"While the skill is powerful… the drawback is something else entirely."
Kaelen closed the panel, the translucent window dissolving into the air like smoke. The warning lingered in his thoughts a moment longer than the rest.
Burning away his own existence.
Not ideal.
The roar came again — closer this time, rolling through the tree line like a wave pressing against a shoreline. He exhaled once, let his wings burst from his back in a single motion, and launched himself skyward.
The forest canopy dropped away beneath him. Open sky replaced it, and in the span of a few seconds he spotted the source of the chaos.
The dragon was enormous — an archdragon, scales the color of cooling coal, wingspan wide enough to cast a shadow over half the village. It had taken to the air, banking in a wide arc over a clearing at the forest's northern edge.
Below it — eight humans.
Kaelen tilted his head.
A hunting party. Fighters at the front bearing the kind of wounds that came from being too close to something that breathed fire — severe burns, deep lacerations, armor that had partially melted at the edges. Behind them, archers and mages, singed but operational, launching spells and arrows against scales that barely registered the impact.
He stared at them for a moment.
Where did they find the courage?
He genuinely wasn't sure if it was bravery or something else entirely.
The archdragon answered the question for him — it opened its jaws. A sphere of condensed flame began forming between its teeth, growing in size with each passing second, heat distorting the air around it in visible waves. The mages scrambled, layering barriers. The archers switched to enchanted bolts. None of it was going to matter.
Kaelen made a decision.
His sword began to glow — a slow, steady blue that built from the hilt outward. He swung.
The crescent of compressed energy crossed the distance silently and caught the dragon across its left eye.
The sphere of flame dispersed. The archdragon let out a shriek that shook the clouds and twisted away from its dive, shaking its massive head.
Kaelen folded his wings and dropped — pulling them back in close to his body before he landed, touching the ground between the hunting party and the dragon in a single, clean impact. He straightened.
Eight humans stared at him.
A twelve-year-old boy. Black shirt. Sword in hand. Having just dropped out of the sky.
The leader — a tall man with burn marks up his left arm and the posture of someone who had been doing this for a long time — stepped forward instinctively and pushed Kaelen behind him.
"Boy. This isn't a place for children." His voice was firm, not unkind. "We'll occupy the beast. You run the moment you see an opening."
The others nodded, weapons raised.
Kaelen looked at the hand on his shoulder. Then at the dragon. Then back at the man.
He stepped out from behind him.
"It's fine," he said simply. "I can handle it."
The man turned with an expression caught somewhere between confusion and concern.
The archdragon didn't give either of them time to continue the conversation.
Its aura expanded outward — crushing, ancient, the pressure of something that had existed for centuries bearing down on everything in its range. The hunting party staggered. Several of the archers dropped to one knee. The lead fighter's legs shook visibly.
Kaelen stood in it like it was weather.
The dragon gathered flame again — larger this time, hotter, the sphere nearly twice the size of the last. It had decided on a different approach. No precision. Just annihilation.
It released everything.
A torrent of dragonfire poured forward — a wave of orange-white heat that swallowed the ground it touched and turned stone to slag.
Kaelen raised his left hand.
The fire came —
— and bent.
Not stopped. Not blocked. Bent. The flames curved in the air as though they had suddenly remembered who was in charge. The torrent spiraled inward, converging on a single point in front of his palm, layer upon layer of dragonfire folding into itself until it had compressed into a single sphere floating above his outstretched hand. The ground around his feet was untouched. The group behind him hadn't felt so much as warmth.
The sphere sat in his palm — dense, brilliant, humming with contained energy. Blue.
Kaelen inspected it.
He turned it slightly, observing. His eyes tracked the way it moved, the way it responded. It was still the dragon's flame, still alive with the creature's will — and it had answered his call anyway. Not just the attack. The ambient fire on the ground around them had joined it too, pulled in by the field.
So there's no distinction. Ongoing attack, residual flame, environmental fire — if it's fire, it's mine to take.
He filed that away.
Then he added something.
A thread of Primordial Flame wove into the sphere from somewhere deeper than his hand — something older, something that didn't belong to any dragon. The blue exterior remained, but at its core a dark red ignited, swirling in slow orbit like a second sun trapped inside the first.
One of the fighters behind him muttered under his breath, not quite to anyone.
"What… is that flame? It feels — it feels more dangerous than the dragon's."
The archdragon felt it too.
Its pride didn't allow it to retreat. But its instincts were older than its pride, and they screamed at it — so it made a compromise. It coated its entire body in its own flame, layering heat upon heat until its scales glowed, and dove.
Full speed. Directly at Kaelen.
He grinned.
The sphere shifted in his palm — reshaping, narrowing, the round mass pulling itself into the form of an arrow, compact and humming with pressure. He drew his arm back.
At the same moment, he reached out through the Flame Sovereignty field and took hold of the fire coating the dragon's body. Not all of it. Just the front — he pulled it backward, redirecting it toward the tail, stripping the creature's defensive layer from its head as it descended.
He threw.
The arrow crossed the gap in an instant and detonated against the dragon's exposed skull.
The explosion swallowed it whole.
When the light cleared — the archdragon was still alive. But it was falling, and it was not intact. A trail of fractured scales ran from its head to its tail, the breaks glowing at their edges like cracked magma still cooling. The creature had managed to partially redistribute its magicules as the attack landed — a high-level instinctive defense that had saved it from instant death.
Interesting. The Primordial thread wasn't enough to fully bypass a creature this size at that concentration. It either has natural conceptual resistance at this tier, or it redirected internal energy to absorb the breach.
...Either way, I have somewhere to be.
He moved.
One instant he was standing in front of the group. The next he was directly below the falling archdragon, sword already drawn back, the blade emitting a steady, cold blue light as magicules flooded into it.
He leapt.
The sword caught the dragon at the neck — and continued through.
The separation was clean. Almost quiet, relative to everything that had preceded it. The massive body continued its descent and hit the earth with a impact that shook the ground for a hundred meters in every direction. The head landed in the clearing in front of the hunting party with considerably more drama.
Kaelen touched down in front of them.
He looked up at the group.
"Can I ask you something?"
They stared at him.
He tilted his head. "What made your group think you could handle an archdragon?"
The leader opened and closed his mouth once. Then settled on honesty.
"We thought it might be a lesser dragon."
Kaelen considered this. "What made you want to hunt it at all?"
The mage near the back answered before the leader could — with a faint edge of defensiveness that suggested he already knew how it was going to sound.
"There's a bounty on it. The head alone is worth significant coin, and the bones and scales will fetch even more from the right buyers. Everyone needs money."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed slightly.
Greed. That's the whole answer.
He had assumed there might be more to it. Some threat to a village, some personal history. Something.
He sighed quietly.
"Since I'm the one who dealt the finishing blow — the spoils are mine. That's standard, isn't it?"
The group exchanged glances. Several expressions moved through unhappy territory. But they all looked at the head sitting in front of them, and they all remembered what had put it there, and none of them actually argued.
They nodded. Reluctantly. Collectively.
Kaelen pulled three scales from the corpse before it disappeared into his Dimensional Storage — tossing them across to the group without ceremony.
"For the bounty. You were here."
He didn't wait for a response. He launched himself into the sky, wings spreading the moment he cleared rooftop height — folding them back before he dropped into the village's main road, touching down on empty cobblestones.
The village was deserted. Every door shut, every window dark.
He stood in the silence and thought about his options.
If I announce it myself, that draws attention to me specifically. If I say nothing, they could stay barricaded inside for hours. I need to get to Carrion's territory.
He weighed it for approximately four seconds.
"HEY." He raised his voice toward the nearest row of shuttered buildings. "THE DRAGON'S BEEN DEALT WITH."
Nothing.
He waited.
A door cracked open. A single beastman peered out, looked at the empty street, looked at the twelve-year-old standing in it, and then opened the door fully and shouted the same thing down the road.
Within minutes the village was alive again.
Kaelen found the elves without difficulty. Liora was the first to spot him, and something in her expression settled as she did — the particular kind of relief that comes from a worry you'd been quietly carrying being set down.
"Dealt with quickly," she observed.
"It wasn't that complicated."
A younger elf near the back of the group shifted forward, pulling her hood slightly down. She spoke quietly, with the careful tone of someone asking a question they weren't entirely sure they wanted the answer to.
"Was it… was it an archdragon?"
"Yes."
The group went still. Then, after a beat — a collective exhale that was mostly acceptance. They had watched this boy talk his way past a mercenary checkpoint, ignore three territorial monsters by simply releasing his aura until they fled, and personally escort them across three weeks of open road. An archdragon was surprising. It was not, somehow, shocking.
Word traveled fast. Faster than Kaelen would have preferred. Beastmen from the slave group spoke to the villagers, names and details and feats passing from person to person in a chain that spread through the streets. The village reception went from disbelief to cautious acceptance within the span of about twenty minutes.
Kaelen decided this was an excellent moment to leave.
"Let's move," he said, gathering the group. "We're close."
They reached the Beast Kingdom of Eurazania two days later.
The capital was busy in the way that beast kingdoms tended to be — large, loud, built for people who valued space and directness. The streets were wide and the population moved through them with physical confidence. Shops lined the main road. Street vendors competed with each other loudly. The air smelled like cooked meat and woodsmoke.
Kaelen walked at the front of the group with Liora a half-step behind him. The others followed in a loose cluster.
He noticed the glances.
Not suspicious glances — more like the kind that come from recognizing something out of place. A human child leading a group of elves and beastmen through the capital streets, walking with the posture of someone who had a destination and intended to reach it. He noted them and kept moving.
He had almost reached the castle approach when the six blades came out.
They materialized from the surrounding crowd with practiced coordination — elven guards, light armor, swords leveled outward in a ring that enclosed Kaelen and the group behind him in one smooth motion. The elves in his group startled, looking at their kinsmen with confused, unsettled expressions.
Then a voice.
Elegant. Composed. Carrying the specific weight of someone who had never needed to raise it to be heard.
"It seems we've found the missing elves. As well as the one responsible."
She walked through the ring of guards with the ease of someone parting a curtain — white hair, green eyes, a face that operated in the register of genuinely exceptional. A lavender jacket with fur trim, a black corset, a lavender skirt beneath it, a gold necklace set with a circular green gem. She moved like every step was a considered choice rather than an automatic one.
Kaelen looked at her for two seconds and reached a conclusion.
"Empress Elmesia El Ru Sarion," he said.
He gave a slight bow — measured, respectful, not excessive.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding, Your Majesty. I was the one who rescued them. I've simply been escorting them back."
Elmesia's composure shifted — not breaking, but adjusting. A faint curiosity entered it.
Before she could respond, Liora stepped forward and dipped into a bow herself.
"My lady, he's telling the truth. When we were about to be sold, he intervened. Everything since has been him keeping us safe." She straightened and glanced back at the other elves, who nodded in confirmation.
"Ohh~," Elmesia said.
One of the guards stepped forward before she could continue.
"My lady, the boy may have bewitched them. Their testimonies can't be—"
Kaelen looked at him.
The killing intent that leaked out was not large. It was not dramatic. It was very precise and very cold, and it was aimed entirely at the guard who had just spoken.
"The next time you accuse me of something I didn't do," Kaelen said, voice even, "you'll lose your head before the sentence finishes."
The guard went rigid. Then the anger came back — faster than the fear, which was the wrong order of operations — and he started to raise his voice.
"You little—"
"That's enough."
Elmesia's voice carried no particular volume. It didn't need to.
The guard went silent.
"He's innocent," she said simply. "Look at them — the gratitude in their eyes is genuine, not manufactured. And that sword at his hip is standard issue from the Eastern Empire. If he holds any position of significance there, harming him could create consequences none of us want." She gave the guard a measured look. "Stand down."
The swords lowered, one by one.
Elmesia returned her attention to Kaelen with an expression that had moved from curiosity into something more interested.
"I apologize for the reception. You acted with honor and I'd like to offer a reward. What would you like?"
Kaelen thought for a moment.
"The payment from the noble who bought them was going to go to the people I rescued. After some convincing they accepted most of it." He paused. "I kept two Stellar Coins and a property in Ingracia for my trouble. I think that's fair compensation." He met her eyes. "What I'd actually ask — if I visit Sarion in the future, I'd like to be welcomed there."
Elmesia regarded him.
Then she laughed — brief, genuine, the sound of someone who had not expected to be charmed by a twelve-year-old and found the experience mildly delightful.
"Very well. Sarion's doors are open to you. Understand — that is a considerable privilege."
"I'm aware. Thank you for your generosity."
A beat passed.
"One more thing," he added. "Is there someone in the capital who can process materials from a dragon corpse?"
Elmesia's brow lifted slightly.
"A dragon corpse?"
"He killed a dragon on the way here," Liora said, from slightly behind him. "An archdragon, he said."
Elmesia turned to look at her. "And you believe him?"
Liora considered this. "At this point? Yes."
"Ohh~."
A new voice interrupted from somewhere behind Elmesia.
"What's going on here?"
The crowd of guards parted slightly. A large man walked through them — powerfully built, beastman in bearing and presence, with the particular ease of movement that came from being accustomed to being the most dangerous thing in a room. He looked at the scene in front of him with mild interest.
Carrion.
Elmesia half-turned toward him. "This boy helped my kinsmen return safely. He's asking about someone who can process materials from an archdragon corpse."
Carrion's eyes moved to Kaelen. Something in them sharpened with interest.
"Name?"
"Kaelen Caelthorn."
A short pause. Then Elmesia, with a faint smile:
"Kaelen the Dragon Slayer. That has a certain ring to it."
Kaelen's expression went slightly pained. "Please don't."
She looked entirely unbothered by his objection.
Carrion jerked his head toward the street. "Come with me. I know a shop that can handle what you're describing."
Kaelen nodded and turned back to the group.
The farewell was quieter than he expected. Most of the beastmen had already reunited with contacts in the capital. The elves stood together, watching him with expressions that had traveled a long distance from the fear they'd worn in that living room three weeks ago.
Loira stepped forward.
"Goodbye?" She said it like she was questioning the concept.
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You're not going to visit?"
He let out a short, wry sound. "I'll try. In the future — I actually may end up living in Sarion." He glanced at Elmesia, who was still present and listening without apology.
Her curiosity sharpened noticeably. "Oh? Why?"
"Let's just say I have a sense of things to come. The Eastern Empire might not be where I'm meant to stay."
Elmesia absorbed this. The look on her face was thoughtful in a way that suggested she was filing the information away carefully.
"You're always welcome," she said. "...By the way. Do you have a master?"
"I do."
"Who?"
Kaelen smiled. "The Emperor of the Eastern Empire."
The curiosity that entered Elmesia's expression was a different quality than before — deeper, more considered. She said nothing for a moment.
He took that as his cue. He gave a respectful nod to her, a wave to Liora and the others, and fell into step beside Carrion.
The craftsman's shop was run by a stocky dwarf-adjacent human with soot on his forearms and the expression of someone who had seen many unusual requests and was not easily unsettled. He took one look at what Kaelen placed before him, went very quiet, and then spent about thirty seconds examining the condition of the scales and the fractured head bones without saying anything.
"What kind of attack does this?" he asked eventually, gesturing at the damage patterns.
"Mine," Kaelen said.
The craftsman looked at him.
Kaelen looked back.
The craftsman decided not to pursue the question.
"One day," he said. "Come back tomorrow."
Kaelen returned the following morning to a neatly organized collection of processed materials — refined bone plates, sorted scale fragments, the damaged sections separated and labeled. The craftsman had also set aside a portion of dragon meat, looking at Kaelen with the hopeful expression of someone trying to be helpful.
Kaelen took approximately two kilograms.
"The rest is yours," he said. "Do what you want with it."
The craftsman's hopeful expression became considerably more genuine.
Kaelen stored everything and stepped outside into the morning air of Eurazania's capital. He checked the position of the sun. Checked his internal sense of distance and spatial coordinates.
Then activated Voidwalker.
The Imperial Palace materialized around him — marble, banners, the particular weight of a building that had stood for centuries and knew it. He stepped out of the spatial fold and was standing in the corridor leading to the throne room before the displaced air had finished settling.
The guards at the entrance recognized him. They'd been seeing this boy walk these halls for months. They stepped aside without comment.
He pushed the throne room doors open.
The throne itself was empty. But Velgrynd stood near it, arms loosely crossed, azure hair catching the light from the high windows. She looked at him with the expression of someone who had been prepared to be impassive and was currently managing it at approximately seventy percent effectiveness.
"Marshal," Kaelen said. "I'm back."
Velgrynd's eyes moved over him — cataloguing, assessing, doing the thing she did whenever he returned from something where she hadn't known exactly what was happening.
"Finally decided to show up," she said. "What took you so long?"
"I had things to finish."
She exhaled through her nose. "Yaya. Of course you did." A beat. "Follow me, Dragon Slayer."
Kaelen's mouth twitched.
"Please," he said, "don't call me that."