Vale looked past Drago, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on the red point burning against the darkening sky. The Bloodscale. Even from this distance, it dominated his vision, a looming certainty drawing closer with every passing second.
For a moment, though, Vale's attention drifted, not to the approaching monarch, but to the old man standing calmly beside him.
A question burned in his mind, sharp and insistent.
'Who is this man?'
Drago had become more of a mystery with every passing hour. Vale knew almost nothing about him, yet Drago spoke of this realm as if he had carved it with his own hands. He understood its creatures, its hierarchies, its laws, spoken and unspoken. And now, he claimed the First Monarch of the Scorched Sands was an old friend.
That alone was enough to unsettle Vale to his core.
A being on the level of an apostate, something ancient, sovereign, and utterly lethal, was not something one casually befriended. How could this gruff, irritable old man possibly have a connection to a monster that ruled an entire desert through fear and bloodshed?
No… that wasn't the right question.
The real question was simpler, yet far more dangerous.
'What is Drago hiding?'
'What does he know that Eskar and I don't?'
Vale doubted he would find the answer anytime soon.
A sudden rush of heated wind snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his gaze back toward the sky just as the Bloodscale descended lower, its massive wings now clearly visible. Each powerful flap sent shockwaves through the desert, the dunes rippling as if the sand itself recoiled in fear.
Vale took several instinctive steps backward.
His body began to tremble.
An inexplicable sense of dread settled deep within his chest, heavy and suffocating. This wasn't simple fear, it was something far older, far more primal. As if the dragon's very existence was meant to crush resolve, to unravel courage at its roots. The kind of presence that broke armies before the first blow was ever struck.
And then the dragon landed.
The truth became undeniable.
Even if the beast were not meant to be terrifying, terror was woven into its very nature.
The Bloodscale towered dozens of meters tall, its obsidian-black underbelly lined with razor-edged scales sharper than any forged blade. The rest of its body was drenched in crimson, its scales resembling fresh blood poured over living armor. Two massive horns twisted skyward like ancient spires, reaching toward the heavens as if challenging them. Its tail stretched long and barbed behind it, while a ridge of black spikes ran down its back, each one longer and deadlier than a siege lance.
Heat radiated from its body.
The sand beneath its feet smoked and fused into blackened glass, melting under its sheer presence. Thick, ember-laced smoke rolled from its maw with every breath, painting the unmistakable image of a creature capable of reducing entire civilizations to ash.
Vale swallowed hard.
Beside him, Eskar had gone utterly still. His hand was locked around the hilt of his blade, knuckles pale. His posture was tense, prepared. If the Bloodscale attacked, Eskar would fight, even knowing it would mean his death.
Drago, however, did not move.
Not an inch.
The dragon lowered its massive head, molten eyes locking onto the old man. Vale's breath caught as Drago calmly raised one hand.
The Bloodscale pressed its head gently into his palm.
The beast closed its eyes.
The gesture was unmistakable.
Familiar. Trusting.
Vale's mind reeled.
Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to Dagon. Both were dragons, yet they could not have been more different. Where Dagon seemed forged purely for war, this creature embodied something older, more absolute. A traditional tyrant of flame and dominion.
A monarch.
Drago's voice finally broke the silence.
"What's wrong?" he asked evenly.
The Bloodscale blinked once, then slowly opened its massive maw.
Vale's eyes widened.
Thick saliva dripped onto the sand as the dragon extended its tongue, and resting upon it were three eggs.
Each was a deep crimson, yet none were alike. Their shapes varied, their patterns alien, as if they belonged to entirely different species altogether.
Drago stiffened.
"How did you-" His words died in his throat.
The Bloodscale carefully lowered its head, depositing the eggs into the sand with surprising gentleness. Then it lifted its gaze once more, fixing Drago with a look that carried centuries of meaning.
Drago stared down at the eggs, his jaw tightening. He hissed softly through his teeth.
"…Fine," he muttered stubbornly. "I'll take care of them. But you'd better make sure none of the other monarchs come anywhere near us."
The dragon remained silent.
Then it released a low, almost inaudible rumble, something between a roar and an oath. Spreading its immense wings, it rose skyward in a display that was equal parts horror and beauty.
Vale watched with wide eyes, fingers slowly tightening around the shaft of his spear.
"What… is happening right now…?" he whispered.
No one heard him.
The moment belonged entirely to the monarch.
The moment lingered.
The monarch lowered its massive head and looked at Drago one final time, its molten eyes carrying something Vale could not name, respect, perhaps, or acknowledgment. Then its gaze shifted.
It fell upon Eskar.
Then Vale.
For a brief, agonizing heartbeat, the Bloodscale studied them both. Its expression was unreadable, ancient and distant, as if it were measuring not their strength, but their worth. Vale's chest tightened painfully. He realized he was holding his breath, his lungs burning as instinct screamed at him not to move, not to exist too loudly.
The dragon did not blink.
Its gaze remained fixed, unwavering, heavy enough to crush thought itself.
Then, at last, it blinked once.
The tension broke.
The Bloodscale turned away, its massive form stirring the sand as it walked several steps before spreading its wings. With a thunderous downbeat, it took to the sky, heat and wind washing over them as it ascended. Only when the monarch was little more than a distant silhouette, hundreds of meters away, did Vale finally allow himself to breathe again.
He sucked in air like a drowning man.
Beside him, Eskar exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging as the tension drained from his body. His hand loosened its death grip on his blade, fingers trembling slightly as the reality of survival settled in.
Vale straightened slowly and turned toward Drago.
The old man was already kneeling beside the eggs, examining them with calm, methodical focus, as though a dragon monarch had not just stood before them moments earlier.
Vale's expression hardened.
It didn't take long before he spoke.
"Sir Drago?" he asked cautiously.
Drago glanced up, his attention reluctantly pulled away from the eggs. Vale swallowed once before continuing, forcing the words out.
"…Who are you?"
Silence answered him.
Drago stared at Vale for a long moment, his expression flat, unreadable. The desert wind whispered between them, carrying heat and ash. Just as Vale began to think the old man would ignore him entirely, Drago finally spoke.
"I am the one who will get you out of this treacherous place."
Nothing more.
The words settled heavily, devouring the air between them. Vale didn't know what he had expected, but somehow, that answer only deepened the mystery.
A moment passed.
Then Drago spoke again, his tone sharp and practical.
"Now come here and help me with these eggs."
Vale blinked, stunned by the sudden shift. For a heartbeat, his mind failed to process the request. Eskar, however, simply shrugged and let out a tired sigh.
"Come on," Eskar said, waving him over. "Let's help the old man."
Vale nodded slowly and followed.
When they reached Drago, all three of them stood over the eggs. The crimson shells glimmered faintly in the firelight of the setting sun, their surfaces layered and ridged in ways that made them feel more alive than inert.
Eskar crouched, studying them closely. His brow furrowed as he reached out, carefully brushing his fingers along the surface of one egg.
"…What are these?" he asked quietly.
Drago didn't look up.
"Bloodscale eggs," he replied. "The mightiest species of dragon. And the first."
Eskar's eyes narrowed slightly as he absorbed that. He glanced back toward the sky where the monarch had vanished.
"Then that dragon was an adult?"
Drago shook his head.
"No. An adolescent. An adult has never been seen before, at least, not in this part of the realm."
Eskar straightened slowly, his expression darkening.
"Then… how many adults have ever been spotted?"
Drago paused, as if weighing the answer.
"One."
The word fell like a stone.
After a moment, Drago exhaled and continued, his tone returning to business. "Either way, we can't leave these here. We need to move them somewhere safe. Give me one of those devices you have."
Eskar hesitated, eyes widening briefly, before reaching into a pocket of his cloth armor. He pulled out a compact storage unit and handed it over.
Drago took it, fingers moving with practiced ease. He pressed a sequence of buttons, adjusting unseen parameters. The device hummed softly, and one by one, the eggs vanished, pulled into the unit as if they had never been there.
Vale stared.
"How did you do that?" he asked.
Drago slipped the device into his pocket. "I adjusted its atum intake and response system. It's not the same as before, but it functions well enough."
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the camp. Moments later, he was setting up a fire, moving with the calm normalcy of someone preparing for the night rather than someone who had just negotiated with a dragon monarch.
Vale watched him for a long time.
That question returned, burrowing deeper into his mind like a growing infection.
'Just who is this man… truly?'