The dust had barely settled.
Cracks spread through the canyon walls like the veins of the sky, and broken shards of stone tumbled down the jagged cliffs where Armaan had slammed the alien girl moments earlier. Her body was lodged against the rock, twisted in a way that made it seem like her limbs had given up—paralyzed by force, stunned by pressure.
Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her chest barely rising beneath the tight, armor-like scales that adorned her battle-worn attire.
And then… thud… thud… thud…
Footsteps.
He was walking toward her.
Slowly.
Purposefully.
Like a god of judgement.
Armaan's silhouette was outlined by the red dusk light falling over the battlefield. His expression was blank. Cold. A predator untouched by mercy.
Prana energy still radiated off him in faint, golden flickers, dissolving slowly as his transformed form, Prana Howl, began to fade. His gaze was fixed—directly on her.
The girl, despite her condition, sensed danger. Instinctively, she raised both hands in front of her face, trembling. Her voice was hoarse, her breath uneven.
She didn't speak… but her body screamed the words she couldn't muster:
"Don't kill me..."
But Armaan's arm moved.
His fingers gripped the hilt of his Aethar blade.
He raised it.
Just as the dying sun glinted off the blade's edge—
"FALAK, STOPPP... YOU DON'T HAVE TO KILL HER!!"
Samar's voice broke through the canyon like thunder.
"Yes, just stop now!"
Roumit followed, his tone softer but no less desperate.
But Armaan… didn't respond.
He kept walking.
His hand was steady on the sword.
It was as if their voices… didn't exist in his world anymore.
The girl closed her eyes, bracing for the final strike. Her lips trembled. Samar stepped forward instinctively—but then froze.
Because...
Shing!
The sound of a blade being sheathed echoed.
It wasn't the sound of death.
It was mercy.
Armaan bent down on one knee before the girl, his fierce expression softening as the violent energy around him completely disappeared. He looked into her confused, wide-open eyes and asked in a calm, sincere voice—
"Are you okay?"
Even his voice had changed.
The weight of violence that had surrounded him was gone, like a storm that had passed without a trace.
The girl blinked, too stunned to speak.
What…?
He… spared her?
Armaan gently reached out and lifted her into his arms. She didn't resist—couldn't. Her limbs were like jelly, her thoughts still a blur from the impact. He turned to Samar with a nod.
"Pass me the water bottle."
Samar hesitated, still a bit stunned, but complied. Armaan took it, opened the cap, and poured water into her mouth gently, holding the bottle with one hand and supporting her with the other.
"Are you okay?"
He asked again, quieter this time. His concern was genuine.
The girl slowly regained strength. Her throat burned a little less. Her vision cleared. And as she looked up… a strange warmth flickered in her heart.
Until—
THWACK!
She suddenly headbutted his chin, making him grunt as she leapt out of his arms. Armaan stumbled slightly, holding his jaw.
"You beat the hell outta me and now you're asking, 'Are you okay?' What are you, some kind of idiot!?"
She yelled, steam practically puffing out of her ears.
Armaan blinked. What the hell just happened?
He rubbed his jaw and gave her an exasperated glare.
"…You were the first one who attacked me," he said, still seated, "so I just defended myself. And now when I'm helping you, that's what you say? You idiot…!"
With that, he stood up, brushed dust off his coat, and pointed a firm finger toward her.
"You. Whoever you are. Say sorry to me!"
The girl looked back at him, baffled.
"Sorry my foot! I'd rather die than say sorry to you!"
She turned her face away with a dramatic "hmph!"
A moment of silence passed.
Then—
"Huh…??"
Samar and Roumit's voices rang in unison, their faces twisted in cartoonish expressions of pure confusion. One eye twitching, mouths wide open.
They looked at each other and then back at the chaotic pair in front of them.
The dust from their skirmish still lingered in the air, drifting lazily in the golden hue of twilight. Armaan turned his back to the girl, fists clenched at his sides.
"Fine, do what you want…" he muttered, voice stiff with irritation. Without another glance, he gestured to the others. "Samar, Roumit. Let's go. I don't have time for spoiled brats…"
Sniff. He blew his nose, more dramatically than necessary, and began to stomp off, a little pout clearly visible on his face.
But before he could take more than a few steps, a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Wait… where are you going?"
Armaan turned back around, his eyes narrowing. "That's none of your business," he snapped.
"It is my business," she said, calmly folding her arms. "You're the inheritor of the Deepsea Bloodshed Dragon, aren't you?"
His eyes widened. Samar and Roumit's jaws dropped slightly as the weight of her words hit them like a bolt of lightning. Armaan turned fully, stunned.
"…How do you know that?" he asked, voice low.
The girl stepped forward, her cloak fluttering faintly in the breeze. "I'm the inheritor of the Shadow Dragon, Rogan. He was the right hand of the Bloodshed Dragon during its reign… and I've been assigned by him to assist you in the Draconic Realm."
A heavy silence followed. Armaan frowned, skeptical. "And this is how you treat the one you're supposed to assist?"
Her crimson eyes flared with annoyance. "You're not my master. Neither is that Deepsea Dragon. He might've been king to Rogan, but not to me. I'm just fulfilling my role because Rogan helps me in return. That's all."
Armaan's voice rose, unable to contain his frustration. "Then what was the point of fighting me in the first place, you brat?!"
"Because I was told to," she snapped, face flushing slightly. "To test whether you're truly capable of inheriting the '____' form."
"…What form?" Armaan asked quickly.
She repeated the name, but again, her voice muffled in his ears—just like that time in the void. It's like I'm not allowed to hear the name… until I earn it…
"So that's what this was all about," Armaan mumbled, staring off.
But his eyes narrowed again. "Then why mock the humans?!" he suddenly yelled, fire in his tone.
She shrugged, averting her eyes. "Sorry for that… I was just… frustrated at the time."
Didn't sound sorry at all.
"Well, whatever," Armaan said with a huff. "I don't need your help. Go your own way. Bye."
WHACK!
"OWWWWCH—!!"
Roumit's fist landed squarely on Armaan's head.
"Who said we don't need her help, dumbass?!" Roumit growled. "She's here to make things easier for us and you're sulking like a baby!"
"G-Geez…" Armaan muttered, rubbing his head. "You didn't have to punch so hard… And yeah, I get it. But I don't want her to follow me, okay?"
Suddenly, a hand reached out and pinched his arm—hard—then twisted it.
"AAARRRGH! WHAT THE HELL?!"
"I'm not following you," the girl said, eyes sharp. "You are following me. I'm just showing you the path. So be grateful, you overgrown lizard."
Samar quickly stepped in, waving his hands. "Okay, okay, calm down both of you! Armaan, let it go. Let's just accept her help. We're in unfamiliar territory—we need every advantage we can get."
The air hung still for a moment.
"…Fine," Armaan grumbled, cheeks puffed like a sulking kid.
Samar offered his hand and a gentle smile. "I'm Samar. The guy you fought is Armaan, and this brother here is Roumit. Nice to meet you."
The girl paused, then returned a faint smile—just a flicker at the corner of her lips. "My name is Zykarith Sazur. I'm a Zenka, from Planet Gary… in the Denkan System of the Andromeda Galaxy."
"Nice to meet you too," Roumit said, shaking her hand.
She returned the gesture to Samar as well—but when she reached Armaan, she simply turned away.
"Hey! What's your problem? Why am I the one being left out?!" Armaan whined.
"Oh~ sorry, did I forget you?" she said with a mocking grin. "Well, never mind that."
She chuckled mischievously, her teasing tone piercing his pride. Armaan's face turned bright red as he turned the other way, pouting like a kid denied candy.
"Jeez… spoiled brat, my tail…" he mumbled under his breath.
Armaan stood still, fists clenched, his gaze drifting down to his open palm. The battle was over, but the storm inside him was just beginning.
A heavy silence hung in the air… only to be broken by a voice echoing inside his mind—a voice he now recognized more clearly than ever.
"You finally see the thread, boy."
The Bloodshed Dragon's voice was deep, ancient, calm—too calm.
Armaan's brows furrowed as frustration bubbled within him.
"What's the meaning of this?" he asked through telepathy, his tone sharp and cracking. "What if I had really died back there? What then?"
The dragon gave a low, amused hum.
"I live in your body, boy. I would've known if you were going to die. You were never in danger... so calm down."
Armaan gritted his teeth.
"Still... a little warning would've been nice! And what about her?!"
He threw a quick glance at the girl standing nearby, still silent, still watching.
"Why didn't you tell me someone like her would be assisting me?"
"Ah, her." The dragon paused, voice tinged with a slight chuckle. "Well... that was a surprise. Even for me."
"Seriously…?" Armaan sighed, brushing a hand through his messy hair.
"And who the hell is this 'Shadow Dragon' then?!"
The tone in the dragon's voice shifted—less amused, more reverent.
"Rogan. My right hand. The strongest warrior in my entire army when I was alive."
Armaan's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Wait… what?!"
The dragon continued before Armaan could process.
"And after Rogan came Onyx—the Demonic Dragon. Ferocious and deadly."
The words hit Armaan like a lightning strike. His lips parted slightly in shock.
"You're kidding me..." he whispered under his breath.
"Surprised, are you?" the Bloodshed Dragon mused, clearly enjoying his reaction. "I figured as much. Tell me, how do you think your Ryu no Keisho attack form came into existence?"
Armaan froze.
"It... just popped into my head one day," he admitted slowly. "I didn't train for it. No scrolls. No teacher. It just… happened. And when I used it, it felt like I'd known it my whole life."
He paused, realization dawning on him like the slow rise of a crimson moon.
"So it was you… huh?"
The dots started to connect, faster now, and his voice lowered as he whispered—
"Wait… that means… the Velsh Dragon, the Vanishing Dragon… those forms too…?"
The dragon answered before he could finish.
"Yes. They were all my soldiers once."
His voice resonated with pride and certainty. "From the very start, I've been the one giving you your power, Armaan. Feeding you the strength of my lost legion—through your soul, through your blood."
Armaan's heart thudded. A part of him felt cheated… but another part—
It began to understand.
"…So this power… was never mine alone," he whispered.
The wind blew gently across the vast plateau, sweeping dust over the scorched red rocks and broken terrain. The last echoes of battle had long faded.
Armaan adjusted his stance, his eyes steady but thoughtful.
A few paces away, Zykarith stood still, her long green hair dancing with the wind, her expression unreadable.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
Their eyes met.
A single glance exchanged.
Sharp.
Knowing.
Unspoken.
And then—
They looked away.