The night in Oakhaven didn't start with a roar; it started with a crackle.
I was sitting by the hearth, the taste of the "Pizza" still on my tongue, when the air suddenly grew thick and sweet with the smell of burning thatch. Outside, the silver village bell began to ring—not the steady rhythm of a festival, but the frantic, clanging heartbeat of a disaster.
"Felina, stay here."
Alaric was on his feet in a second. He wasn't the "Rick" I had known for the past month—the quiet carpenter with the gentle hands. His eyes were molten gold, glowing in the dim light of the cottage, and the "spicy" tension radiating from his body was so thick it felt like the walls were shrinking.
"Alaric, what's happening?" I gasped, my heart thundering against my ribs. I used his real name without thinking, the word feeling familiar and sharp on my tongue.
"Fire," he rasped.
He didn't wait. He grabbed a heavy leather cloak and threw it over my shoulders. He didn't shift. He didn't let the obsidian scales break through his skin. He kept his human form, but the way he moved was predatory—too fast, too precise for a normal farmer.
The Burning Valley
We stepped outside, and the world was red.
The village square was a furnace. Three of the largest barns were already fully engulfed in flames, the sparks dancing into the black sky like angry stars. Through the smoke, I saw shadows—men in dark red leather, the crest of the High Temple on their chests. They weren't fighting the fire; they were throwing torches.
"The children!" a woman screamed from the house next door. "The cellar door is jammed!"
Alaric didn't hesitate. He didn't call upon his dragon-fire to blast the door open. He ran into the smoke, his human muscles straining under his linen shirt. I watched, paralyzed by a "shiver" of terror, as he grabbed the heavy, burning oak beam that had fallen across the cellar entrance.
Any normal man would have had his hands scorched to the bone. But Alaric didn't flinch. He let out a low, guttural growl and lifted the beam. His veins stood out on his neck, and for a split second, I saw a shimmer of dark scales beneath his collar, but he suppressed it. He forced the dragon back. He wanted to save them as a man, so I wouldn't be afraid of the monster.
He pulled two coughing children and their mother from the hole, passing them to the neighbors.
"Rick! You're a godsend!" the village Elder shouted, staggering through the heat.
Alaric didn't answer. He turned his gaze toward the center of the village. He saw the red-clad soldiers. He saw the way they were herding the villagers into a circle, their swords drawn.
The Silent Protector
"Felina, get behind me," Alaric whispered.
He stepped in front of me, his massive frame creating a wall of safety. One of the soldiers—a captain with a scarred face—approached us. He looked at Alaric, then at me, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
"We're looking for a King," the captain mocked, leveling his spear at Alaric's chest. "And a violet-eyed witch. You don't look like much, farmer. Just a big man with a pretty girl."
I felt Alaric's body vibrate. The "spicy" heat coming off him was enough to bake the air. Through the Soul-Link, I felt his rage—it was a tidal wave of obsidian fire, screaming to be let out. He wanted to shift. He wanted to grow to sixty feet and swallow the captain whole.
But he looked back at me. He saw my wide, frightened eyes—the eyes of a girl who didn't remember the Dragon.
He stayed silent.
He reached out and grabbed the spear-tip with his bare hand. With a single, sharp jerk, he snapped the steel head off the wood. Before the captain could blink, Alaric struck him—a human punch, delivered with the strength of a beast. The soldier flew backward, crashing into a stone well and falling unconscious.
"Take the others to the river!" Alaric shouted to the villagers.
For the next hour, Alaric was a whirlwind. He carried the elderly on his back. He pushed over burning walls to create a path of escape. He used a heavy iron shovel to fight off three soldiers at once, his movements a blur of lethal efficiency. He was being incredibly attentive, always keeping one eye on me, never letting me get more than three feet away from his shadow.
He saved the entire village. Not with fire, but with his human hands.
The Face of the Enemy
As the fire began to die down into glowing embers, a single rider appeared at the edge of the woods.
It was a woman. She was dressed in silver armor that reflected the dying flames. Her blonde hair was pulled back, and her eyes were filled with a cold, poisonous jealousy.
Elena.
Alaric stood in the middle of the road, his shirt torn, his chest heaving. He was covered in soot and blood, but he stood tall, his hand locked in mine.
Elena looked at him, her lips curling in disgust. "Look at you. The Great Black Dragon, playing in the dirt with peasants. You've become a dog, Alaric. A dog for a girl who doesn't even know who you are."
I felt Alaric's grip on my hand tighten. He didn't speak. He didn't acknowledge her name. He knew that if he spoke, if he revealed his royal voice, my memory might fragment further into madness. He chose the silence of a farmer to protect the peace of my mind.
"She's a ghost!" Elena screamed, pointing her sword at me. "She's a glitch in the world! Give her to me, and I will let this village live!"
Alaric finally looked at her. He didn't shift, but he let a tiny bit of his draconic aura leak out. The horse beneath Elena shied away, sensing the presence of a true apex predator.
He didn't say a word. He simply stepped forward, his eyes turning a terrifying, solid orange. He picked up a discarded sword from the ground and pointed it at her heart.
The message was clear: Touch her, and I will forget I am a man.
Elena hissed, realizing she couldn't bait him into shifting—not yet. "Enjoy your little house while it lasts, Alaric. The 'System' is coming for its Queen. And when it does, I will be there to watch you burn in your own silence."
She turned her horse and disappeared into the smoke of the forest.
The Aftermath
The village was a ruin of black wood and gray ash, but the people were alive. They gathered around Alaric, thanking him, calling him a hero.
Alaric didn't listen. He led me back to our half-burnt cottage. He sat me down on the porch and knelt before me, his hands trembling as he checked my face for burns. He was so attentive, his thumb tracing my lower lip, his gaze full of a deep, haunting love.
"Are you hurt, Felina?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
"No," I said, my voice small. I looked at his hands—they were red and blistered from the burning beam, but he didn't seem to notice. "You... you were incredible. You're not just a carpenter, are you, Rick?"
Alaric went still. He looked at the burnt horizon, his jaw tightening. He had kept his secret. He had saved the village without fire. But the "shiver" in his eyes told me he would never forget the face of the woman who had tried to hurt me.
"I'm just a man who wants to keep you safe," he said softly.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead, the heat from his body acting as my only blanket. But as I leaned against him, I felt a spark. A vision flickered in my mind—a woman in red, a library, and a dragon's roar.
"Elena," I whispered.
Alaric froze. "What did you say?"
"That woman... her name was Elena." I looked at him, my violet eyes searching his golden ones. "How do I know that name, Rick?"
Alaric didn't answer. He pulled me closer, hiding his face in my hair. He had saved my life tonight, but he knew the shadows were closing in. He had 23 chapters left to win back my memory before the "System" would try to delete us both.
"It's just a name from a dream, Felina," he lied. "Go to sleep. The Dragon is awake. Nothing can touch you now."
But as he held me, I saw him look at his burnt hands. The blisters were already healing, turning back into obsidian scales. He was a King in exile, a Dragon in a linen shirt, and he was ready for a war that would burn the world