"This Is The End"

(Royal Palace – King Thalor's Private Chambers)

The scent of old parchment and smoldering cedar lingered in the dimly lit room. Shadows danced on the stone walls, thrown by the slow, steady flames in the hearth. King Thalor Therald sat unmoving in his high-backed chair near the arched window, gazing out into the velvet night of Velmoria. He didn't turn when the door opened.

Bootsteps echoed softly across the marble floor until they stopped.

Eyan stood behind him in silence for a moment, the weight of what he had come to say pressing hard against his chest.

"I came to tell you something," Eyan finally said, voice low, steady.

A moment passed before King Thalor replied, still without turning. "What is it, Eyan?"

Eyan swallowed. "I'm releasing The Dragon King."

The silence that followed was heavier than stone.

Thalor's fingers curled around the armrest. "Is something precious to you at stake?"

Eyan's voice wavered but didn't break. "Yes… I can't let that person die."

His father's voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Do you love that person?"

"I do…" Eyan whispered. "I love that person so much."

He drew in a shaky breath. "I can't do what you did father. I'm not strong enough."

Thalor exhaled deeply, as though carrying the weight of their bloodline once again.

"I always wanted you to love someone freely," Thalor said at last, the sadness in his voice like wind rustling through autumn leaves. "But our bloodline... we were never meant to. We don't have the luxury of choice, Eyan. We carry duty—not freedom."

He turned his head slightly, not enough to face his son, but enough to hear him better.

"Come here. I can't see your face."

Eyan stepped forward and knelt in front of his father, head bowed, hair falling across his eyes.

Thalor looked down at his son, and for the first time in a long time, the monarch in him gave way to a father.

"You don't need to worry about me," he said gently. "I've lived long enough to know the pain of watching someone you love slip away while you stand powerless."

Eyan's lips trembled. A single tear dropped to the floor.

"Forgive me, Father... Please forgive me. Because of me, you—"

He didn't finish. His words broke off as Thalor reached out and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into an embrace both strong and fragile.

"You don't have to apologize," Thalor murmured.

And Eyan cried—shoulders shaking, the weight of generations of sacrifice unraveling between father and son.

"When will you release the Dragon King?" Thalor asked quietly.

"Tomorrow," Eyan answered, voice still thick with emotion.

Thalor nodded slowly. "Then go. Rest easy. And don't worry about me."

Eyan rose, wiping his face as he turned to leave. The doors shut softly behind him.

Left alone in the dim chamber, Thalor leaned back in his chair. His gaze wandered to the far wall where a fading family portrait hung—himself, a younger Eyan, and a woman with soft eyes and a solemn smile.

He looked at her and whispered, "I guess this is the end, Seris."

---

(Palace Grounds — The Day)

The palace grounds were eerily quiet.

The sky was too clear, the wind too still, as if the world itself held its breath.

Eyan and Velcon stood opposite each other, a wide stretch of stone and dust between them. A few royal guards watched from a distance, silent as statues. The marble in Eyan's hand pulsed faintly, a slow heartbeat of dark light.

Velcon smirked, his sword resting lazily over his shoulder.

"Well then, Your Majesty," he said coolly. "Are you ready to set the world on fire?"

Eyan didn't answer. His gaze was locked on the glowing marble in his hand.

Velcon stepped closer. "You know how this works. You have what I want, and I gave you what you asked for. So let's not stall—"

"I want to see her first," Eyan said.

His voice was firm. Not a request. A command.

Velcon paused, arching a brow. Then, without a word, he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.

Two men stepped forward, dragging Eva between them.

She wasn't bound, but her resistance was clear—her sleeves torn slightly, hair tangled from the scuffle. They forced her to kneel before Eyan, just a few paces away.

Eyan's eyes swept over her, quickly—searching, desperate—for any signs of injury. There were none. A flicker of relief passed through him.

Velcon folded his arms behind her.

"No need to worry, Your Majesty. I didn't so much as touch her. I'm not that crude."

He tapped on his heart. "Besides, the pact is already sealed."

Eva's eyes darted between them.

"Kyel?" Her voice cracked. "What is this? What are you doing?"

She tried to move toward him—but Velcon's sword flashed from its sheath and stopped inches from her throat.

"You can't go to him, Lady Eva," Velcon said sharply. "You stay exactly where you are."

He grinned. "Actually... I should thank you. Because of you, I got what I wanted. Without lifting a finger."

He turned back to Eyan.

"Now... are you ready, Your Majesty?"

Eyan's eyes lingered on Eva. But he didn't speak to her.

"I'm ready."

"Kyel!" Eva called. "Where are you going? What's happening? Why won't you look at me? Say something—Kyel!"

But he didn't turn. He didn't blink. He walked away.

Each step echoed like thunder in the still air.

He reached the center of the palace grounds and lowered the marble onto the stone. Then, without hesitation, he drew his sword and sliced his palm.

Blood trickled down his fingers—slow, deliberate.

"I, Eyan Lucien Therald, King of Velmoria, summon the King of Dragons—Zeradros."

The marble ignited with dark light. The ground trembled.

A swirling void of shadows rose from it, growing wider, deeper, darker, until it swallowed the sky.

And then—he emerged.

Zeradros.

Wings that spanned the sky. Scales that glistened like obsidian fire. His roar cracked the heavens as his massive body coiled in the air.

His blue eyes blazed like stars.

"Who dares summon me?" he boomed.

Eyan stood firm. "I did."

Zeradros's head turned slowly, serpentine.

"Name yourself, mortal."

"I am Eyan Lucien Therald, King of Velmoria."

From behind, Eva's breath caught.

Velcon laughed, a low, victorious laugh that echoed across the courtyard.

Zeradros's eyes narrowed.

"King of Velmoria… Do you understand what you've done?"

"I do."

"Then you accept the price?"

"I do."

A moment passed. Then the wind howled.

As Zeradros descended, Velcon lowered his sword from Eva's neck and took a step back, watching the sky with hunger in his eyes.

Eva stared at Eyan in disbelief, trembling.

"Kyel... please," she whispered. "What is this? Why are you doing this? Why won't you answer me?"

Zeradros's glowing blue gaze fell on Eyan—and something shifted.

A sharp pain tore through Eyan's skull. He staggered.

From his shadow, three beasts emerged—Talon, Fen, and Mara—dark wolves with blazing black eyes.

They snarled, untamed, no longer bound by reason.

Eyan's eyes began to turn—slowly—black swallowing the red.

The wolves howled in rage.

Then, without waiting for a command, they charged — straight toward the palace.

Toward King Thalor Therald.

Eyan turned his gaze to the royal palace and whispered,

"…Forgive me, Father."

But just before the gate, Mara stopped.

He turned back. His eyes met Eva's.

Time froze.

Eyan followed the wolf's gaze. His own eyes widened.

"No…"

He stumbled forward.

"No. No. Not her."

"Eva…" His voice broke.

Then he roared—"RUN!"

----