_______
Gillai
The air in the library was heavy with the mingled scent of old parchment, wax, and lingering incense. Shadows danced along the tall, arched walls as candlelight flickered, lending a ghostly motion to the rows of ancient tomes. Before me stood a man—a Draconian whose presence seemed almost to bend the light around him—his eyes a tempest of desperation and hope that mirrored the storms inside my own chest.
"Is there really a chance that my child might still be alive?!" His voice trembled, the raw edge of anguish cutting through the quiet of the library. I felt the weight of his fear, a mirror to my own unspoken doubts.
I lowered my gaze, gathering the composure I needed. "It's hard to say for certain at this point," I answered, my voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at my heart. Truth, in moments like this, was a fragile thing—never absolute, always evasive.
Yet a thread of logic—slender, almost imperceptible—began to form in my mind. "What I do know is that when Your Majesty went missing, Lady Adar was able to find you... using the umbilical cord she had kept safe until now."
From the folds of my cloak, I produced a small, ancient charm. Its surface was smooth but worn, etched with symbols that seemed to hum faintly under the candlelight. I held it between my fingers, turning it over slowly. "Can it really be used to find people?" I mused aloud, more to myself than to him.
The man shook his head, the shadow of disbelief crossing his features. "From what I know, it only works on Draconians," he said softly, his voice tinged with both awe and fear.
A spark ignited in my mind—a delicate, almost invisible line connecting possibility to certainty.
"This led me to form a theory," I began, moving with deliberate steps toward a polished wooden table. The glow of a nearby lamp cast my long hair in shades of deep red and violet, highlighting the tension in my features. "If Lady Adar found His Majesty using his umbilical cord, then it might be possible for Draconians who share the same blood to sense one another."
His eyes widened, dark and haunted. "Does that mean... we are connected?" The question hung in the air, heavy with hope and fear.
"Most likely," I confirmed, my tone firm. "A Draconian child is inherently linked to their tribe and their bloodline." But that alone wasn't sufficient. I needed proof—evidence that this connection was not just ancestral, but active, present, and alive.
"I tested the umbilical cord earlier," I admitted, letting a hint of tension slip through my calm exterior. "I had Lady Adar's permission. I wanted to see how the cord would react if its connection to you—temporarily—was severed."
Reaching for a leather-bound book, its pages yellowed and etched with strange, repeating symbols of a forgotten language, I began to scan the intricate diagrams until I found the one I sought. My fingers traced the characters, memorizing their arcane rhythm.
Muttering the first incantation, I placed the umbilical cord charm onto a glowing, intricately drawn magic circle on the floor. My hands moved with practiced precision, gestures weaving a complex lattice of power around the charm.
Mutter…
The air thickened, shimmering as if the very molecules were aware of the ritual. A golden light erupted from the center of the circle, blinding and brilliant. I shielded my eyes, heart hammering, and when the glow finally dimmed, a faint shimmer remained, delicate but alive.
Leaning down, I studied the cord carefully, shock softening the edges of my concentration. Its reaction was unexpected, a revelation I hadn't anticipated. I lifted my gaze slowly to the Draconian before me, the gravity of my discovery settling into the silence between us.
"It's no longer connected to the King," I murmured, my voice barely audible. The link—the magical tether that had guided Lady Adar before—was broken. Yet if the cord had shifted its focus, then its connection had not vanished, but rather redirected.
A new certainty emerged. The cord, in its silent, enigmatic way, was guiding us to the child—the living bloodline, the future. The child was alive. And I now held the key to finding them.
---
The umbilical cord's subtle pull, no longer aimed at Lady Adar's palace but slightly veering elsewhere, confirmed my suspicions. The child's life was not only possible—it was tangible. Yet this revelation brought a new challenge: pinpointing the child with precision.
"Your child isn't your only blood relative," I reminded the King, steadying my voice with careful diplomacy. "Other members of your family—parents, siblings—would also share this connection."
His eyes darkened, a shadow of past grief crossing his features. "Raikan, my older brother and former king, passed away long ago..." he said, sorrow threading through his words.
I allowed myself the smallest, tentative smile. "...But your mother is still alive," I said softly, letting a sliver of hope pierce the tension in the room.
Lady Adar, whose composure had been a fortress until now, faltered. Her fingers gripped the edge of her cloak as distress flickered across her face. "So it could be guiding you toward her instead," she reasoned, fear threading through her voice.
I shook my head lightly. "It was pointing in a slightly different direction from Lady Adar's palace," I admitted, "but my focus is on finding your child." The experiment had proven the child's existence, but it would take careful preparation to trace their current location.
"This is why I must request assistance from the Cardinal," I said, turning to the tall figure in white and gold. His blonde hair caught the lamp's glow, haloing him in soft radiance.
The Cardinal stepped forward without hesitation. "How can I help?"
"To confirm whether the child is alive, I will need your Eminence's blood, as well as Your Majesty's," I explained, my hands rising in a solemn, ritualistic gesture. "I already possess the other necessary materials; these samples will allow me to establish a precise connection."
The King's brow furrowed. "I understand why you need my blood—but why the Cardinal's?"
A shadow of frustration crossed my features. "Normally, I would only need Your Majesty's and Lady Lucina's blood," I explained, "but my Lady has lost her Holy Power at this time."
Guilt and anger flickered across the King's face. "If I hadn't allowed that Shifter to steal my power, the Cardinal wouldn't need to do this..." he muttered, bending slightly toward Lady Adar, who lowered her gaze in sorrow.
The Cardinal waved away concern with gentle authority. "I am honored to assist. Take as much as you require," he insisted, his voice calm and resolute.
I bowed slightly in gratitude. "Thank you, Your Eminence." The samples would form the backbone of my experiment, the first step in tracing the child's life.
"First," I explained, "I will mix the Shifter's blood that Lady Adar inherited with your Eminence's blood to restore the latent properties of her Holy Power." With Lucina's power temporarily dormant, this would allow her bloodline to function as needed.
"Then I will combine it with Your Majesty's Dragon Blood to analyze the child's physical potential." My voice carried a quiet gravity; this combination would reveal the child's vitality, constitution, and latent strength.
"And from this, I will calculate the child's chances of survival," I finished, the weight of the task pressing against my chest like stone.
The King nodded solemnly. "I will have the cleric extract both my blood and the Cardinal's and deliver it to your laboratory immediately," he decreed.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," I said, bowing deeply. The first step in the scientific pursuit of the child's existence was now underway, a delicate mix of blood, magic, and hope that would guide us to the next chapter of our quest.
---
After the King agreed to the experiment, I made a profound bow. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll be waiting inside my lab." My words were formal, but inside, my heart pounded a furious rhythm of urgency. The King nodded, his expression both trusting and burdened with the weight of hope and fear, and promised that the samples of his and the Cardinal's blood would be sent via a cleric without delay. I turned, my cloak swishing behind me, and hurried through the echoing palace halls to my research chamber, each step fueled by determination.
Day of Reckoning
The following day, after hours of intense, meticulous work in my lab, I stood before the King and Lady Adar, ready to reveal my findings. The palace halls seemed to hold their breath, charged with the palpable tension of expectation.
"The results were incredible!" I announced, struggling to mask my own awe at what the experiment had revealed.
I explained the process, carefully emphasizing each stage. "First, I mixed the Shifter's blood that my Lady inherited with His Eminence's blood to restore the power of my Lady's blood." Lucina's Holy Power, dormant and fragile, was awakened once more within the controlled confines of the sample.
"Then I mixed it with Your Majesty's Dragon Blood to determine your child's physical potential," I continued, my tone steady but weighted with the significance of each word.
I paused deliberately, letting the gravity of the revelation sink in. "After running the tests, I discovered that combining Your Majesty's blood and my Lady's blood produced reactions of extreme power."
The King and Lady Adar leaned forward, expressions taut with fear and fragile hope.
"That means…!" Lady Adar began, her voice trembling as though even speaking might shatter her fragile optimism.
I nodded solemnly. "Even a small amount ignited incredible flames. Had I used slightly more, the result could have been catastrophic." My hand instinctively rested over my heart, feeling the faint, rapid throb of exhilaration. "Considering that your child has inherited both of your powers, it's highly unlikely a Shifter could harm them easily."
The King's expression shifted dramatically, relief and paternal instinct flooding through him. He leaned forward, voice thick with emotion, "Hurry up and tell me where our child is! Please, Gilla!"
The King and Lady Adar's Hope
While the tests had been running, the King and Lady Adar shared a quiet, intimate moment in the shadowed corner of the lab.
"Do you really think this experiment can tell us if our child survived?" Lady Adar asked, her voice laced with doubt, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hope.
The King gently patted her hand. "As Gilla said, we won't know for certain, but it's worth trying." His gaze met hers, tender yet firm. "If our child is still alive, I won't have to marry someone else."
A soft smile broke across Lady Adar's face, easing the worry that had etched lines of tension around her eyes. "Then we won't have to fear Giaret or the Elders, and we can spend the rest of our lives together."
"Yes," the King agreed, mirroring her smile. The future, once clouded with uncertainty, now seemed to glimmer with possibility.
"I hope our child is still alive," Lady Adar whispered, a prayer suspended in the heavy air of the lab.
Now, armed with the undeniable proof of the child's extraordinary, fiery power and the likelihood of their survival, hope had become a tangible, almost radiant force. The next step was clear: locate the living flame.
The King's plea echoed in my mind, a constant drumbeat of urgency. Though the umbilical cord and the power profile didn't give an exact location, they pointed clearly toward the next stage.
"Your Majesty," I said, lifting my gaze, "the combined data indicates that your child is far to the south of the capital. Given the intensity of the reactions, they are likely somewhere where their power is being contained or hidden."
I felt the King's desperate plea—"Hurry up and tell me where our child is! Please, Gilla!"—resonate through the chamber. The weight of his hope pressed against me like a living thing.
"The results were incredible," I had announced that morning after a long, sleepless night of experimentation. "Combining Your Majesty's blood and Lady Adar's blood produced reactions of immense power."
The King's gaze fell upon Lady Adar, who clutched his hand tightly, and I recalled their quiet conversation the previous day.
"If our child is still alive, I won't have to marry someone else," he had whispered, a promise as much as a comfort.
"Then we won't have to fear Giaret or the Elders, and we can spend our lives together," she had replied, a faint, fragile smile touching her lips.
Now, their hope had been validated.
"Even a small sample produced incredible flames," I reminded them, my hand pressed against my chest. "Had I added more, the energy could have been uncontrollable. Your child's inheritance of both Dragon Blood and Holy Power makes them extraordinarily resilient."
The child was not merely alive; they were a prodigious heir, a fusion of the Dragon King's might and Lucina's latent Holy Power, a wellspring of fierce, untamed energy.
The Shadow of the Shifter
Yet while hope flourished in the palace, a darker presence festered elsewhere.
The Shifter, still wielding the stolen power, seethed with rage. Her gaze locked on the Dragon child, swaddled in blankets yet radiating power like a miniature furnace. Flames flickered harmlessly around the infant, a defiance she could not overcome.
"Why can't I absorb this runt's power?!" she screamed silently, fury twisting her features. Her meticulously laid plans crumbled with each failed attempt. "Those I sent to kill Hakan were destroyed. His survival was an unbearable disappointment."
She glared at the infant, obsession taking hold. "If I could absorb this power, I could crush Hakan easily." She envisioned the King and Lady Adar, vulnerable and distracted by their devotion to each other, and a dark plan unfurled in her mind.
Reaching toward the child with a pale, trembling hand, a wave of intense heat—WHOOSH!—forced her to recoil. Her lips tightened in frustration. "Ugh!" she hissed, rage simmering beneath the surface. "I'd be in big trouble if I hadn't stolen her power."
Her miscalculation was glaring: the child's raw strength far exceeded her expectations. Others had fled, awaiting a precise moment to strike at the King, but the Shifter had underestimated the heir's innate resilience.
Gripping a heavy silver candelabra, she hissed, "It will all end once I take your power, so stop interfering!"
A creaking voice interrupted her rage. "Marissa," it called.
The Shifter paused, tensing in defiance. "That Dragon child is resisting," she muttered, eyes narrowing. Even with the stolen power, she could not bend the infant to her will.
Now, with the child's survival confirmed and the looming threat of the Shifter, my focus sharpened. The next task was clear: pinpoint the child's exact location and plan a search-and-rescue mission before the enemy could strike.
_______
Marissa
Meanwhile
The palace basked in a glow of renewed hope—hope that sickened me. While Hakan and Lady Adar clung to their fragile dreams, far away from their gilded halls, I stood in a hidden chamber steeped in shadow and suffocating heat. My frustration had reached its breaking point.
I was the Shifter.
And everything was going wrong.
Before me lay the infant—the Dragon child. Small. Fragile-looking. And yet… terrifying. Heat rolled off his tiny body in relentless waves, flames circling him as if drawn by instinct, as if the fire itself recognized him as its master.
Why?
Why can't I absorb this runt's power?!
The scream echoed only inside my skull, but the rage behind it was violent enough to make my nails rake across my own face. I dragged my fingers down my skin, leaving faint red marks, my breath sharp and uneven.
Hakan was still alive.
The memory burned worse than the fire.
"The few people I sent to assassinate Hakan were killed while fighting him."
Useless. Every last one of them.
My grand design—to tear the Dragon Kingdom apart from the inside, to seize its power and crown myself in its ashes—was unraveling. And this child… this thing… was the final, intolerable obstacle.
I glared down at the small, wailing form wrapped in blankets. Flames flickered lazily around him, harmless to his own skin, answering his cries like loyal hounds.
"If I could absorb this runt's power," I snarled inwardly, "I'd crush Hakan without effort."
And more than that—I would destroy them.
The King and Lady Adar, tangled in their foolish devotion, clinging to each other like weaklings. If the child disappeared, if hope was ripped from their arms, they would lose their minds. Their love would rot into despair.
Slowly, deliberately, I reached out my hand.
"Now… come here…"
WAAAH!
The child's cry split the air—and in the next instant, raw Draconian flame erupted outward.
WHOOSH!
The heat slammed into me like a living wall. I recoiled violently, hissing as pain lanced through my arm. The fire didn't burn—it repelled, roaring with will and intent.
"Ugh!"
I staggered back, staring at my trembling hands. Power crackled around my fingers, alien and unstable—power that wasn't truly mine.
"I'd be in big trouble if I hadn't stolen her power," I muttered through clenched teeth.
Lucina's stolen strength was the only thing keeping me from being reduced to ash.
The others—those who had fled—were cowards, waiting for the perfect moment to strike at the King. But patience had never been my strength. Rage gnawed at me, sharpening every thought into something reckless.
"I never thought he'd do something as foolish as jumping into the Valley of Fire," I spat. "And that pathetic girl—Lucina—rescued him."
The memory twisted my gut.
With a snarl, I seized a heavy silver candelabra, wrenching it free from its pedestal. Metal shrieked against stone as I lifted it high, my arm shaking with fury.
"It will all be over once I take your power," I screamed, voice cracking, "so stop getting in my way!"
Creak.
The sound cut through my madness like a blade.
"Marissa."
The voice was calm. Familiar.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned, forcing control back into my expression. The candelabra dropped from my grip with a dull CLUNK, echoing through the chamber.
"It seems that Dragon child is still resisting," I said coolly, though irritation bled through my tone. "Ugh… that's right."
I let out a sharp breath, pressing my fingers to my temple. "I wish I could just shove it into an ice cellar right now."
The flames were relentless—an invisible barrier that refused to let me get close enough to siphon his power.
"Those cursed flames won't let me get any closer."
My accomplice stepped forward, eyes glinting with interest rather than fear.
"Then why don't you just freeze it?"
I snapped my head up.
"What?"
"There's a snowy mountain far to the north," he continued smoothly. "Kashudak. They say it's cold enough to freeze a Guardian Dragon's heart."
A cruel smile curved his lips.
"In a place like that, the Dragon child won't be able to use its strength properly."
Mumble.
"Kashudak…"
The name rolled across my tongue, cold and sharp. Slowly—oh, so slowly—a grin spread across my face, stretching wider than it should.
"I see," I murmured. "Why didn't I think of this?"
I turned back toward the crib. The child stirred, tiny fists clenching as embers flared and faded around him.
Swish.
I leaned over, shadows crawling across my features, my eyes glittering with malice.
"If I can't get past the flames," I whispered, "I'll just freeze them."
The certainty settled into me like iron.
"It will be powerless once I take it there."
Straightening, I turned to my accomplice. My reflection in the polished metal caught my eye—my beautiful face twitching, struggling to contain what lurked beneath. My true Shifter form pressed against my skin, eager, impatient.
He noticed. His eyes widened slightly.
"How long would it take to get there?"
"It would take far too long by carriage," he replied.
I closed my eyes.
The decision was already made.
"Then I'll revert to my original form."
I would not risk delay. Not when victory was this close.
My body twisted, bones shifting beneath my skin as power surged free. My long blonde hair flowed like liquid gold, shadows stretching unnaturally as the outline of my true self—a creature of darkness, hunger, and ambition—began to emerge.
I opened my eyes and smiled.
A dark, satisfied smile.
"Just wait a little longer, Lucina," I whispered. "I'll tear your husband and his kingdom to shreds."