Darkness.
That was the first thing Fang registered when his eyes opened—thick, heavy darkness that pressed against his face like damp cloth. His vision swam. Shapes refused to form. He blinked once, twice, forcing the blur to recede. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of old stone and something older, like roots that had never seen the sun. Absolute silence filled the space. No distant voices. No wind. Not even the soft drip of water. Just the sound of his own slow breathing.
Then a voice cut through the quiet from somewhere ahead.
"You're finally awake."
Soft green light bloomed across the chamber as lanterns along the walls flared to life one by one. The glow was muted, almost sickly, revealing curved stone walls veined with living root. Fang's eyes widened slightly as the figure standing several paces in front of him came into focus.
"Rhelga?!"
He tried to sit up. Nothing moved. Thick restraints of pure darkness coiled around his entire body—arms, legs, torso—binding him so completely he could not shift an inch. Tendrils wrapped his neck and held his head in place, forcing him to stare forward. A flicker of genuine unease crossed his face as he forced his eyes downward and saw the living black bindings pulse faintly against his skin.
How… did I get here? Where am I?
Rhelga took a single step closer. The green light caught the withered arm hanging at his side and the mismatched eyes that studied Fang without warmth.
"You've come a long way, Fang."
For a moment, Fang said nothing. His mind was still catching up. Then he arranged his face into something that resembled relief.
"It really is you…" His voice roughened, as if emotion had caught in his throat. "After the war, after everything fell apart—we thought you were dead. Everyone scattered. The others… we didn't know if any of the old circle had survived. To see you standing here after all this time—"
"Spare me the performance."
The words landed flat and cold.
Fang blinked, the false warmth faltering.
"I don't understand. I—"
"You're wasting both our time." Rhelga's gaze did not waver. "I already know you carry the Disciple's blessing."
The chamber seemed to grow quieter.
Fang went completely still. The last trace of practiced emotion drained from his face, leaving only a hard, measured coldness. Amber eyes, no longer pretending, locked onto the old elf without flinching.
Rhelga's mismatched eyes remained fixed on the bound Veinborn.
"How does it feel," he asked quietly, "to hold darkness inside you? To know you have already lost your soul?"
Fang was silent for a moment. Then a short, humorless chuckle escaped him.
"Soul?" He tilted his head as far as the tendrils allowed. "You think we had a choice?" His amber eyes locked onto Rhelga's without flinching. "Just breathing today is better than spending eternity in the underworld with the rest of the failures. My entire faction was wiped out. I spent my life fighting for the Dragon King… and this is the world that remained."
Rhelga studied him for a long breath.
"The better path would have been to lay down your life," he said, "rather than serve beings who regard you as less than nothing."
Fang chuckled again, low and dry.
Rhelga's voice hardened slightly.
"What were you doing on this continent? If I remember correctly, your kind is from the one above."
Fang exhaled through his nose.
"What does it matter to you, old elf? You seem more concerned with my presence than with anything happening outside this cave."
Rhelga's brow twitched.
Fang's smile turned sharper.
"Are you even aware of what is being done to the elves?"
Silence answered him.
Fang's laugh rolled through the chamber, rough and echoing. The sound had barely faded when the sharp click of heels cut across the stone. Footsteps approached from the side corridor—measured, unhurried—until a new figure stepped into the green lantern light and came to a stop directly in front of him.
Vespera.
Fang's eyes widened.
"W-What… how—?!"
Vespera drove two fingers straight into his forehead.
Dark energy flared. Fang's veins bulged black across his face and neck as a raw shout of pain tore from his throat. The restraints tightened in response, holding him rigid while the pressure in his skull spiked.
"Vespera—" Rhelga's voice rose. "Do not kill him."
Vespera did not look away from Fang's contorted face.
"I'll take it from here," she said evenly. "You're too sentimental toward your old workers."
Rhelga's grip tightened on his staff.
"If anything goes wrong, he will—"
"Manifest his blessing?" Vespera finished for him, still pressing her fingers against Fang's skull. "I already know that."
Vespera's fingers remained pressed against Fang's forehead, the contact light yet absolute. Dark-red mana bled from her skin into his, slow and deliberate, like ink seeping into paper.
"I will ask once," she said, voice soft enough that it almost sounded kind. "Why are you on this continent? What is your purpose here?"
Fang's jaw clenched. Sweat already beaded along his temples. He forced a ragged breath through his teeth.
"I don't… answer to you—"
The pressure inside his skull spiked.
It was not pain in the ordinary sense. It was intrusion—cold fingers sliding between thoughts, prying at the edges of memory and will. Fang's back arched against the restraints as a choked sound tore from his throat. His amber eyes widened, pupils contracting under the assault.
Vespera tilted her head slightly.
"You are still trying to stand," she observed. "Admirable. Pointless." She leaned closer, golden eyes reflecting the green lantern light. "I can step fully into your mind if I wish. I can fracture it. Leave you breathing, walking, eating… but never again capable of forming a single coherent thought. A living shell. Some would call that mercy. I call it efficient."
Fang's lips pulled back from his teeth. Veins stood out black along his neck and jaw as he pushed back against the invading force, every muscle straining.
"I… won't…"
Vespera's expression did not change. She simply increased the pressure.
The effect was immediate. Fang's eyes twitched hard, one of them rolling slightly sideways. A thin trail of blood ran from his nose. His shout cracked into something closer to a scream as the dark tendrils binding him tightened to keep his thrashing body from tearing itself apart.
Rhelga took an involuntary step forward, staff half-raised, the first real flicker of alarm crossing his face.
"Vespera—"
She ignored him.
Fang's resistance finally shattered.
"The Silent Hand!" The words ripped out of him, raw and desperate. "They were wiped out—completely! A messenger of the Disciple is already searching for whoever is responsible! That's why I'm here! That's why any of us are still moving!"
The pressure vanished at once.
Vespera withdrew her fingers. Fang sagged in the restraints, chest heaving, blood dripping from his nose onto the dark tendrils coiled around his throat. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, but still conscious.
Vespera looked down at him with mild satisfaction, as though she had simply confirmed something she already suspected.
"There," she said quietly. "That was not so difficult."
Rhelga's staff struck the stone floor once, the sound sharp in the aftermath of Fang's broken confession.
"That was excessive, Vespera."
Vespera turned her head just enough to look at him. The faint red glow around her fingers faded.
"He spoke," she said. "That is the only measure that matters."
"You nearly shattered his mind." Rhelga's voice was low, controlled, but the anger beneath it was unmistakable. "There are lines, Vespera. Even now. Even with them."
She faced him fully. Golden eyes steady, unimpressed.
"Lines?... Says the right-hand man of the dragon king. This fool carries the Disciple's blessing. He came here hunting."
"And if you had pushed a fraction harder?" Rhelga stepped closer, mismatched eyes hard. "We would have a corpse that can tell us nothing, and a beacon of dark energy large enough for every remaining follower to feel. Your methods are not precise."
Vespera's expression did not change, but something colder settled behind her gaze.
"You are still protecting the shape of the old world," she said quietly. "The generals. The old oaths. The idea that some of them can still be reasoned with. That sentiment is why so many of your people are already in chains, Rhelga. I will not inherit your hesitation."
The green lantern light flickered across both of them. Fang hung silent in the restraints, blood still drying on his upper lip, forgotten for the moment.
Rhelga exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with restraint, and turned back to the bound Veinborn.
"When did the Silent Hand fall?"
Fang's voice was rough.
"I don't know. Recently. Or some time ago. The information never reached us cleanly."
Vespera's lips curved.
"A few days ago."
Rhelga's head snapped toward her.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I was the one responsible."
The words landed like a blade.
Rhelga stared at her, shock breaking through his usual composure. His mismatched eyes widened.
"You—how? What?... Why would you do that? Do you have any idea what this means? What you have set in motion?"
Vespera chuckled softly.
"It is not funny," Rhelga snapped.
Fang's breath hitched.
"So… it was you."
Both of them looked at him. Fang's amber eyes were wide, the pieces locking into place with dawning horror.
"The messenger is searching across every continent of the East… and the culprit is sitting right under his nose."
Rhelga's voice dropped.
"Who is this messenger?"
Fang gave a weak, bitter smile.
"Knowing his name changes nothing. The moment he learns who killed Amon, the Dark Disciple herself will be informed. And whatever is left of you—" his gaze locked onto Rhelga's, "—will be gone."
Rhelga's teeth gritted.
"So Amon is dead… That complicates things." He turned sharply on Vespera. "What were you thinking? Why were you even there?"
A new voice answered from the corridor, light and unbothered.
"We went there in search of the legion."
Rhelga spun. Sabrel stepped into the green lantern light, white hair slightly tousled, expression calm.
"The legion?!" Rhelga's voice rose.
Sabrel shrugged.
"We only wished to speak with Amon. Then he showed his true colors. It was truly terrible; you should have seen him."
Fang's eyes nearly bulged from his skull.
"Sabrel?!"
She glanced at him, tilting her head with mild curiosity.
"Who are you?"
The disbelief on Fang's face deepened into something close to vertigo.
Sabrel is alive? Everyone heard she died—
Rhelga dragged a hand down his face.
"And the blessing?"
"I smashed it to bits," Sabrel said simply.
Rhelga stumbled back a step.
"You what?"
Vespera added, almost casually, "I extracted the core before it fully died."
Rhelga's voice cracked into a shout.
"You have created a catastrophe! You should have come to me first!"
Sabrel met his anger without flinching.
"Calm down... We're here now."
Rhelga clicked his tongue hard, frustration etched into every line of his face.
"It's already too late."
"Calm down," Vespera said, as a light chuckle escaped her chest.
"Do not tell me to calm down after the mess the two of you have made!"
Fang hung in the restraints, visibly shaken, eyes darting between Sabrel and Vespera as fear and confusion warred across his features. The weight of what he was witnessing pressed down on him like a physical force.
Then a new voice drifted in from the corridor behind him, quiet and almost lazy, carrying the faintest hint of annoyance.
"What's with all the fuss? You're all chattering like birds."
Fang froze.
The voice struck something buried deep within him.
His breath caught in his throat. His amber eyes widened, and for several seconds he could not move, could not even blink. Something inside him had recognized that voice before his mind could make sense of it. Three thousand years had passed. Three thousand years of war, death, exile, and a world that had long since forgotten the age he came from. Yet that voice had not changed.
He knew it.
He knew it better than he knew the sound of his own heartbeat.
No.
The thought came weakly, almost instinctively.
No… it can't be.
His heart began pounding against his ribs. Cold sweat spread across his skin as a strange numbness crept through his limbs. The darkness binding his body suddenly felt insignificant. He barely noticed it. Every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to run, but his body refused to obey.
Then came the footsteps.
Slow. Unhurried. One step. Then another.
Each footfall echoed through the stone chamber, growing louder as the figure approached. Fang's breathing became shallow. His eyes remained fixed on the corridor, unable to tear themselves away from the darkness beyond it.
That presence…
His pupils contracted. He knew that presence too. It was faint. Restrained. Almost casual. But beneath it was something ancient. Something Fang had spent three thousand years believing was gone forever.
His throat tightened.
He was dead.
That was what everyone had believed.
The Dragon King had vanished. His reign had ended. His armies had fallen. His empire had been reduced to ruins and memories. The monster who had once stood above the continent, whose name had been enough to make entire armies tremble, had disappeared into history.
He can't be here.
Another footstep sounded.
Fang's body trembled.
His mind desperately searched for another explanation. Someone with the same voice. Someone who carried a similar presence. Anyone. Anything.
But he already knew. Some part of him had known the moment that voice reached his ears.
The footsteps stopped.
The figure stepped out of the corridor and into the sickly green lantern light.
Fang's vision blurred.
Golden eyes. Crimson hair. A calm expression. Hands clasped loosely behind his back.
For a moment, Fang forgot how to breathe.
The world around him seemed to disappear. Rhelga vanished from his thoughts. Vespera vanished. Sabrel vanished. Even the restraints holding his body became meaningless.
There was only the man standing before him.
No.
Not a man... The Dragon King.
Fang's heart seemed to stop.
His entire body went rigid, his eyes locked onto those golden irises as memories he had spent thousands of years trying to bury came rushing back all at once—burning cities, armies falling beneath overwhelming power, the screams of warriors who had once believed themselves invincible, and a figure standing above it all like nothing in the world could challenge him.
Dragon King…
His lips parted, but no sound came out.
How…?
His vision shook.
How are you alive?
Indura's gaze moved across the chamber before settling on him.
Their eyes met.
Fang's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
Every survival instinct in his body erupted at once. His muscles tensed against the restraints, but there was nowhere to run. His lungs refused to draw a proper breath. His heart hammered once, twice, then seemed to lose its rhythm entirely.
The face in front of him was different.
Younger. Calmer. Almost ordinary. But Fang didn't see any of that.
He saw the Dragon King. The monster from the end of his world. The ruler whose shadow had once stretched across Chaos. The being whose name had been whispered in fear long after his disappearance. And now he was standing only a few paces away.
Alive. Watching him.
Fang's body finally gave up.
His eyes rolled back as the last fragment of consciousness slipped away, and his head fell limp against the dark tendrils binding him.
Indura stared at the unconscious Veinborn for a moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he looked toward Rhelga.
"Who is this?"