My heart still burns even though both my body and soul turn ice cold.
As I gain my footing and stand straight, my hairs and eyes go back to black and deep ocean blue.
My clothes are covered with mud, sooth and a bit burned with chatter, I feel dirty all over me.
My gaze finally studied the estate that only has ruins around it.
But my eyes narrowed when I looked again because there were particular parts of the estate that were saved from the fire, Like the inferno could not even touch it.
Those room was the only thing left of my home.
'My house.'
'My home...'
Flashes of memories came back as a broken tape recording in front of me and I couldn't help but zone out on the peaceful heaven of the past.
But even that didn't last when I was reminded to back and ended with another fire and another home.
Burning.
And burning.
Millard steps beside me, his face as composed as ever but his eyes are sharp and calculating. He follows my gaze to the preserved rooms and finally speaks.
"The fire should have consumed everything, but it didn't. Certain places were protected." he stated.
"Protect by what?" I turned towards him, my voice rough.
He gestures toward the untouched sections of the estate. "Magic. Old and powerful enchantments woven into the very foundation of these rooms. Your room, Jasper's, the library, the main office, the archive, the treasury, and the servants' quarters—they were all shielded by protective spells. Whoever attacked us either didn't know or couldn't break through them."
I stare at the ruins, my jaw tightening. "Then why wasn't my father's room protected?"
"Because he never had protection placed on it." he said matter of factly like it was a given. His lips in a thin line.
It was not.
"You are saying he could have saved himself? That he had a choice?" I laughed bitterly and the dryness in my throat caused me to cough a little.
"He was a dragon, Millard , he had no reason to die."
I shake my head.
"This is a bitter joke and I am pissed."
Millard completely ignored my comments and shook his head saying, "Not quite. The Duke never believed in shielding himself. His priorities were always elsewhere—protecting others, keeping knowledge safe, preserving what truly mattered to him. His room was vulnerable because he made it so."
'That makes it worse. How is that all the fathers I have are all the same.' Something inside my chest twists, a fresh wave of grief mixed with anger flows through my veins.
"So he died because of his own damn principles," I say, my voice hollow.
Millard doesn't confirm or deny it, but his silence is enough.
I turn back to the ruins. The protected rooms stand as reminders of what was spared. What was lost. And what I will never get back.
I step forward, drawn to the library first. The door, untouched by the flames, creaks as I push it open. Inside, the scent of old books and ink lingers, unaffected by the inferno that devoured the rest of my home. The shelves stand tall, undisturbed, like sentinels guarding their secrets. Scrolls and ledgers remain in place, some even left open as if expecting someone to return.
Millard follows me in, his presence a steady shadow beside mine. "This library holds more than books. The Duke stored records, maps, and research here. He believed in knowledge as a weapon."
Other steps also follow me and I know Jasper is also there with me.
He is silent but his presence is warm and his aura is like my father.
I don't know if it is ok to feel comfort in it but I do, I relax a little.
I run a hand over the spines of the books, my fingers trembling slightly. "And yet, knowledge couldn't save him."
Millard exhales, crossing his arms. "No, but it might save you."
'Yeah right. I have more information than you father. Who do you think kept selling you information on the battlefield?'
I move past the rows of books, reaching the desk at the far end. My father's desk. Papers are neatly stacked, an inkpot still full. As if he would return at any moment to finish his work.
I clench my fists. "Why did this room survive? Why did mine and Jasper's survive? Why these and not his?"
"Because these places were meant to last," Jasper says simply. "The Duke had these spells woven into the very structure of the estate long before you were born. They are not just defensive; they are preservative. He wanted certain things to remain even if the rest was lost."
I glance at him sharply. "Preservative?"
This time again Millard nodded and spoke, "These protections weren't placed recently. They were set decades ago, and they are not just to keep fire out. They were meant to withstand time itself."
Something in his tone makes my stomach tighten. "What are you saying?"
He gives me a measured look. "That Armando knew something like this could happen. And he made preparations."
This was Oh My-
I knew this was serious when Millard called father by his name but now that I look into his serious eyes I felt more cold than my own magic.
Cold never bothered me anyways but it does in this exact moment.
A cold shiver runs down my spine. "You're saying my father knew he was going to die?"
Millard doesn't answer immediately. He steps toward the archive, pushing the door open. The scent of parchment and leather greets us. He picks up an old, thick book bound in dark blue. "This belonged to him. His private records."
I take it from his hands, the weight of it grounding me. Slowly, I flip through the pages. Notes in my father's handwriting fill the margins. Some entries are old, nearly faded, but others are recent. Too recent.
My pulse quickens as I skim through the words.
Then I stopped.
A passage stands out, the ink bolder than the rest.
"If something happens to me, Kaan must be prepared. The past cannot be repeated. He must find the truth."
My breath catches. My father left this for me. A warning, a message.
Millard watches me closely.
"We need to find out what he meant. And why didn't he protect himself?" I say almost to myself.
Because there has to be a reason a dragon, especially the Lord dragon's son, is afraid of the past.
Of something.
And I felt my soul tremble and the chains rattle in me.
I tighten my grip on the book, a slow, simmering rage bubbling beneath my skin. The fire had chosen its victims, but someone had chosen where it could and couldn't spread.
Someone had orchestrated this.
And I would find them.
Even if I had to burn the world down to do it.
Just like that day in hell.
Oh sweet flames will turn to ice when I find my salvation.