The night sky still burned. Smoke rose in heavy plumes from the battlefield, and the acrid stench of demon blood carried for miles. The fortress of Karthis groaned under the weight of victory walls cracked, gates splintered, and towers scarred by hellfire.
Holt Von Dreki stood upon the battlements, helm removed, icy wind threading through his sweat-drenched hair. His armor steamed faintly, the runes etched along its plates glowing dull red and pale blue in rhythm with his ragged breathing. Every inhale was a knife. Every exhale, a prayer.
The Black Dogs, his so-called army of thieves, deserters, and murderers, had survived the impossible. Where once they had sneered at his cursed body, now they looked at him with something close to awe.
But Holt felt none of it.
Victory, he knew, was only another chain.
The Aftermath
The courtyard was in chaos. Men dragged the wounded in rough lines, blood smearing across the stones. Others scavenged demon weapons that pulsed faintly with corrupt energy, muttering half-prayers, half-superstitions. A few sat with their backs against the wall, eyes empty, laughter brittle.
Holt descended the stairs, Twilight clutched loosely in his gauntleted hand. The spear, forged from Godai's bones and etched with Holt's own runes, still whispered faintly in his mind, hungry, alive.
Conversations died as he passed. The soldiers' gazes followed him, wary, uncertain. To them, he was a boy of fifteen, barely grown, yet burdened with a presence that felt older than kingdoms.
A one-eyed veteran spat a wad of blood into the dirt and barked, "Never thought I'd see the day. A cursed prince who fights like a demon and bleeds like a man."
Another soldier, younger, sneered nervously. "He's half-dead on his feet. Look at him! That armor's the only thing keeping him upright."
The words hung sharp in the air. Holt stopped among them and slowly lifted his head, pale eyes glowing faintly with inner frost.
"You fought well," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "Not as outcasts. Not as dogs. As soldiers of Telos."
The yard grew still.
Holt's gaze swept across their scarred faces, missing teeth, bent backs. "The empire cast you aside. Called you criminals, filth. But I saw what you did tonight. You held the line where noble sons would have broken. You bled, but you did not break. That… earns respect."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then the one-eyed veteran straightened, slamming his fist against his chest. "Aye, I'll follow that!"
A ragged cheer rose, rough and uneven but powerful. The men roared, not like noble troops drilled in discipline, but like wolves scenting freedom.
And for the first time, Holt felt their eyes not as daggers, but as shields.
The Emperor's Letter
Night settled thick and heavy. Fires burned low, and the fortress filled with the sounds of men eating, drinking, and grieving.
The thunder of hooves broke the lull. A rider clad in crimson livery approached the gates, bearing the imperial crest.
"Message for Prince Holt Von Dreki," the courier called, his voice ringing with authority.
Whispers spread as the letter changed hands, sealed in black wax stamped with the emperor's sigil, a coiled dragon devouring its tail. Holt broke the seal with gloved fingers, reading by firelight.
To my seventh son, Holt Von Dreki, Commander of the Black Dogs.
Word of your survival reaches me. Unexpected. Perhaps fortune favors even the cursed.
Hold Fortress Karthis. Reinforcements will not come. Prove your worth, or perish.
Emperor Kael Dreki
No praise. No fatherly pride. Only cold dismissal.
Holt's gauntlet crumpled the parchment with a screech of metal. The runes in his armor flared, and the pain of his men surged through him anew, the curse reminding him of his station.
The one-eyed veteran leaned close, peering at the ruined letter. "What says the emperor, my prince?"
Holt forced the words out between clenched teeth. "He says… we are on our own."
The veteran grinned with a gap-toothed snarl. "Good. I'd rather fight with my own cursed brothers than grovel for scraps from the viper's nest."
Around them, the men murmured agreement. And Holt, though his chest ached, allowed himself the faintest flicker of pride.
Dream of Fire and Frost
Sleep came like drowning.
Holt found himself in a cavern vast beyond measure, its walls formed of colossal ribs and charred scales, the air stank of smoke and molten stone. And from the shadows, a voice stirred.
"Seventh son…"
The Elder Dragon Godai emerged, broken yet terrible, its form a monument of fury. Its eyes glowed like suns, molten with grief and rage.
"You wear my bones. You bear my pain. Do you know what you are?"
Holt fell to his knees, clutching his chest as fire and ice warred inside him. "Cursed," he whispered.
The dragon's laughter was thunderous, shaking the cavern. "Not cursed. Chosen."
Its massive head lowered, one blazing eye filling Holt's vision. "Your line feasted on my death. Built their empire upon my blood. But through you, my vengeance breathes. Through you, my legacy returns."
Holt's breath came ragged. "I… don't want vengeance. I want peace."
The dragon's voice shook the bones of the world. "Peace is a lie forged by cowards. You are mine. Whether you will it or not, you will become what they fear the last Elder Dragon of Elements."
The cavern ignited with fire and frost. Pain split Holt's body as vast wings erupted from his back, wings of flame edged with ice. He screamed, consumed.
And woke gasping in the dark, his armor hissing with steam.
The Watcher
Dawn broke grey and cold. Holt rose unsteadily, his men already preparing for another day of labor and battle. His mind throbbed with the dragon's words.
Unseen beyond the fortress walls, hidden in the forest's shadows, a cloaked figure watched.
Princess Metahtha Beda Freya Fortis, heir of Elvenheim, studied the boy through her spyglass. She had seen the battle, seen how he channeled agony into power.
"The seventh son," she murmured. Her voice carried both intrigue and warning. "Not yet, dragon. Not yet, man. But enough to break an empire."
Her silver cloak shimmered with dark-light enchantments as she turned away. With each step into the forest, the world seemed to ripple, as though unwilling to mark her passage.
She smiled faintly. "The game begins."