Chapter 6

The road to the Vergewood cliffs was quiet, too quiet for my taste. The only sounds accompanying our steps were the crunch of gravel beneath our boots and the occasional rustle of wind through the tallgrass that brushed our cloaks.

I glanced sideways at Zeriel. As usual, he walked with ease, confident, steady, like every step bent to his will. It was annoying. Worse, he kept glancing at me with that look—the one that spelled trouble.

"You know," he said after we passed the third outcrop of mossy stone, "we make a good team."

"I'm aware," I replied coolly, tightening the strap on my satchel.

"Smooth journey, instinctive coordination, dangerous dungeon conquered... I'd say it's fate."

I rolled my eyes, not breaking stride. "If you're going to spout nonsense, at least keep it original."

He chuckled, hands clasped behind his back like he wasn't carrying three hidden weapons and a flask of poison. "All I'm saying is, if we're already soul-bound by relics... might as well use them."

"Let me get this straight," I said, stepping around a tree root jutting from the trail, "you want me to be your 'fated person' just so your pretty little necklace works?"

"Well," he mused, "and so you can use that lovely artifact of yours."

I snorted. "That thing's a glorified safety net. Unlimited resurrection for my fated person? I'm not about to spend that on a glorified peacock who keeps showing up uninvited."

"Peacock?" he repeated, laughing. "Harsh. Handsome, charming, competent—"

"Annoying," I corrected.

Zeriel grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Come now, Averan. It's a waste to let such powerful soul-bound relics sit idle."

"First, don't call me Averan like we're on first-name terms," I warned.

"But that is your name right now."

"Exactly. It's still mine and we're not close." I exhaled through my nose and gave him a sideways glance. "Second, why would I tether myself to a man who can stalk me anywhere in the world? One drop of blood, and you'd be popping up during my bath."

His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Tempting."

I raised a fist, but he only laughed harder.

We reached a bend in the trail, and I paused for a moment, letting the wind sweep past us. It smelled faintly of scorched stone and sulfur—good. We were getting close.

"I'll only say this once, Zeriel," I muttered. "If a dragon shows up, and it demands a sacrifice, I will volunteer you first."

He pressed a hand to his heart. "Touching. You really do care."

I pushed past him and kept walking, my cloak flaring in the wind.

He followed, still chuckling, and even though I pretended to ignore him, I couldn't help the faint tug at the corner of my lips.

Fated relics or not, the real danger here wasn't the ruin.

It was him.

The scent of time lay thick in the air—damp stone, old ash, and the faint trace of arcane residue that tingled along my skin like forgotten whispers.

We stood before the first gate of the ruin, a massive circular slab engraved with faded glyphs. Most adventurers would have taken hours—days, even—to puzzle through the security layers. But I knew this kind of defense.

It was old magic. Familiar magic.

Like the sealed catacombs beneath the Terah royal palace.

While Zeriel examined the etchings with a thoughtful squint, I stepped forward and ran a gloved hand over the central sigil. The glyph pulsed faintly beneath my touch.

"Interesting," Zeriel said from behind me. "This rune ward isn't typical Aduran design. Not even the Empire's scholars can decipher it."

"Don't speak," I said, sharp and quiet.

He blinked, but obeyed—for once.

I drew a breath, then murmured in the old tongue. The dialect scraped my throat with its dryness, like a memory summoned from bone dust. "Yel'riun thessa… omar carvhal."

The glyph flared golden. The stone slab shifted with a rumble like a dragon's yawn.

"...Impressive," Zeriel muttered, stepping beside me. "That was...?"

"A phrase meant for royalty," I replied without looking at him. "And last I checked, your empire never had dealings with the Line of Terah."

He hummed. "So you do know this architecture."

I didn't dignify him with an answer.

The corridor beyond curved inward, carved with intertwining motifs of dragonfire and sea storms. We moved as one—my eyes alert, my movements brisk. Zeriel still filled the silence with low commentary, but his footsteps matched mine without missing a beat.

We disarmed four more traps—three mechanical, one magical—and his blade flicked out in perfect sync with my signal to silence a lurking sentry wraith. He was still talking when I turned to the etched stone door at the corridor's end, fingers brushing over the lines of language.

The central inscription was clearer here—less worn. More reverent. A dedication. A promise.

"I thought you didn't read Ancient Terathi," Zeriel said, a step behind me now.

"I never said I couldn't," I murmured.

"You just let me keep guessing."

"I let you talk."

His laugh was low, knowing. But it faltered the moment I traced the final glyph and whispered the phrase:

"Ardrien tal'virel. Rise, and remember your vow."

The door groaned open. A low hum thrummed through the ruin, steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat echoing across centuries.

Zeriel was silent now. Watching me with something sharp and unreadable in his gaze.

I stepped forward, my pulse quickening. Past the threshold, the air shimmered with latent magic, and the walls radiated heat—not hostile, but awakening.

Whatever was sealed here… it hadn't been disturbed in a very, very long time.

And something told me it was finally listening.

The deeper I moved through the ruin, the more the air felt… reverent.

Dust swirled around my boots, caught in unseen currents that whispered against the runes carved into the walls—runes that I, as Queen Feria could read as easily as the script of my youth. They weren't mere decoration. They were guidance. Guardians. Warnings.

Zeriel was silent behind me now, eerily so. I could feel his gaze pressing against the back of my neck, not just watchful—studying. Every now and then I could hear his breath catch, as though biting back a question, or perhaps... a suspicion.

But he didn't speak.

He just followed.

The silence between us stretched until we reached a corridor flanked with twin archways, lined with silver inlays and dragon-eyed carvings. I paused, my fingers grazing a glyph carved onto the floor—a spiral. An illusion ward.

I turned toward Zeriel. "Don't—"

The floor rippled.

And the world split.

I found myself alone in a hollowed-out void, the hallway gone, the air thick with dream-haze and old magic. The illusion tried to morph, tried to draw me into false visions—my past, my throne, my brother's face, my failures—but it was child's play. This magic wasn't meant to pierce the soul of someone like me, someone who'd stared down emperors, kings, and nightmares.

I burned it away with a word.

The illusion shattered like glass underfoot, leaving behind only stone, echo, and light.

I was alone once more.

Before me rose a massive door—twenty feet tall, carved from obsidian and veined with molten gold, the seams of its structure glimmering with faint pulses like breath. My own breath caught as I stepped forward, drawn to the images embedded into the surface.

Dragons of shadow and flame, wind and ice, coiling around a great sun and moon locked in celestial orbit.

The story unfolded in elegant relief: the chaos of unformed earth, the birth of light and dark, the rising of the first dragons—guardians of balance, stewards of the veil—and then, of mortals born from storm and silence who were granted gifts. Dragon-chosen. Saints.

My fingers hovered over the final etching—different from the others. A single figure knelt before a radiant dragon with seven wings, its tail coiled like the roots of a mountain. Below it, an inscription:

"Here lies the last servant of the Dragon of Ki—Reign, the Dragon Saint.

What you seek you may find only if your heart is clear and true."

Reign.

The name pulsed in my chest like a drumbeat of forgotten thunder.

I whispered it aloud. "Reign."

The entire door trembled.

Then—boom—a deep echo thrummed through the walls, and the doors opened.

Not slowly.

Not ominously.

Willingly.

The light inside was golden and warm, not harsh, and it beckoned me.

I stepped forward without hesitation.

Because something in me had known from the start:

This ruin wasn't trying to keep me out.

It had been waiting.

The golden light enveloped me like a warm embrace, not the harsh blaze of divine judgement I half-expected, but something gentler. Softer. Familiar.

The chamber beyond the door was vast, and yet somehow cozy. Crystal trees glimmered with slow-breathing light, and shallow streams flowed in spirals across polished stone. At the very center of it all, a shimmering platform floated just inches above the ground like a pond suspended midair.

Then—

"Fe–ri–aaaa!"

A blur of chubby cheeks, fluttering wings, and stubby dragon horns launched from the platform and barreled into me.

"Oof—!"

I caught her with practiced ease, staggering half a step as she nestled into my chest, purring loudly like a satisfied furnace.

I laughed, cradling her. "I knew it! I just knew it! Shasha—so it really was you I saw in the projection room back in the royal catacombs. The little dragon girl who kept stuffing sweets into her cheeks like she had an entire pantry hidden in her horns."

Shasha giggled, tail wagging lazily. "Hehehe! You caught me, you big meanie~"

I grinned and tweaked one of her tiny horns. "But why didn't you tell me you're also known as Reign, the Great Dragon Saintess? Do you know how much my royal tutors panicked when that name popped up in history scrolls wrapped in fire and ancient reverence?"

Shasha pouted, crossing her arms with a huff. "Ugh! That name again! I told that old coot, Ki, not to call me that, but did he listen? Nooo~ He said it sounded cool—'Reign, the light between worlds,' or whatever pompous nonsense he dreamed up. I didn't even get to vote!"

I burst out laughing at her frustrated squeaks. "So the grand saintess of legend is actually a spoiled hatchling with a bad naming experience. That… tracks. And here I was worried I'd met someone I'd have to bow to."

Shasha clung to my cloak and nuzzled into my shoulder. "You can still bow and give me more snacks~"

"Funny you should say that." I pulled out the cloth bundle I'd carefully packed earlier—grilled moolywooly meat, fresh, tender, and still warm. "I figured if I ever found you in person, you'd probably want some of this."

Her eyes sparkled. "YES—!! Feria, you're my favorite forever now!"

She snatched the bundle and immediately began stuffing her face with the most exaggerated moans of delight I'd ever heard.

I leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed. "So… you'll keep this meeting secret, right?"

Shasha nodded between mouthfuls. "Yup. My lips are sealed." She paused, then whispered slyly, "But you should be careful. That guy you came with—he's got a li'l bit of bad blood with dragons. Old stuff, maybe ancestral. Still stinks."

My eyes narrowed. "Zeriel."

Shasha's grin was all mischief. "But you can fix it, you know~ If you deeply and lovingly wish so… your relic can heal even wounds of the soul~"

I gave her a dry look. "You want me to use an eternal healing relic on Zeriel's feelings?"

She waggled her eyebrows. "Don't you wanna see if it works?"

I pinched her cheek. "Behave."

"Ow! Worth it!" she said, mouth full of grilled meat.

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "Next time I come, I'm bringing Albert. He's curious about ancient relics, and I'd rather have him poking around than Zeriel catching wind of who you really are."

Shasha saluted with a greasy hand. "Got it. No secrets spilled. Just snacks and stories."

I glanced toward the chamber's entrance. The shadows had shifted.

Time to go.

"I'll be back," I said, resting a hand on her small head. "You'd better save some meat for Albert."

"No promises~!"

As I stepped through the light and back toward the ruin's halls, my heart felt lighter—and fuller.

Because in this ancient, forgotten place, I had uncovered something more rare than treasure.

A secret.

A friend.

And perhaps… the first piece of a greater truth waiting to be unveiled.

The sun was low by the time I stepped out of the ruins. Shadows stretched long across the crumbled path, gilded in gold. The air was cool, the breeze laced with the scent of pine, stone, and a faint lingering trace of old magic.

No sign of Zeriel.

Typical.

I didn't wait idly. Instead, I hunted. The forest nearby was rich—rabbits, wild boars, even a pheasant or two if I'd felt fancy. I didn't.

A boar and a pair of rabbits were enough. I skinned them fast, cleaned them faster, and set them up on a spit over the fire. The scent of meat—charred, savory, and ever-so-slightly sweet—rose like incense in a temple.

By the time Zeriel finally stumbled out of the ruin's entrance, looking no worse for wear and ten degrees smugger than necessary, I was sitting comfortably beside my fire, poking the skewered boar ribs with practiced hands.

He didn't say anything right away. Just walked over, flopped down beside me like he hadn't just emerged from a place that almost devoured him whole, and eyed the fire.

Then, very matter-of-factly, he said, "I demand a share."

I gave him a look. "You demand?"

"You ditched me in the ruin," he said, deadpan. "I deserve hot food as compensation."

"I didn't ditch you," I retorted, jabbing a skewer into the dirt for support. "The ruins ejected me after I cleared the trial room. Your illusion must've taken too long. Not my fault."

Zeriel stared at me for a long moment. "Right. Of course. The mighty Averan was kicked out." He even air-quoted it.

I just shrugged, turning the boar with a smile. "Believe what you want. But don't think I'm feeding you."

That's when he boldly reached out and snatched the latest batch of meat off the spit with infuriating precision and zero shame.

"I hate you," I muttered, already skewering a new round of cuts.

"You grilled it perfectly," he said, mouth full. "Just the right amount of char. Amazing work, truly."

"Boar-tongued snake."

He held up a rib like a toast. "I'm touched."

We ate in a companionable silence after that, the kind that forms when two people have fought together, faced traps, monsters, and ridiculous dances, and somehow didn't kill each other in the process.

After the last rib bone was tossed aside, Zeriel stretched, looking at the stars.

"So," he said, glancing at me. "Find anything interesting in the ruins?"

I looked at him. Smiled faintly. "Nothing."

He sighed, deep and tired. "Figures. At least I got what I came for."

That made me pause. "Oh?"

He didn't elaborate. Just leaned back on his arms and watched the fire.

I studied him for a moment, my own expression unreadable. "…You're not going to explain that?"

He turned his head and looked at me, the flickering firelight dancing in his eyes. "Nope."

My eyes narrowed. "…You're enjoying this."

"A little."

I snorted. "I hope your truth tastes as good as my grilled boar."

"It doesn't." He gave me a quiet look, something unreadable simmering beneath his usual smirk. "But it's heavier. And longer-lasting."

Whatever that meant, I wasn't sure. But I didn't ask further.

Instead, I stoked the fire, skewered the last rabbit, and let the quiet settle in again.

For once, it didn't feel awkward.

Just... waiting.

For the next hunt.

For the next secret.

The road back to the inn was quiet, lined with trees half-bathed in moonlight, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. The stars overhead blinked like they knew too much, and beside me, Zeriel trudged with deliberate silence—his boots crunching on gravel just out of sync with mine.

I didn't mind the quiet. I had my thoughts, and my brother's message was still fresh in my mind.

"Longer than expected? I expect three times the usual souvenirs, and no excuses. You better not come back without at least five kinds of local delicacies and a shiny trinket or two—preferably one that sings or glows."

I laughed—openly, genuinely, without restraint. It slipped out of me like sunlight after a storm, bright and light and impossible to hide.

Zeriel, walking slightly behind me, grunted. "...Was that your darling fiancé?"

My laughter cut off mid-breath. I blinked and glanced back at him.

"What?"

He didn't meet my gaze, looking off to the side, as if suddenly fascinated by a particularly boring tree. "You laughed. I assumed it was a message from the beloved partner you mentioned before."

It took me a second to realize what he was talking about—that moment. When I, as Albert, was so graciously offered a bride by the Emperor of Adur and responded with perhaps the most dramatic, overdone declaration of undying love in the history of political evasion.

I nearly choked on air just remembering it. "I am flattered, Your Majesty, but my heart belongs to another. Even if my feelings are one-sided, I cannot betray them." I deserved an award.

Suppressing a full-body cringe, I tilted my head at Zeriel, all smiles now.

"Oh. That darling? I assure you, she's quite amiable to me now."

Zeriel's lips curled upward, but the smile didn't touch his eyes.

"Lovely," he said, dry as dust.

I hummed in amusement and turned back to the path. "She even replies to my messages promptly and demands snacks. A very practical kind of love."

Another grunt from behind me. Nothing more.

The rest of the walk was still. Tense, but not unbearable. We didn't speak. I let the silence stretch as I watched fireflies drift through the underbrush and listened to the creak of wood from my gear as I moved. Zeriel didn't press. Not this time.

When the inn finally came into view, warm light spilling from its windows and the smell of smoke and stew wafting into the night, I sighed softly.

The comfort of four walls. A door that closed. A bed I could sprawl on without worrying about hidden spikes or puzzles or dancing trials.

"Race you to the baths," I said over my shoulder.

Zeriel didn't respond with words.

He just ran.

Steam curled and hissed around me as I stepped into the bathhouse, the wooden floors warm beneath my feet. 

The showers lined the right side—simple spouts and wooden buckets—while beyond them lay the steaming stone bath, open to the moonlit sky above. 

I scrubbed myself down quickly, efficiently, years of military discipline honed into every movement.

By the time Zeriel stumbled in, I was already neck-deep in the hot water, letting it soak into every tired muscle. He paused dramatically in the entrance, raising an eyebrow.

"I see the mighty Lord Averan has claimed the prize of first soak."

"Speed wins," I said, eyes half-lidded as I leaned against the smooth stone edge.

He scoffed, stripped without modesty, and headed for the shower. I didn't blink. I'd seen too many soldiers bare to be fazed.

That didn't stop Zeriel from throwing a towel in my direction after catching my eyes flick—briefly—to one of the other bathers. "Stop eyeing people's abs like you're tallying up meat cuts. It's disturbing."

I tilted my head, smirk tugging at my lips. "Purely research purposes. The muscle definition in this region varies based on sword style and upper-body rotation technique."

Zeriel burst out laughing, water from the shower still streaming down his back. "Shameless. You're actually shameless."

I didn't deny it. Just met his gaze with a calm stare.

Then—of course—he stepped into the hot bath like he was posing for a statue. Arms flexed just slightly. Chest lifted.

"Go ahead. Look all you want. I permit it, Commander Researcher."

I snorted. Loudly. "Still not impressive. I'm better looking."

"See?" he said, pointing. "Shameless. Utterly."

I closed my eyes and let the heat sink in deeper. "You're just bitter I have better hair."

After a few more quiet minutes of shared soak and softly echoing laughter from other bathers, I stood and dried off, steam rolling off my skin. "I'm heading out. Don't drown."

"Not without your permission, Commander."

I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly stuck.

Slipping on fresh clothes, I padded to the common area and grabbed a cold drink from the inn's self-serve bar—a citrusy blend with mint that cooled the heat in my chest. I sipped slowly, savoring the quiet.

The moon hung high now, and my limbs were heavy with satisfied fatigue. Tomorrow, we'd part ways again—or maybe not. With Zeriel, one never knew.

But for tonight, I was clean, warm, full, and calm.

And I beat him to the bath.

Victory.

The sun had barely risen when we stood by the fork in the road, the morning mist still clinging to the dew-tipped grass. Zeriel stood beside me, his arms lazily crossed, his usual smug grin present as always.

"Well, Lord Averan," he drawled, "this is where we part ways. You, back to your ivory towers of academia... and me, to the Empire."

I nodded, adjusting the strap of my bag. "Safe travels. Try not to get yourself killed or demoted."

His smirk deepened. "You wound me. And here I was thinking we had something special."

I rolled my eyes. "Special? You're just a stubborn mutt clinging to an old warbone."

Zeriel chuckled, dark and low. "Mutt, huh? So loyal of me. But be warned, Albert—"

I stiffened a little at the way he said my name, which he thinks is my real name, almost deliberately.

"—you might see me again. Sooner than you think."

I snorted, pretending I didn't feel that slight jolt in my chest. "Shouldn't the emperor's prized warhound stay leashed where he belongs?"

"Oh?" he said, straightening with the easy swagger of a man who knew too much. "But what if the owner of the hound changes?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You'd betray your emperor?"

"Not betrayal," he said with a wink. "Just... new loyalties."

"Insufferable." I turned on my heel.

"No 'take care'? No lingering glance? No dramatic farewell kiss to your fated partner?" he called after me.

My pace picked up.

"You're heartless!" he called.

"You're delusional!" I shot back without turning.

His laugh echoed behind me, and I refused to look back even once.

Still, I didn't head to Escarton immediately. First came the shopping—local delicacies preserved in wax and spice, smoked jerky from rare beasts, and trinkets with odd enchantments. I even found a small enchanted carving knife for myself—more practical than pretty.

I made sure the packages were secured tightly, marked with my brother's name and a note that read: "Don't eat them all in one night or you'll be the one waddling like a woolymooly."

His reply arrived by magic courier before I even left the town gates.

"No promises. Also, bring more."

I smiled faintly.

Back to the academy. Back to routines and subtle deception, buried truths, and a brother who kept me grounded in my own tangled life.

And maybe—just maybe—I'd have to prepare for the possibility that Zeriel wasn't done meddling in mine.

The door creaked open, and I barely stepped into our dorm room before being greeted by the sight of my brother cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by wrappers and half-emptied containers of the delicacies I'd painstakingly lugged back.

His cheeks were puffed like a chipmunk's mid-feast, and he looked up at me, wide-eyed and unapologetic.

"Really?" I asked, already laughing. "I told you not to eat them all at once."

He chewed, swallowed with an exaggerated gulp, and shrugged. "I needed to taste them first before you ration them like a stingy quartermaster."

I dropped my pack by the desk and marched over, pinching his cheeks with both hands until he squealed and slapped at my wrists. "You little—! That was smoked devilboar, it's supposed to last weeks, not minutes!"

He huffed and rubbed his face, but grinned up at me anyway. "You brought it home. That's what counts."

I rolled my eyes, flopping beside him on the floor and snatching a chestnut cookie. "Fine. Since I'm in a generous mood, I'll let you off the hook this time. And besides—" I grinned, "—I did promise you tales."

His face lit up like a lantern, and I launched into the story. The bizarre dungeon that chose its entrants on whims unknown. The relic that heals a fated partner—forever soulbound to me, to my endless dismay. Zeriel's ridiculous necklace that could teleport him across continents if I bled on it. The woolymooly quest and the surprise darkling ambush. And finally, the ancient ruin and the revelation that Shasha—the chubby dragonling from the royal catacombs' projection—was very real and very alive.

"She's adorable," I finished. "Still bossy, still a bottomless stomach, but somehow even cuter in person."

He clapped his hands together, eyes sparkling. "We have to visit her! I want to bring her those lemon-mint sugar cubes she liked from the palace kitchens. Remember?"

"Of course I do. But hold your hippogriffs," I said, sobering slightly. "We can't just waltz in. There's a lot of preparation to be done. I need to secure the route, lay false trails, enchant a silence veil, document the glyph resonance patterns so no one else stumbles on the entrance—"

He groaned and flopped back dramatically. "Ugh, you're worse than the librarians when you get like this."

I flicked his forehead. "This isn't a game. If word gets out that a living dragon saintess exists, do you think either Ardu or any other powerful nations won't scramble to chain her up for their own agendas? We visit, yes—but only when it's safe. And quiet. Very, very quiet."

He nodded reluctantly, his usual mirth dimming just enough to show he understood. "Got it. I'll be good."

I stood, brushing crumbs off my cloak and unfastening the illusion spell that kept my form masculine. With a quiet shimmer, I shifted back to myself—Feria, not Lord Albert.

"So," I asked as I stretched, "anything scandalous happen while I was off dancing through ruins and almost getting devoured by darklings?"

"Oh, definitely." He sat up, suddenly energized. "You missed three duels between upperclassmen and the combat prodigies. Total chaos. A new rule had to be made about not enchanting one's weapon to talk during a match—apparently it's distracting."

"Spirits, I missed that?" I laughed, shaking my head.

"There's more! People are already pairing up for the fall banquet, so everyone's acting like noble courtship rituals are back in style. Professors are desperate for research assistants because some third-years bailed to train in remote temples. And guess what—"

He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"There's a rumor going around that the emperor of Adur's niece is enrolling next semester."

I choked on my cookie.

He patted my back as I coughed, laughing too hard to be helpful. "You okay?"

"I'm fine!" I wheezed. "Just... surprised."

The emperor's niece? Here? At Escarton?

Either fate was cruel… or it had a twisted sense of humor. Because if Zeriel really was lurking close, this was only the beginning.