The void breathed. Not wind. Not air. A wound.
It pulsed between worlds — endless black threaded with veins of dim crimson light, humming with ancient magic that had never belonged to the living.
At its threshold stood Krismont Ole Vhros, King of Red Dragons. He did not pace. He stalked. His colossal body coiled and uncoiled with restrained violence, claws carving trenches into obsidian stone. Smoke leaked from his nostrils in slow, furious spirals. Each exhale made the darkness ripple.
"Eenay vis ile? Hwi vis ile icht isop coa?"
(Where is she? Why is she not back yet?)
The void trembled at the sound of it.
Behind him stood Tas Tis Riov, wings folded tight, scales darkened by centuries of war. Scars crossed his body like old maps of survival.
"Ile volema ode isop noma. Esie merim oly eliv."
(She will come back soon. You worry too much.) Krismont's tail lashed. Stone shattered.
The void shuddered. Not from him.From something else. At the threshold, shadow thickened — viscous, crawling upward like spilled ink discovering hunger. It condensed slowly into a silhouette that both dragons knew too well.
Cion. "Greetings, Red Dragon King," the shadow purred. "I bring... unfortunate news." Krismont's eyes ignited. Not glowing. Burning.
"Your beloved daughter," Cion continued smoothly, "has been taken by the king." The roar that followed did not sound like anger. It sounded like extinction.
Flame detonated from Krismont's jaws, crashing against the void cliffs. Dragon nests embedded deep within the stone burst awake — ancient beasts stirring, wings unfurling, growls rolling like distant thunder.
"You promised us," Krismont snarled, each word heavy with lethal restraint, "that she would be safe." Tas stepped forward, wings half-spread — not to protect Cion. To hold Krismont back.
"How did this happen?" Cion tilted his head, shadow flickering in mock confusion.
"One moment I was delivering my daughter to the king. The next — yours simply appeared. As if summoned." A look passed between Krismont and Tas.
Cold. Sharp.
"She knows better," Tas said. "She would never enter the town square. Everything she needs lies at the mountain's foot." Cion's shadow thinned for half a second.
"And yet," he said softly, "she did." Silence thickened.
"Which makes me wonder... did you send her to betray me?" Krismont's claws sank deeper into stone.
"How dare you." The fury left his voice. That was worse.
"We do not break our word. You promised resources and safe passage. We promised you war against the hybrid."
"And yet," Cion replied lightly, "she went exactly where she was forbidden." A pause. Then, almost lazily—
"I will attempt to retrieve her. But Castel does not release what he claims."
The word claimed hung in the air like a blade.
"If I fail," Cion continued, "I will... inform you."
Tas's eyes narrowed. "And the resources? She was the only one capable of crossing between the void and the main world." Cion laughed.
"Then I suppose you'll have to solve that problem yourselves." His tone sharpened.
"I suggest you begin populating, Krismont." Venomous silence.
"You are despicable."
"No hard feelings," Cion said. "It's just business." The shadow turned.
"Now, if you'll excuse me — I have a wedd—"
A pause. A chuckle. "I mean... a rescue to plan."
And he was gone.
The laughter lingered long after the shadow collapsed into lifeless dirt. The void fell silent.
Krismont did not. He moved deeper into the darkness until he reached the Heart Rift — the scar in existence itself. Here, vows could not lie. Here, reality listened.
Obsidian runes etched into the stone glowed faintly as he approached. The nests above began to stir.
Wings scraped stone. Claws shifted.
Then the first voice rolled down from the cliffs.
"Eenay ile? Nhronos noma, kie?"
(Where is she? The time grows, yes?)
Another voice — sharper, hungrier:
"Fa la Oicheia pirch? Ces la ropoi vlisi durf irno uso?"
(What of the elements she brought? Can the people not take more out?)
A third dragon snapped, accent thick and grinding on the V and K: "Durf? Vlisi? Ahi! La stores knono uso. Aiga ahi imi here. Ocho ahi ash-grain."
(Take? Cannot? No! The stores are thickened outward—empty. The earth is not here. We have no ash-grain.) Low growls spread across the nests.
One younger dragon, voice cracking: "Virah kmio vei... la hatchlings skoto etot vone another."
(Fear is there... the hatchlings always fight one another.) A massive elder dragon leaned over the cliff edge, scales dulled by age.
"Kie ile icht ode isop noma, fa kan nser ropoi?"
(If she does not come back soon, what do our people do?)
The word people echoed — heavy, collective.
Another voice shouted from deeper in the nest caverns:
"Lasc's hlalm Yaros lossa! Lasc's pek like ropoi ve Aiga, ahi like trapped beasts!"
(Let's speak the pure language! Let's speak like people of earth, not like trapped beasts!)
A snarl answered. "Ces la Yaros lossa ahi save utzen nser! Ile imi nser irn!"
(That pure language will not save us! She is our way out!)
The panic began to rise properly now. Wings beat against stone. Dust fell like ash.
"Fa kie ile chamen?"
(What if she is gone?)
"Fa kie ftos zlaptos ain?"
(What if he harms her?)
"Fa kie ftos ienez ain ouviai ain ksuche?"
(What if he binds her or cages her soul?)
The words echoed violently. From another nest, rough laughter.
"Castel... la kangi akos. Vvak ryios ve Rieg. Esie istis liu?"
(Castel... the king is cruel. A great master of war. You trust him?) A younger dragon spat fire against the wall.
"Ahi! Ftos zeue etot! Ftos zeu like olos!"
(No! He always lies! He lies like an asshole!) The nests erupted in snarling agreement.
One dragon spoke what none wanted to:
"La resources... ahi. Woz used. Woz eaten. Woz lymeno."
(The resources... are gone. Were used. Were eaten. Were washed away.)
Silence followed. Then:
"Kie ile icht ode noma... nser skoto?"
(If she does not come soon... do we kill?)
Another answered quietly:
"Skoto ouk pirch. Skoto ropoi."
(Kill not beasts. Kill people.)
The word hit differently this time. Kill our own.
A tremor passed through the nests.
"Zote... zote..."
(Never... never...)
"Virah grows," another muttered. "Virah hanta."
Fear forever. That was when Krismont roared.
The sound crushed the panic flat. Stone split. Flames burst outward in controlled devastation.
Every dragon froze. Krismont lifted his massive ale.
"KMIO." The nests obeyed.
His voice rolled like volcanic thunder, thick with Varack cadence. "Ile volema ode isop noma."
(She will come back soon.)
A pause.
"Kie ile icht ode... nser ropoi durf temi."
(If she does not... our people will stand.)
"Fa la ropoi kan durf, Kangi?"
(What can the people do, King?) Krismont's eyes burned.
"Lasc's hlalm truth."
(Let us speak truth.) His wings unfolded fully — casting shadow over every nest.
When la resources ahi..."
He let the silence stretch.
"...we thin." Shock rippled.
"Skoto la old." Gasps.
"Skoto la weak." A low, horrified growl rolled across the void.
"And la hatchlings woz chamen..." He did not hesitate.
"...ahi wasted." The void itself seemed to recoil. Tas did not speak. No one did. Krismont's gaze swept upward.
"Virah ahi weakness."
(Fear is weakness.)
"Zote beg. Zote cry. Zote kneel."
(Never beg. Never cry. Never kneel.) He slammed a talon into stone.
"We consume until strength remains." Silence.
Not peaceful. But hardened. Survival. One elder dragon lowered his head slowly.
"Vaa, Kangi."
(Yes, King.) One by one, wings folded. The panic did not disappear. It transformed. Into grim calculation.
Into quiet watching of the old. Into subtle glances at the weak. The void did not breathe softer. It breathed hungrier.
Then Krismont turned away. Deeper into the Heart Rift he went. His voice lowered.
"Ile vis veim aidi."
(She is my child.)
"Genni ve ploh. Toarilsyf ve veim aima. Avo irnovs."
(Born of flame. Forged of my blood. And taken.) His claws tore into his chest. Blood spilled.
Runes ignited.
"Kie Castel zlaptos ain—kie ftos ienez ain vii ouviai ain ksuche..."
(If Castel harms her—if he binds or cages her soul...)
By fire that devours worlds — I swear this oath."
Flames rose, forming the sigil of the Red Dragon Kings.
"Kie Castel zlaptos ain—kie ftos ienez ain volema vii ouviai ain ksuche—ota volema aiyouio hiu rovon, hiu olis, avo hastos monoa hanta uilmo wie virah ve liu."
(If Castel harms her—if he cages her or breaks her spirit—I will burn his throne, his city, and every name ever spoken in fear of him.) The Rift convulsed.
"I will unmake his power. I will scatter his bones across realms that do not remember mercy." His blood sealed into stone. The vow bound. Tas stepped beside him.
"A convergence," Tas murmured. "Flame. Void. Blood."
"She is not merely our daughter."
Silence.
"She is our survival."
The void stirred. Hungry. Waiting.
And somewhere beyond it —Their hope was wearing a crown she did not choose. A war had been called.