The battle at the Peak of Ash had ended, but the cost was a hole in the universe. The Dragon Heart Stone lay in pieces on the dark ground, its violet glow extinguished. When the smoke cleared, the Nameless Gate was gone, and the Shadow of the Creator had vanished back into the ink.
"Felina?" Alaric's voice was a desperate, "spicy" rasp.
He was kneeling in the ash, his human body covered in soot and golden blood. He gathered my limp form into his arms, pulling me against the scorching heat of his chest. He was shaking, his large hands cradling my head as if I were made of thin ice.
"Felina, wake up! The Gate is closed! We won!"
I groaned, my eyelids fluttering open. The sky was still bruised purple, and the two moons were hanging low. I looked up, and the first thing I saw were eyes—molten gold, intense, and filled with a terrifying, obsessive love.
But I didn't recognize them.
I didn't recognize the scarred, handsome face or the black obsidian scales on his neck. I didn't recognize the smell of woodsmoke and dragon-fire that usually made me feel safe.
"Who... who are you?" I whispered. My voice sounded thin and brittle.
Alaric froze. The air around him suddenly dropped in temperature. "Felina? It's me. It's Alaric. Your King. Your husband."
I scrambled back, my heart thundering with a primal fear. I wasn't a Queen. I wasn't the Dragon's Wife. I was... who was I?
"I don't know an Alaric!" I screamed, my voice rising into a panicked wail. I looked around at the jagged rocks and the bleeding moons, and the world felt like a nightmare. "Where is my mother? I was... I was crossing the street. It was raining. I want to go home! Why am I in this scary place?"
I tried to stand up, but my legs were like jelly. I fell back into the ash, sobbing. I felt like a "mad person," my mind a swirl of broken images—a white hospital room, a rainy street, a woman crying—but the man standing over me didn't fit into any of them.
"Mother! Mom!" I shouted into the empty canyon.
Alaric reached for me, his expression one of pure, soul-shattering agony. "Felina, look at me! Look at the mark on your neck! Look at the soul-link!"
"Don't touch me!" I shrieked, batting his hands away. "You're a monster! You have scales! Someone help me!"
Alaric flinched as if I had stabbed him. He stood there, the Great Black Dragon who had just fought the Creator, looking completely defeated by a girl's fear. He realized the "System" hadn't deleted me; it had deleted him from my mind. I was Felina again, but a Felina who was lost in a world of ink with no anchor.
The Choice of the Fallen King
For three days, Alaric tried to bring me back. He showed me the library. He tried to cook the pancakes I had taught him. He spoke my real name over and over. But every time he came near, I shook with terror. I looked at his crown and his swords and I saw a tyrant, not a lover.
He realized that as long as we were in the Dragon Land, as long as he was the King, the "System" would keep my memory locked away. The palace was a reminder of a story I no longer remembered.
"If you cannot love the King," Alaric whispered to me on the fourth night, his eyes dark with a "spicy" and desperate resolve, "then I will not be a King."
He called Kael to the private chambers. He took off his golden circlet and threw it onto the stone floor. It made a lonely, ringing sound.
"I am leaving," Alaric commanded. "The High Priest is gone, and the borders are safe. You will rule in my name. I am taking her to the Northern Valleys."
"Your Majesty, you cannot!" Kael gasped. "That is a land of farmers and silence! You are the Dragon!"
"I am nothing without her memory," Alaric rasped. "I will live as a man. I will build her a home that does not smell of blood and magic. I will win her heart again, even if I have to do it as a stranger."
The Small House in the Valley
A month passed.
We were now hundreds of miles away from the capital, in a state called Valeria. It was a land of rolling green hills, blue rivers, and simple wooden cottages. There were no dragons here. No magic. Just the smell of fresh grass and the sound of sheep.
Alaric had bought a small farm at the edge of a forest. He had traded his royal jewels for a set of carpenter's tools and a pair of sturdy oxen. He wore simple linen shirts and leather trousers, his silver hair tied back with a piece of twine. He hid his obsidian scales under high-collared tunics, pretending they were just old scars from a war.
I sat on the porch of the cottage, watching him chop wood.
I was still confused. I knew my name was Felina. I knew I didn't belong in this world of carriages and candles. But the "madness" had settled into a quiet, dull ache. This man—he called himself 'Rick' now—was the only thing I had.
He was incredibly attentive. He never raised his voice. He never forced me to touch him. He spent his days building me furniture and his nights sitting by the fire, telling me stories of "a brave girl from the stars" as if it were a fairy tale, not my own life.
"Rick?" I called out.
He stopped his axe mid-swing. He turned, and even in his simple clothes, he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His golden eyes always watched me with a hunger that made me "shiver," though I didn't know why.
"Yes, Felina?" his voice was a low, "spicy" purr.
"Why do you stay with me?" I asked, twisting a strand of my violet hair. "I don't remember you. I cry for a mother I can't find. I'm... I'm broken."
Alaric dropped the axe and walked toward the porch. He stopped at the steps, refusing to come up without my permission. He was being so careful, so patient, it made my heart throb with a strange, ghost-like pain.
"You aren't broken," he said softly. "You're just lost in the woods. And I promised myself a long time ago that I would wait for you at the edge of the trees until you found your way out."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, golden berry he had found in the woods. He placed it on the railing of the porch.
"Eat," he said. "It's sweet. Like the world you used to tell me about."
I took the berry, and for a second, my fingers brushed his. A jolt of electricity—a "spicy" spark of the old Soul-Link—shot through my arm. I gasped, dropping the berry.
For a split second, I saw a vision. I saw a man with giant black wings standing in a cave, crying my name.
"Alaric?" I whispered the name without thinking.
The man in front of me froze. His golden eyes flared with a sudden, brilliant hope. The scales on his neck shimmered under his collar. "What did you say?"
"I... I don't know," I said, rubbing my temples as the headache returned. "It's just a word from a dream. Go back to your wood, Rick. I'm sorry."
Alaric's face fell, but he didn't give up. He bowed his head. "As you wish, my... Felina."
He went back to work, his muscles rippling under his shirt. He was living as a commoner, eating simple stew, and sleeping on a hard floor, all just to be near me. He was winning my love all over again, not with a crown, but with his kindness.
But in the shadows of the forest, a white crow watched us. The "System" saw that the Dragon was happy even without his memory. The "System" saw that the story hadn't ended.
The white crow took flight, heading back to the ruins of the High Temple. The tragedy wasn't over. It was just waiting for the right moment to strike the small house in the valley.