The Start of the Story

Chapter 9: The Start of the Story

King's Palace.

King's Quarters.

The doors opened with a low creak.

Anevra stepped inside, expecting silence… but not this kind.

The kind of silence that felt too still. Too hollow. Like something had been abandoned.

Her eyes narrowed.

The room was empty.

The bed was unmade, the fire had long since burned out, and there was no sign of the king.

"…Asharic?"

She called softly, as if expecting him to answer from the next room.

But there was nothing. Not even an echo.

Her chest tightened.

She turned quickly, her heels clicking against the polished stone floor as she stepped out into the corridor.

The halls of the King's Palace were vast, with vaulted ceilings and long tapestries fluttering along the walls. But Anevra didn't care for their grandeur now.

She moved faster.

Room by room. Wing by wing.

But there was no sign of him.

Then...

DANG!

A sharp metallic sound rang through the corridor.

Her breath caught.

She turned instantly, instinct taking over as she sprinted toward the noise.

Down the corridor.

And then...

She reached the ruined training yard.

There, at the center, half-collapsed pillars and a broken statue of a dragon loomed in silence. The dust in the air had not yet settled.

And at its heart...

Asharic.

He was kneeling.

His shoulders hunched forward, his breathing uneven. Blood trailed down one side of his face, and his hands trembled at his sides, one of them clenched tightly into a fist.

Anevra's heart dropped.

"Asharic!!"

Her voice cracked through the air.

And then...

________

Darkness.

A thick, choking black. No weight. No shape.

Then...

Screams.

He could hear them. Feel them.

Not in front of him... but around him. Inside his skull. In his blood.

The shrieks of women. The screams of children. Soldiers barking orders. Men dying.

Steel clashing. A wall collapsing.

The smell of ash. Of burning cloth. Of dragonfire.

And fire... everywhere.

The palace burning.

The gardens burning.

The emblems of the five empires torn to pieces, eaten by flame.

But most of all… the banners of Ashkar. The sigil of the Dragonbloods, split and devoured by shadow and smoke.

He was in the center of it all. Barefoot, blood dripping down his arm. His sword broken. His crown buried in the rubble.

He turned...

A child was crying.

Then silence.

He woke up.

________

Gasp!

Asharic's eyes flew open as he jolted upright.

His lungs pulled air in greedily, like he had just surfaced from drowning.

His hands instinctively went to his chest... his heart was pounding violently.

Where...

His gaze swept around.

The light was dim, warm. A small lantern glowed gently near the bed. Curtains drawn. The scent of parchment and rosewater in the air.

He recognized the space.

The King Palace.

And just beside him...

Sat Anevra.

His second wife.

She hadn't noticed at first... her eyes were scanning a scroll, her hand resting against a pile of documents on the table.

But then she sensed the movement.

She turned... and her entire expression shifted.

"...You're awake," she breathed.

There was relief in her voice. Her eyes widened, then softened. A real smile appeared... unlike the cold, political smiles she showed others.

This was something else. Something sincere.

She rose and quickly approached the bed.

Without hesitation, she reached for his arm and placed her hand over it. Her aura surged softly beneath her palm, flowing into him with practiced ease.

She was checking him... again. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

A soft warmth pulsed through him.

Healing? No... observation. Searching his inner state. His aura channels.

Then Asharic noticed...

Bandages.

Wrapped tightly around his forearm. Another strip across his cheek. His knuckles bruised. His ribs ached.

He exhaled quietly.

"You…" Anevra started, her voice shaking. "Where have you been wandering?"

She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening ever so slightly over his arm. Her gaze flared with restrained fury.

"And whoever did this to you... I will find them," she said. "I swear it."

Asharic met her eyes.

He said nothing.

His lips didn't even twitch.

Then... her gaze lowered again.

She stared at something on his hand.

"Where did you get that?"

She pointed to the ring.

A black metal band, smooth and cool, etched with faint red veins. It pulsed ever so faintly... as if alive.

The dragon's ring.

She reached for it and tried to remove it... gently. But it didn't budge.

She didn't force it. Her fingers hovered there for a moment longer, hesitant.

"I've never seen a material like this," she muttered. "And it's bonded to your skin…"

Still, Asharic did not answer.

He simply watched her.

And thought...

Anevra DragonBlood.

The more he looked at her…

The more pain burned behind his eyes.

The more guilt clenched in his chest.

Her fate…

In the novel... she died.

Protecting him.

Her death was brutal. Pointless. And it came long before the final war.

But even before that...

She was the mother of the Second Princess. The girl who would one day use forbidden magic to turn back time.

The girl who is the Main Character of this novel.

And Anevra...

She died without ever knowing the truth.

Asharic's gaze dropped.

His jaw clenched.

And Mireth... his third wife...she was already pregnant now.

With the youngest prince.

In the original story…

By the time the first war began, only the First Empress, the Second Princess, and the youngest prince were alive.

Anevra... dead.

Mireth... dead.

Even he was gone.

This was the start of the tragedy.

Everything that happened… everything that would break this empire…

It all began here.

But now...

___________

Asharic's Pov

Now I had knowledge

And this time… I could change it.

But how?

And why didn't the dragon... the one buried beneath the palace... stop the empire's collapse?

Was it fate?

Or was there more?

Looks like I'll have to see him again…

And maybe...

He has a way to protect and save her.

To protect Mireth.

But before anything else…

I need to get stronger.

No, not just stronger...

I need to recover my past strength. Surpass it.

This body, while not what it used to be, has its own path. Its own instincts. If I train as it once did, I may regain the foundation it built. Perhaps… even uncover its secrets.

But for now… no one must know.

No one can see how weak I am.

And as I look as Anevra.

I wanted to say her name aloud.

Maybe that desire was from this body. Or maybe from me.

But seeing her now, the way she watches over me so quietly...

It's fine.

She's waited ten years already. She can wait a little longer.

This timeline… this second timeline...

The one her daughter brought back with her.

I have time.

And for now, there are things only she can handle. She is, after all, a DragonBlood… and my daughter.

She can bear some of the burdens.

And

Let me carry the rest.

Anevra.

She sighs softly beside me, completely unaware that I've regained consciousness.

Her fingers gently flip through the stack of papers in her lap. Not with irritation, but with practiced patience. A quill glides across the parchment... she's reviewing, annotating, signing.

She really is the one managing this empire, isn't she and with her?

A shadow passes her face, something tight in her brow.

Even now, she looks ready for battle.

Her long golden hair spills across her shoulder, tied loosely behind her neck.

Those bloody red eyes, usually so stern, now carry a strange calm. A subtle warmth.

Her presence alone feels like armor… or a shield.

But she must think…

That I'm still not truly here.

To her, I'm just a body moving in its sleep.

Like a puppet with no soul.

Breathing, but not alive.

She doesn't realize I'm watching her.

Not yet.

And I'll keep it that way.

But before that...

…How should I move?

How do I get out of this room without alerting her?

Without being seen by the guards?

Without tipping off any lurking vultures that the Mad Emperor is still half-dead?

And that bastard from before…

The knight who dared raise his sword against me...

I remember his face.

I know exactly where I'll find him.

And when I do… I'll pass judgment.

According to the law.

Execution.

But that can wait. For now… I need to think.

Right.

The book.

I reach slowly for the edge of the blanket draped over me, careful not to make a sound. My fingers twitch. My joints ache... but they still move.

Bandages wrapped tight around my palm soak in faint blood. The pain is dull… manageable.

Tucked beneath the layers of bedding, I feel it. Cold against my skin.

The leather binding. The rough stitching.

The book I took from the dragon's lair.

"The Half Dragon."

That title…

Why was it there?

And why does it feel like it's about me or about half dragons?

If there's anything in this world that holds the key to understanding my place here…

It's this.

I clutch the book tighter.

Tomorrow, I'll start.

I'll train.

I'll learn this body's rhythm.

I'll dive into its past.

I'll master the aura it once knew.

And I'll forge something stronger.

But first... this book.

Let's see what secrets it's been hiding that this body doesn't know.