I woke to the gentle rustle of leaves and a beam of unfiltered morning sunlight warming my face. The profound exhaustion that had dragged me into sleep was gone, replaced by a clarity I hadn't felt in weeks. A nap, it turns out, is the most effective tactical retreat from one's problems.

  Beside me, Kaelus was still a sprawling mass of cosmic scales, his snores causing the nearby grass to flatten. I nudged him gently. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  He yawned, a sound like grinding tectonic plates, and cracked open one starlit eye. Five more minutes, he grumbled mentally. Or maybe five years.

  I looked around. The forest was dense, the trees unfamiliar. We had landed in the unclaimed lands, but where exactly? If I reconnected to The Aegis’s network now, the sudden signal would likely cause a fleet-wide panic. My subordinates were probably tearing the ship apart looking for me. My mother would be furious about the missed meals. And Lyra… Lyra would be demanding reparations for a missed bedtime story.

  I let out a sigh. Problems for later.

  Kaelus’s stomach rumbled, a sound that startled a flock of birds from the canopy.

  Hungry, he projected, looking at me with expectant, puppy-dog eyes.

  I checked my spatial storage ring. Empty. Kaelus lived entirely in the moment, treating food storage as a concept for lesser beings.

  Through the trees, I spotted a thin wisp of smoke rising in the distance. A settlement. My ring held a few gold coins minted in Dragon Valley, universally accepted currency. But walking into a random village wearing the crimson armor of the Reaper and accompanied by a dragon was not exactly low profile.

  I rummaged deeper into the ring and my hand brushed against rough fabric. I pulled it out—a dark, tattered cloak. The very same one I had worn four years ago when I fled the academy, a boy running into the dark. I had never thrown it away.

  I draped the cloak over my armor, pulling the deep hood low. “Kaelus, shrink down. Hide inside.”

  He grumbled but complied, transforming into his cat-sized form and nestling onto my shoulder beneath the heavy fabric.

  We followed the smoke, emerging from the forest onto a muddy, rutted road. The village ahead was small, a cluster of dilapidated wooden buildings leaning against each other like tired old men. The smell of sewage and unwashed bodies hung heavy in the air.

  Brother, Kaelus wrinkled his nose, this place is stinky. Can I burn it down?

  “No,” I whispered. “This is just… poverty. Be quiet.”

  We walked into the village square. It was eerily quiet. The shops were shuttered, the market stalls empty. People sat in doorways, their eyes hollow, staring at us with a mixture of apathy and suspicion.

  I approached a bakery, its chimney cold. A man with flour-dusted hands leaned against the doorframe, chewing on a piece of straw.

  “Excuse me,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I’m looking to buy bread.”

  The baker laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Bread? That’s a good joke, stranger. Now scram.”

  Confused, I reached into my cloak and flashed a silver coin. “I can pay. I’m just a traveler passing through.”

  The baker’s demeanor shifted instantly. His eyes locked onto the coin with a desperate hunger. “Hide that,” he hissed, glancing around nervously. “You want to get your throat cut? And a word of advice—money can’t buy what isn’t there. There’s no flour. No grain. The King took it all.”

  I frowned, slipping the coin back into my pocket. “Where are we?”

  “You hit your head or something?” The baker looked at me pityingly. “This is Aerthos. Specifically, the outskirts of the capital territory.”

  The realization hit me like a physical blow. In my attempt to escape my troubles, I had landed right in their backyard. This was the land my family had once sworn to protect.

  “If you want food,” the baker continued, pointing a gnarled finger down the road, “your best bet is the lands of House Black. It’s a few hours journey east. There are merchants there, selling supplies. But be warned—they charge a king’s ransom. A silver coin might get you a few days of stale rations if you’re lucky.”

  House Black. Morpheus’s territory. I was a few hours away from the Black Mage Tower. Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.

  I walked away, my mind reeling. Seeing the suffering on a holographic display was one thing; seeing it in the sunken eyes of these people was another. I looked around at the squalor, the hopelessness etched into every face.

  These people never asked for this. Just as I never asked to be a king, they never asked to be pawns in a tyrant’s game. King Theron was starving his own populace to feed his war machine. And House Black? They were hoarding supplies, using food as leverage in their political maneuvering. Both sides were guilty.

  I stopped, looking back at the village. The image of the girl I had seen on The Oracle’s feed flashed in my mind. The one with the ragged dress and the wooden dragon. The one who looked so much like Lyra.

  My breath hitched.

  Lyra had me. She had parents who loved her, a fortress to protect her, a dragon to play with. This girl… she had nothing. No older brother to stand between her and the world. No shield to deflect the cruelty of kings. She was alone, just as I had been.

  Deep within me, a scar I thought had healed tore open. I remembered the cold nights in the orphanage, the gnawing hunger, the absolute, crushing loneliness. I remembered wishing, praying, for someone—anyone—to come and save me.

  No one came.

  But I was here now. And I wasn't a helpless child anymore.

  A cold, hard resolve settled in my chest, solidifying like steel in a forge. I had the power. I had the means. To turn away now would be a betrayal of the boy I used to be.

  My mind, honed by years of strategic planning, began to run calculations at lightning speed. To take control of these lands, to save these people, I needed House Black. I could tear down their Mage Towers one by one, yes. But that would leave me fighting a three-front war against Cinderfall, the Verdant Conclave, and potentially the Imperium.

  I thought of the history of Aerthos. No king had ever been crowned because the two great houses—Wight and Black—could never unite. light and Shadow. Honor and Pragmatism. They were oil and water.

  But now… the option was open. If I accepted the marriage proposal, House Black would back me completely. Their resources, their spy network, their legitimacy—it would all be mine.

  I thought of my mother’s words. She is a better judge of character than anyone. If she thinks Nyxia is good for me…

  More calculations ran through my head. My First Fleet was positioned near the Obsidian Dominion. The Second Fleet patrolled the waters between. But the Third Fleet… the Third Fleet was holding position off the coast of Aerthos, near the lands controlled by House Black.

  If I secured House Black’s allegiance, I could land my forces unopposed. We could reclaim the territories of House Wight, secure the food supplies, and then turn our full might against Cinderfall. It was the only path to a swift victory. It was the only way to stop the starvation.

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

  “Kaelus,” I whispered. “Are you ready to barge into a castle and crash a wedding?”

  Kaelus poked his head out from the cloak, his eyes gleaming. So it’s time to burn the bad castle?

  “Well,” I corrected, a grim smile touching my lips. “Technically, we’re launching an invasion. It all depends on how Morpheus reacts to our unannounced arrival.”

  I reached up and tapped the hidden comms unit in my ear.

  “Tes,” I commanded, my voice low but carrying the weight of a final decision. “Re-establish connection to the network. Issue a system-wide alert. Condition Red.”

  [Acknowledged, Master. Welcome back.]

  I looked toward the east, toward the looming shadow of the Black Mage Tower. It looked like I was about to get hitched.

  The thought was absurd. In my old life, I was a loner who couldn't even land a girlfriend. Now, I was skipping straight to a political marriage to a terrifyingly competent sorceress. The age gap was… complicated. Biologically, I was nineteen. Chronologically, counting my past life… well, let’s just say I was an old soul.

  Fate brought me here. I stepped off the road and into the cover of the trees.

  Let fate handle the rest. For now, I had a wedding to crash.

  . . .

  Just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of bruised purple and gold, Kaelus decided he had been patient enough. With a mental huff, he stepped out from the folds of my cloak. The small, cat-sized form shimmered, and in a heartbeat, he expanded.

  The villagers gasped, backing away as the cosmic titan unfurled his wings, his scales reflecting the starlight. Their fear was palpable, a heavy silence falling over the square. But then, recognition dawned.

  "It's him..." an old woman whispered, her hands clasped to her chest. "The Star-Born Titan."

  "The Dragon Prince," another breathed. "He's here."

  I let the cloak fall from my shoulders, revealing the crimson and black of my Reaper armor. The whispers grew louder, a wave of awe and dawning hope. They saw the silver hair, the sapphire eyes. They knew who I was.

  I climbed onto Kaelus’s back, settling into the saddle of his shoulders. I didn't want to cause a scene, but it was too late for subtlety.

  To the capital territory, I projected. House Black’s estate.

  Kaelus launched, a powerful thrust of his wings sending us skyward. We left the village behind, a shrinking speck in the growing twilight.

  It took mere minutes to reach the heart of House Black’s domain. The landscape changed, the desolate poverty giving way to well-tended fields and fortified towns. And looming over it all was the Shadow Spire, Morpheus’s Mage Tower, a needle of black stone piercing the sky.

  As we approached, a figure rose to meet us.

  It was Morpheus Black. He floated in mid-air, his robes billowing around him like living shadows. He was not the polite diplomat I had met on my ship. Here, in his domain, anchored to his tower, he was a Tier 8 Archmage in full, terrifying glory. His aura was a physical weight, a crushing pressure of darkness and silence that sought to smother us.

  The Dungeon Core at the heart of the mage tower provided a limitless supply of mana, making an Archmage nearly invincible within his domain. To besiege such a tower would require an army of a million knights or a strike force of thousands of Tier 7 elites.

  If this was a show of might, he would get one.

  I closed my eyes, reaching for the bond. I attuned my emotions to Kaelus’s excitement, his pride, his raw, cosmic energy.

  Resonance.

  The bridge snapped into place. My mana level surged, punching through the pseudo-Tier 8 barrier and slamming into the ceiling of Tier 8. My aura flared, a brilliant azure light that mingled with Kaelus’s starlight, pushing back against the encroaching shadows.

  Morpheus’s eyes widened. He felt the pushback. He realized that here, even on his own turf, he did not hold the upper hand. A Tier 8 Archmage was formidable, but a fully harmonized Tier 8 Dragon Knight was a force of nature no less powerful.

  A slow smile spread across his face. “It appears you live up to the legends, Lord Wight,” he called out, his voice amplified by magic. “Dragon Harmony at such a young age… well, how could I ask for a better son-in-law?”

  He pointed a long, pale finger toward a solitary tower in the distance, separate from the main keep.

  “She is there,” he said. “My offer stands. Marry her, and you have our full support. Save my daughter, Alarion.”

  I nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of the pact. I urged Kaelus forward, flying toward the tower where the Shadow Princess waited.

  . . .

  Nyxia Black was tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired.

  The last week had been an endless, exhausting parade. Prince Ignis, that pompous, preening fool, had taken every opportunity to hold her hand, to parade her before the cheering crowds like a prize mare. And this was just the beginning.

  She was in her room, a space that was her deepest, most guarded secret. To the world, she was the Ice Queen of House Black, a scholar of cold logic and darker magic. But here, in her sanctuary, the mask slipped. The room was a riot of soft pink sheets, fluffy pillows, and delicate lace curtains. Plush toys sat on her shelves next to ancient grimoires. It was a room for a girl who secretly loved fairy tales, a girl who dreamed of romance and warmth in a life defined by shadows and spies.

  She screamed, a raw, frustrated sound that echoed in the empty room.

  “I don’t want to marry that fool!”

  The words hung in the air, heavy with truth. No amount of magical knowledge, no secret grimoire, was worth this. To be shackled to Ignis Flavius, a man whose ego was larger than his kingdom, was a fate worse than death. He was insufferable, vain, and cruel.

  But what choice did she have?

  Her mind drifted, as it often did in these dark moments, to a memory. A face. Silver hair, sapphire eyes, and a quiet, intense intelligence that had always drawn her in.

  Alarion Wight.

  Her rival. Her obsession. Her… love?

  She felt a dull ache in her chest. She had fallen for him years ago, right after that ridiculous duel where he had humiliated Ignis for her sake.

  She didn't know when the rivalry had turned into admiration, and when admiration had bloomed into love. She only knew that she had spent years chasing him.

  She would follow him secretly, watching him in class. She would study until her eyes burned, desperate to take the top spot, thinking that maybe, if she beat him, he would finally notice her.

  She never succeeded. He was a genius, a prodigy who breezed through exams as if he had written the textbooks himself. He never noticed her efforts. He never gave her any attention. Even his maid had noticed, pitying the girl who tried so hard for a boy who only cared about his toys, his little trinkets and inventions.

  That was why she hated his machines. They took him away from her. They kept him distracted, locked in his own world where she couldn't follow.

  And that day… the day she had finally worked up the courage to tell him, to bridge the gap between them… the world had ended. He had disappeared, consumed by grief and war.

  The only reason she had agreed to this marriage, the only reason she hadn't fled into the night, was the people. She couldn't watch them starve anymore. She couldn't stand by while the common folk suffered under Theron’s tyranny. The expedited marriage was a desperate bid to open her family’s granaries, to save lives.

  “But that fool!” she said aloud, her voice trembling. “I know I blurted out some odd demands in that meeting… but can you expect a girl to make the first move? For a man who is such a genius… can’t he read between the lines?”

  She punched her pink pillow, a burst of impotent anger. But the rage faded quickly, leaving only a hollow sadness. She picked up the pillow and hugged it tight to her chest, curling into a ball on the bed.

  Today was the last day of her freedom. Tomorrow, she would be sent to the Cinderfall castle. Tomorrow, she would belong to Ignis. She wouldn't even be allowed to cry.

  Tears, hot and unbidden, began to flow. She let them fall, soaking into the silk of the pillow. This was her last act of rebellion. Her last moment of being Nyxia Black, the girl who loved pink and magic and a silver-haired ghost.

  She walked to the window, looking out at the twilight, wishing she could just fly away.

  But it appeared she wasn't truly alone.

  A shadow fell over her window. A massive, warm presence that blocked out the dying light. She looked up, her tear-streaked face freezing in confusion.

  There was something outside. Hovering.

  She wiped her eyes, thinking it was a hallucination. But then, a claw rapped gently against the glass.

  Knock. Knock.

  Nyxia stared. She was in a tower, hundreds of feet in the air. Where were the wards? Where were the guards? How did someone just… knock on her window?

  She felt a wave of confusion, followed by a sudden, burning shame. Someone had seen her crying. Someone had seen her break.

  She approached the window slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs. She unlatched it and pushed it open.

  And there he was.

  Hovering in the air, seated casually on the back of a cosmic dragon, was Alarion Wight. He wasn't wearing his helmet. His silver hair was windblown, his sapphire eyes calm and unreadable.