin and knowing. With a casual flick of his wrist, he signaled to the attendants nearby. Servants hurried forward, setting down a low table and arranging cushioned chairs with brisk efficiency. He gestured graciously. “Please. Sit.”

  At that point, only the kobold remained atop the two hatchlings, observing quitely as usual. Once the humans were settled, Gravil remained standing.

  “How much for one?”

  Pointy blinked. “One?” Her brow lifted. “Neither of them are for sale.”

  Gavril gave a soft, indulgent chuckle, as though humoring children. He snapped his fingers.

  The sharp crack made Sticky and Pointy flinch. Two men stepped forward carrying a heavy wooden crate between them. They lowered it carefully to the ground before Gavril with a solid thud. At his nod, the lid was pried open. Gold caught the light first, coins stacked in dense columns. Then the shimmer of worked metal, chains and circlets, unset gems nestled in velvet, rings thick with stones that fractured the daylight into sharp fragments. Wealth enough to buy land. Or loyalty.

  “What do you say?” Gavril asked mildly, as though inquiring after the weather.

  Pointy didn't so much as glance at the gold, once the crate oppened she was looking right at him. “No.” The answer came clean and immediate.

  Gavril’s gaze only flicked toward Sticky, expectant if anything.

  Pointy turned toward him sharply. “We said no.”

  “We?” Sticky echoed, the word thin with something sharp beneath it. He rose from his seat, dusting off his trousers while shooting a glance at Pointy. “Go to hell, you filthy druid,” he added flatly.

  Pointy stiffened. Sticky didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed on the crate. On the gold. “As long as you can restrain the dragons,” he continued, voice steady now, “I suppose you can have them.”

  Meanwhile, mana threaded between the dragons in quiet pulses.

  “He has many shinies.” Sylth mused, watching the coins sparkle.

  “We were right on following this little one. Ours are loud, hungry. And smell of dirt.” Iono replied.

  “Then this one is worth more. He also smells sweet, like flowers.”

  “We could keep him and replace the others.”

  Sylth pondered a moment before replying. “I'm attatched to mine, she is already tamed.”

  “Ok, but I already gave up on Sticky. I hope he doesn't feel abandoned.” Iono admitted.

  The humans remained locked in their venomous dispute, voices rising over the quiet hum of the garden, while the hatchlings had long since dismissed the noise as irrelevant. It was amidst the peak of Pointy's outcry, with her finger jabbed accusingly at Sticky, that Iono moved. The dragon lowered her great head toward the open crate, her snout hovering inches from the spilled wealth. The reaction was instantaneous and fractured.

  The guards froze, hands flying to weapon hilts, muscles coiled to strike. Gavril's smile widened, sharp and triumphant, interpreting the curiosity as acceptance of his offer. Pointy lunged forward, panic stripping the anger from her face as she shouted for the dragon to stop. Only Sticky remained still, watching the beast inspect the gold with a cold, vindicated silence, as if watching a transaction finalize itself.

  Iono lifted her muzzle from the glittering pile, gold dust clinging to her scales like pollen. Her gaze locked onto Sticky, cold and devoid of the curiosity she'd shown Gavril. Her voice finally erupted. “Go away.” Before the words could fully settle in his mind, her tail whipped around. A clearance strike. Sticky vanished from the cushioned chair, sent rolling with a crack of displaced wind, his scream swallowed by the sudden chaos as he collided with the iron fencing beyond.

  A lot of humans became hostile suddenly, only halted when they heard. “Hold!” Gavril shrieked, his composure shattering like dropped glass. He waved his hands frantically at the guards, eyes wide as he stared at Sticky's crumpled form. “Do not strike the merchandise!”

  While Iono drew the crate close, tucking it possessively against her flank as she settled onto the grass with her prize within easy reach, Sylth mirrored her motion on the opposite side. He lowered himself, casting a glare at the treasure that between them.

  “I can have half right?” Sylth's mana quirked.

  “twenty percent.” Iono countered, showing her teeth.

  Sylth exhaled a sharp hiss but inclined his head in concession. With the negotiation settled, the dragonlings turned their attention outward. Gavril was drawing near again, greed radiating from him like heat. They watched with detached curiosity as he approached, his hands raised in placation. When he began to climb onto Sylth's flank, they offered no resistance, indifferent to the uproar erupting from the spectating humans.

  “You' two mine now.” Gavril announced.

  Pointy had exhausted her attempts of changing his mind, reduced to staring at the tableau in horror, as the dragons allowed themselves to be claimed. The guards made ready to obey their master's command, weapons poised, but the dragons flicked their tails with nonchalant dismissal.

  Gavril gestured for them to stand down, looking smug and vindicated. “Call the best tamer in town,” he said, “regardless of price. I need these two handled, properly.”

  Servants scattered like startled birds, rustling as they hurried to obey the command. Two broke away from the group, sprinting to the gates with alarm. Ahead, Sticky pushed himself up from the grass. He stepped through the gate and vanished into the shadow of the city streets just like the hurried servants.

  Gavril finally managed to settle himself on Sylth's saddle. He sat stiffly, unsure of the balance, but his smile was broad enough to compensate for his lack of grace. “See?” he called out to Pointy, who still stood frozen near the low table. “They understand authority. They understand value.”

  Pointy didn't answer. She looked at Iono, expecting the dragon to snap, to breathe fire, to reject this interloper as she had rejected Sticky. But Iono only watched her with those vast, unblinking eyes, indifferent to the human politics unraveling around her.

  Gavril's eyes drifted from Pointy's stricken face to the ridge of Iono's neck. There, curled against the warm scale like a gargoyle come to life, sat the kobold. It had not moved when Sticky was thrown. Had not flinched when the guards drew steel. Simply existed, a small, silent weight atop the beast.

  “And this one?” Gavril's voice dropped an octave, smooth with appraisal. He leaned forward on Sylth's back, ignoring the way the dragon's muscles shifted beneath him like tectonic plates. “Part of the bundle, I assume? A groom? A feeder?”

  The kobold stood quiet and Gavril didn't think much of it. “Mute? Useful. Less chatter to distract the beasts.” He laughed, slapping Sylth's side as if they were old friends, though the dragon only grew in confusion at the gesture.

  The chatter of the humans swelled like a tide, rising and falling in waves of sharp consonants and soft vowels. The hatchlings had already zoned out, more concerned with their shared treasure. Pointy stood frozen near the table, her hands clenched at her sides.

  Then, the rhythm broke.

  The heavy thud of iron-shod hooves struck the gravel beyond the fence. The human noise dipped, sucked away by a sudden vacuum of attention. The gates groaned open again, with a figure riding through the gate, flanked by four others in livery that shimmered with threads of gold. The leader wore a cloak of deep crimson, heavy enough to drag on the ground. He pulled his horse to a halt before Gavril, who still sat atop Sylth, and looked down with eyes that held no warmth.

  The dragons lifted their heads. This one smelled different, specially the hides he's covered by. The man in crimson spoke, causing Gavril's smile to falter. He shifted on Sylth's back, leaning forward to argue, his hands gesturing wildly. The dragons felt the vibration of the dispute more than they understood the words. Gavril's tone was possessive, sharp with greed. The crimson man's tone was flat, absolute. A wall of sound crashing against a rock.

  A word was spoken, one that didn't require much context. “Follow.”

  The hatchlings had only curiosity, there was no reason to refuse. Staying meant stagnation, while moving meant discovery. Iono swiftly clasped the crate between her teeth and maneuvered it onto her back, settling it into the valley between her wings.

  The procession began there. The four guards in shimmering livery turned their mounts, leading the way out of the garden. Both dragons followed right after, Gavril bouncing awkwardly with each step, his smile rigid, eyes darting between the Crimson Man's back and the dragons. Pointy broke her paralysis. She scrambled from the cushioned chair, her legs trembling, and hurried after Iono's tail.

  The hatchlings exchanged mana ripples as they wwalked. “By the looks of it, we might be finally going to the castle.” Sylth noted.

  “Let's try to get as much coin as possible before handing the humans to the red dragon.” Iono retorted.

  “The place looks big, they probably have a lot of shiny things.”

  The streets narrowed as they ascended, the chaotic sprawl of the lower city giving way to paved stones fitted so tightly not even a blade could slip between them.

  “Sir,” Gavril called out, his voice cracking slightly. "I must insist on proper documentation. These beasts are my property. I paid for them."

  The Crimson Man didn't turn. “Nothing within the Crown's walls is property unless the Crown wills it.”

  "But the gold-"

  “Will be credited to your house,” the man interrupted, finally glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were pale, almost colorless, like winter sky. "If you survive the inspection."

  Gavril swallowed audibly. The dragons felt the spike in his heartbeat, a frantic drumming against Sylth's ribs. Sylth sighed, a puff of warm air ruffling the man's cloak.

  Behind them, Pointy struggled to keep pace. She was on foot, dodging around slow carts and wary guards, her eyes locked on Iono's tail. She mouthed something, hands gesturing wildly, but the distance was too great, and the noise of the procession too loud. The kobold on Iono's neck watched her with unblinking yellow eyes, but made no move to signal back.

  The procession turned a final corner, and the castle loomed directly above them. Up close, it was less a building and more a geological event. The gate ahead was a maw of black iron, reinforced with bands of steel thick enough to stop a battering ram. The Crimson Man rode through without breaking stride. Sylth and Iono followed, ducking slightly to clear the iron bars.

  The air inside the courtyard was still and cold, like a cemetery, save for the thudding of hooves and the jangle of tack. It opened into a cavernous hall, ceiling lost in shadow. Torches flickered along walls carved with scenes of conquest. Creatures subdued, cities burning, crowns surrendered.

  At the far end of the hall, raised upon a dais of black marble veined with gold, sat the throne. And upon it, the king.

  He was indeed shiny, crowned with a circlet of gold so polished it shimmered. Rings adorned every finger, gems set in bands that spiraled up his wrists. He looked less like a ruler and more like a treasury given human form. But the dragons barely glanced at him.

  Their attention snapped immediately to the figure seated on a lower chair to the king's right.

  Unadorned. Robed in simple grey wool that swallowed the light rather than reflected it. No jewels, no gold, no ostentatious display of wealth or power. An old human, his face a map of wrinkles, his hands resting calmly on the arms of his chair. Ordinary. Except for the mana.

  Iono froze mid-step. Sylth's tail stopped its lazy sway.

  The flow of mana around him was wrong. The familiar chaos wasn't there, so precisely controlled, channeled, directed with a finesse that reminded them of old dragons. It moved through him like water through a well-cut channel, smooth and purposeful.

  "It tastes old," Sylth's mana radiated, something between fear and fascination. "do you think that one knows how to speak our language?"

  "Probably, we just have to wait and see." Iono replied.

  The king cleared his throat, the sound booming through the hall. "So," he said, his voice rich with practiced authority. “I can finally add dragons to my menagerie.” He chuckled, an unpleasant sound, and motioned to the human beside him. “Kestrel, do your job.”

  Kestrel nodded and stood, motioning to the guards as he walked down the steps. “Bring the artifacts here.”

  Kestrel went over to the dragons, stopping before Iono first, raising a hand. The mana around his fingers shimmered faintly, a distortion like heat haze was a tad uncomfortable. Iono tried not to fidget, after all, they were supposed to use their whelpish looks to charm humans. Being hostile now might not be the best idea.

  Kestrel went over to Sylth next, hands hovering over the scales, repeating the strange mana dance.

  “Even hatchlings are this big.” Kestrel mumbled, eyes flickering between the dragons and Gavril.

  While the old man worked, the humans resumed their noise. The King leaned forward on his throne, fingers drumming against the armrests, each ring clicking against gold. Gavril dismounted and stood near the dragons' flanks, puffing his chest out, while Pointy hovered near the edge of the dais, her eyes darting between the collars and the dragons.

  Kestrel stepped back, wiping his hands on a cloth as if cleaning off dust. He turned to the King and spoke a single word that carried weight. The King nodded, lazy and satisfied. At a signal from the dais, servants emerged from the shadows of the pillars. They carried a velvet cushion between them, weighed down by the objects resting upon it.

  Massive ring-like objects, forged from a black metal that seemed to drink the torchlight rather than reflect it. Runes were carved deep into the surface, filled with a substance that pulsed with a faint, sickly violet glow. To the hatchlings, they looked like heavy jewelry, cumbersome but perhaps prestigious. Like the gold crate, but darker.

  Pointy saw them and the color drained from her face. She knew the script. She knew the purpose. "No!" Her voice cracked through the hall, clear and desperate. She stepped forward, hands outstretched toward Iono. "Those aren't gifts! Don't let them-"

  Two guards moved instantly, their grip was iron. One arm locked around her torso, another clamped over her mouth to stifle the next warning. She kicked, struggling against the armor, her eyes wide and pleading as she locked gazes with Iono.

  Gavril, sensing the shift in power, straightened his tunic and stepped toward the King. Before he could speak the King waved a hand, dismissive as swatting a fly. "Remove him as well." The king ordered and he was turned around, marched toward the same great doors as Pointy.

  The doors boomed shut, sealing the chamber. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the King's chuckle and the scrape of the cushion being set down before the dragons.

  Kestrel approached again, drawing the attention of the dragonlings as the two black artifacts floated towards them.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Iono lowered her head, sniffing the artifact before her. Sylth merely watched as they oppened, the collars parted, like a clawed hand uncurling. Humans were always offering trinkets. This was just another weird item they were giving them after all. She leaned in closer, curiosity prickling along her spine.

  An absence. A sudden, creeping numbness in her mana resonation. "Wrong," she signaled to Sylth, a sharp spike of alarm threading through her mana. "It eats the flow." It might've been a bad choice of words, for Sylth didn't have that good of a vocabulary yet.

  She lunged backward, claws carving deep grooves into the stone floor as she shuffled away. The sudden jerk dislodged the crate of coins from her back; it tumbled to the ground with a deafening crash, spilling gold across the hall in a glittering, chaotic wave. Ignoring the treasure, she focused only on the floating threat. The collar drifted forward, following her retreat like a hound seeking a heel, but the effect lessened with distance. The numbness receded, leaving a phantom itch in its wake. "Don't touch," she warned. "Back away."

  But it was too late for Sylth, whose neck bore the black circlet, which clamped tight around his throat. He twisted his neck, jaws snapping at the intruder clinging to his scales. The moment his muscle tensed to strike, the collar flared. A sudden, crushing silence in his mana channels followed by a spike of white-hot agony that bypassed scales and bit directly into his everything. Sylth shrieked, a sound that echoed through the room. His wings spasmed, knocking over a lamp as he crumpled to the floor, whimpering.

  “Hurt! Bad! Make it stop!” That was all his mana repeated, for continuous agonizing moments.

  Iono fled a collar mere inches from her, her pupils slit narrow. The air around her nostrils shimmered as heat built in her chest with each hum of Sylth's mana. She went for Kestrel, eyes wide and bright. The old man's hand rose once more, palm outstretched, as if preparing to wave away an irritation.

  In that instant, she was blocked by a translucent wall, before tendrils laced around her, spinning to pin wings and tail to the stone floor. She immediately went for a fire breath, but it couldn't get past the wall. Not even a flicker of flame. Her jaw gaped open, a new kind of terror sparking within her.

  To top it all off, her collar arrived. With an audible snap, it closed around her throat, the same cold drain taking hold. Iono shrieked and bucked, flinging her body left and right to dislodge the monstrosity. But her efforts triggered the same reaction as Sylth's, causing her world to become an echo chamber of pain.

  It was worse than the worst wound. It was as if they were being unmade, piece by piece.

  "Magnificent," the King breathed, descending the dais. He stopped before Iono, ignoring the heat radiating from her scales, and reached out to tap the black metal around her throat. "Secure?"

  "Completely," Kestrel replied, his voice devoid of triumph. He stood back, hands folded into the sleeves of his grey robes. "The collars dampen the mana flow. Aggression triggers a punitive discharge. Flight is impossible. Any unwanted behavior can be corrected with sufficient pain."

  Sylth tried to reach out to his sister, but neither could feel the other's presence. They were blinded, unable to even feel the fearful kobold trembling on Iono's back.

  The King circled them, inspecting the beasts. "And that thing?" He pointed at the kobold.

  Kestrel looked up at the kobold, and then down at the dragons. "Just a kobold, Your Majesty. He came with the hatchlings."

  "Get rid of it," the King said with a dismissive wave.

  It took less than an instant. Both hatchlings watched as Kestrel raised his hand, pointing directly at the kobold. Shards of light burst from his fingertips, crackling as if the air itself had ignited. Holes appeared in the kobold's flesh in quick succession, each shard leaving a trail that burned all in its wake. The creature barely realized it was being pierced before his throat exploded. He fell straight to the floor.

  Sylth stared at the small body twitching on the marble. The kobold had always been there, a grounding presence, keeping him calm, much like his sister. Now, he was a ruin of charred flesh and silence. Sylth's throat tightened, a whimper rising instinctively. He choked it back. The horrifying collar hummed against his scales, a dormant viper waiting for a spike of emotion. Cut off from sensing mana, he was alone in a way he had never been, not even before hatching. The isolation was almost worse than the pain.

  Then, a shadow fell over him. Iono was there. She dragged herself around, positioning herself between Sylth and the humans. Her wing unfolded, draping heavy and warm over his back. She couldn't speak to him. She couldn't tell him not to worry, or even to be brave. But having her near kept him from panicking.

  The King clapped his hands, the sound sharp and hollow in the vast hall. "Stand," he commanded, pointing at Sylth, who remained crouched, wings tucked tight against the pain humming at his neck.

  The collar flared. Sylth convulsed, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as the metal seared into his scales. Prompting Iono to react. However, her hostility was detected instantly. Another surge from her collar and she was sent writhing, her screams joining his in an unholy duet. Sylth scrambled up, with his claws skidding on the polished marble, legs shaking until he locked them. He stood tall, trembling, eyes wide and fixed on nothing.

  "Good," the King murmured, stepping closer to inspect the work. He reached out, patting Sylth's snout as one might pat a hound. Sylth flinched but dared not pull away, the collar wasn't mysterious with when it was about to lash out again. That kept him obedient. "Now, bow."

  Sylth didn't know what a 'bow' was, while the mere action of standing was slowly triggering the collar again. Slowly it was starting to dawn on him, this was probably why they should fear humans after all.

  Iono hadn't dropped her hostility, not even after getting the brunt of it twice. The collar's droning grew louder, smoke curled from beneath the metal band where it bit into her scales. Iono's eyes rolled back, her body locking rigid as she forced herself to resist, to stand tall and ignore the pain.

  The King gestured at Kestrel, who muttered something under his breath. A shimmering field wrapped around Iono's head, like a net. Forcing her to drop her posture, then bend. A tug of war played out between the magic and her sheer willpower. The room was silent for a moment, a palpable tension in the air. Then, her head started tilting down, dropping further and further.

  And then, it all scattered. The spell, the collars, the numbness.

  The hatchlings felt it first. A familiar tug on their mana, a reassuring warmth. So familiar in fact, it made both dragonlings relax the instant it arrived. While the humans nearby couldn't be more confused, Kestrel above all.

  The collars fell in pieces. Heavy black iron struck the marble with a dull clatter, leaving behind a phantom ache, a ghost of the fire that had burned through their veins. The translucent net around Iono's head shattered into motes of light that dissolved before hitting the floor.

  Kestrel stumbled back, his hands still raised. He looked at his palms, then at the King, confusion warring with the dawning horror in his mana. "The weave… it's gone." Kestrel looked up, his pale eyes widening. "The structure…" he whispered.

  Nobody really knew when, but the ceiling crumbled open.

  It was an unraveling. Huge stone fragments floated up as if ignoring gravity, drifting toward the sky like dust motes caught in an updraft. The thick beams of marble and iron twisted without snapping, bending into spirals that made no architectural sense. Rays of sunlight shone down, a scenery that defied description. The light poured into the dim hall like liquid gold, illuminating dust motes that hung suspended in time.

  The King stumbled backward, boots scraping harshly against the marble as the dust began to settle. From the breach in the stone, a shape descended.

  Scales of alabaster white caught the sunlight, their outline nearly dissolved within the cascading glow. The creature was luminous, a living star descending into the dim hall.

  The White Dragon landed with a calm that belied its mass, its form filling the cavernous space. Its gaze flicked over Sylth and Iono, ignoring the humans entirely. That vast controlled mana resonated to them. "Had enough fun yet?"

  The two hatchlings were stunned into silence. Iono was the first to find her words. "Father, were you looking for us?"

  The White Dragon's head tilted. "No," he answered simply.

  "What? Why not?" Iono protested, confusion rippling through her mana like a disturbed pool.

  "I always knew where you were," he replied with the same calm, unreadable vibration. "But we do not interrupt a natural learning experience. Your mother is adamant on that point."

  Iono flinched as if struck. Beside her, Sylth remained crouched, his gaze fixed on the kobold on the marble floor. The little creature had ceased to move. "He is dead," Sylth's mana radiated the fact.

  The White Dragon's gaze drifted downward, settling on the small, charred form twitching feebly on the marble. "He is dead," Sylth echoed repeatedly. While the great dragon said nothing, his eyes tracing the kobold before flicking back to his child with an unreadable depth. That brief silence was enough time for the humans to finally react.

  Panic insued on the soldiers' faces, Kestrel included. The King found his voice first, pointing a trembling finger at the intruder. "Seize it!" he shrieked, his composure fracturing into pure panic. "Kill the beast! Kill them all!"

  The order hung in the air, a desperate command born of terror. The guards, trained to obey above all else, surged forward. Spears lowered, swords drawn, a wall of steel rushing toward the alabaster giant. They were brave men, or perhaps simply unlucky enough to be standing closest to the King when panic seized him.

  They never reached the beast.

  Ten paces from the White Dragon, it all was meaningless. Time stretched and distorted around the advancing soldiers, the first screamed awfully. It stretched, elongated into a hum. As he ran, his form began to lose cohesion. His limbs unwounding, defiant to nature. Tendons unravelled into spools of crimson thread, bones spiraling out like ribbons of white silk. A human shape dissolving into a vortex of colorful yarn that scattered across the marble floor.

  The second man swung his sword. The steel met the air around the dragon and bloomed. Literally so. The metal softened, turned green, then burst into a cascade of cherry blossoms. The man himself followed suit. His skin hardened into bark, his hair leafing out in an instant. He exploded into a shower of petals, pink and white, drifting softly to join the unravelled threads of his companion.

  The third tried to halt, digging his boots into the stone. It was too late. The solidity of his body betrayed him. His armor phased through his body. His skin lost its tension. He collapsed into himself, turning into a surge of clean water, splashing against the floor and flowing away, leaving only a wet patch on the stone and a helmet floating atop the puddle.

  The charge halted. Those behind the first wave skidded to a stop, eyes wide, weapons trembling in hands that suddenly felt too fluid to hold them. They stared at the pile of threads, the drift of petals, and the puddle where men had stood seconds before.

  The King backed away, his heels clicking rapidly against the dais. "Sorcery!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "Kestrel! Kill it with sorcery!"

  The old mage stood frozen, panic only increased the more he tried to weave spells forth.

  The white dragon had only eyes to his hatchlings. His tail swayed lazily, flicking away some drifting petals. "Sylth, death hasn't yet claimed your underling," the White Dragon paced forward, one long stride that narrowed the distance between him and the two little dragons. "I can help him, but it won't be free."

  "Dad, please," Sylth pleaded, his gaze locked on the kobold's limp form.

  "Very well." The White Dragon's head dipped, snout grazing the charred creature's back. A gust of breath washed over the lifeless form. The tiny beast twitched, a groan escaping his throat as he stirred. The kobold scrambled up with all the holes in his body sealing themselves. His scales returned, skin unmarred.

  That scene sent the humans into another frenzy. Some ran, others fell to their knees. Kestrel stood rooted to the spot, his hands shaking, sweat dripping from his brow. The White Dragon rose his wings, mana sweeping across the room. "Time to go home," he told his hatchlings. "Take your toys and come back with me."

  Iono turned her gaze from the revived kobold to the trembling figure of the king. The memory of the mana-conversation rippled through her mind, sharp and clear. Handing the high value target to the red dragon. She stepped forward, with her eyes locked onto the King, who scrambled backward until his spine hit the dais.

  "Dad," Iono signaled outward. "Can i take the king to the red dragon?" she asked.

  Meanwhile the king looked to his remaining guards, those who had not turned into water or flowers. "Seize them! Bind the creatures!" He shouted, three soldiers rushed forward, spears leveled. They were brave, but their hearts were already broken by the sight of their comrades unraveling into thread.

  They never reached Iono.

  The pressure dropped. The soldiers' boots stopped inches from Iono's claws, the space between them had stretched into miles. Their eyes widened as the effort to lift a foot became akin to lifting a mountain. The King's mouth opened to scream again, but no sound came out; the air around his throat had simply decided not to carry vibration.

  Iono stepped through the paralyzed defense, lowering her head, jaws opening to grasp the King by the back of his ceremonial robes. He dangled there, kicking silently, a doll dressed in gold.

  Sylth shifted a little. The relief of the kobold's revival had faded with him clinging to his saddle, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest. He scanned the room, his eyes sweeping over the humans.

  Pointy. Where was Pointy?

  He paced toward the entrance, claws clicking anxiously. He craned his neck, trying to sense the mana signature he had grown accustomed to. So many humans around, so much to sort through, his head swamed with information. "She is gone," His mana pulsed in distress again.

  The White Dragon narrowed his eyes, while the clatter of armor outside of the room only increased. "Attachment is a heavy chain, little one." With a glance toward the doors, a sharp pop that echoed. The air in the center of the throne room shimmered, twisting like oil on water. Then, with a tumble of limbs and a startled cry, Pointy appeared. She fell three feet onto the marble, landing hard on her hands and knees.

  Sylth didn't wait. He lunged forward, nudging her to climb up with a gentle bump of his muzzle. Pointy scrambled, hefting herself onto the young dragon's back. It didn't take much long for her to see the white dragon looming over them.

  "That's a whole lot of dragon," she whispered, eyes fixed on the alabaster giant. Whose presence explained every mind-shattering feat she had witnessed so far.

  Iono, still holding the King firmly in her jaws as King mumbled something unintelligible around the grip of her teeth. He complained, over and over. Kestrel, still standing near the dais, looked as though he might faint, decided to address the white behemot, his voice shaking.

  "Great dragon," Kestrel began, his voice steadying through sheer force of will. He bowed low, a gesture he had not offered the King. "I speak for those who remain. We did not know the clutch was guarded by such... presence. We sought only to secure the beasts for the Crown."

  The White Dragon lowered his gaze upon the mage, eyes like molten platinum burning through the dim hall. "What an unwise choice of words." He purred, the sound vibrating in the chest of every living thing present.

  Kestrel froze, unaware of the blood dripping from his robes.

  "Let this be a warning to those who remain," the dragon continued, indifferent to the fear radiating from the soldiers. "Lowly creatures are not qualified to dream of dragons. Your role is only to live in our shadow, praying not to be noticed." A flicker of his tail, a sharp crack. One by one, the humans fell to their knees.

  The final word struck like a physical blow. Kestrel's mouth opened, but only blood escaped. The light behind his eyes shattered. He collapsed limp to the floor, his body intact but utterly devoid of life, as if the right to exist had simply been revoked.

  The hatchlings watched the fall with wide eyes, drawing closer to their father. "You speak their language very well. Should we?" Iono asked.

  "No," The White Dragon replied, flicking his tail to usher them closer. "To learn their speech is to bind yourself to their logic. To limit your thoughts to their small, linear boxes." He continued, lacing the crate full of coins with his tail. "Come, let's leave this pitiful den before it tarnishes you further."

  He turned toward the hole in the ceiling. With a single beat of his wings, the air pressure in the room dropped sharply. Dust and debris swirled upward, drawn into the vacuum created by his ascent. He rose effortlessly, passing through the breach in the stone without touching a single one.

  Sylth flew after him, Pointy clinging tightly to his back. Iono released the King from her jaws, securing him in her claws before taking off. The kobold was back atop her neck, holding on for dear life.

  Above the clouds, the White Dragon led the way, his wings barely moving as he carved through the sky. In the silence of the high altitude, his mana flowed to Iono. "Your endurance was admirable, Iono," he projected. "The ancestors would be proud of how you handled everything, even unto the end."

  Iono beamed, her heart swelling with pride. She hadn't even realized she had been waiting for her father's approval. It was clear in her mana fluctuations, a warm surge that washed over Sylth. While he was still thinking back on the kobold's revival, replaying the many distinct events that had unfurled once their father arrived.

  "Dad, how did you do all of that?" Sylth asked, curious, thoughtful, awed.

  "You'll learn," the White Dragon replied, not turning his head to face them. "Just know that our gifts are many and deep. Treasure them, and remember that dragons reign supreme." He spread his wings, soaring higher into the heavens.

  Time blurred, the landscape shifting beneath them. Heat and the scent of sulfur grew potent, and ahead, the familiar scenery of theatrically organized bones came into view. They entered the mountain pass, receiving a surge of mana from deep within, signaling only: "Welcome," as they descended into the lair's entrance.

  The dragons landed on the smooth cave floor. Iono dropped the King unceremoniously from her talons. "Walk," she commanded. The hatchlings paced ahead, flanking the trembling human. It was an impressive sight, indeed, but not as impressive as the chamber ahead. Piles of gold and stacks of treasure filled the cavern, centered around a great dragon.

  The Red Dragon lowered his head the moment they entered, prompting the hatchlings to inquire. "Dad, you said dragons should never bow," Iono pointed out, tilting her head curiously. Her mana radiated outward, making the Red Dragon flinch, along with an ever-so-light flicker of ego snuffed out the moment it ignited.

  "Unless it is to another True Dragon," the White Dragon answered.

  "True Dragon?" Iono asked.

  "One worthy of the title." The White Dragon nodded to the Red, whose head rose.

  The Red Dragon focused his gaze on the trembling heap of velvet and gold at Iono's feet. He exhaled, a plume of smoke curling around. "Well done," his mana rippled, tapping his claw on a pile of gold. "You brought me a crown."

  "A high-value target," Iono corrected, puffing out her chest slightly. "As promised."

  The Red Dragon flicked his tail, seizing the cage from the shadows of the room. It scraped across the coins, grinding to a halt before the King. The King's eyes widened as he saw the girl inside, dressed in a white gown. She gaped at him, but he was at a loss for words. They didn't have time to speak before the Red Dragon's tail shoved the King inside the cage, next to the Princess. The door slammed shut with a final clang.

  The Red Dragon shifted his focus back to the hatchlings. "And for this... endeavor, you will be rewarded," he purred with every flicker of mana, eyes darting over his hoard. "Given you probably don't want the whereabouts of your hatchery revealed anymore, a token is more appropriate." His tail swiped through the mound of coins, uncovering an emerald the size of his claw. He presented it to Sylth, the green light reflecting off the hatchling's scales. "For you."

  It was placed atop Sylth's snout, leaving the hatchlings a mix of puzzled and mesmerized by the jewel. Pointy wasn't much different, unable to look away from the object. Immediately, another identical gem surfaced from the pile, rolling toward Iono. She claimed it with a low growl of satisfaction.

  Together, they turned away from the Red Dragon and moved toward their father. He secured both gems inside the crate held by him, nestling among the other coins. Lowering his head, he watched their small, eager forms.

  "Let's go." He nudged them with his muzzle.

  "Home?" Sylth asked, eager to return to his nest.

  The White Dragon nodded. "For now, yes. There is an event we can't afford to miss."

  "An event?" Both hatchlings asked in unison.

  The father's gaze held theirs. "Your brother's hatching."