The rhythmic ticking of an old wooden alarm clock on the nightstand was the only sound filling the room. Outside the window, the landscape had changed drastically over the last two weeks. The brilliant green of the woods surrounding the house was fading, replaced by a torrent of warm hues: leaves turning a deep orange and vibrant yellow, ready to snap from their branches at the first strong gust of wind.
Autumn had arrived without asking permission, bringing with it a crisper air and a sky that, toward the late afternoon, was tinged with melancholic shades.
Inside the room, Hayjin sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet resting on the solid wood floor.
He looked at his hands, turning his palms up and then down. They were clean. His light-brown complexion appeared only a bit paler than usual, a consequence of the days spent indoors trying to rest. He ran his fingers through his hair, lingering on those white streaks that had now become a permanent fixture of his reflection in the mirror.
With a sigh, he began to dress, moving slowly, as if every movement demanded twice his usual energy.
He slipped into his white short-sleeved shirt, carefully adjusting the collar. Over it, he put on a matte black vest, tightening the two long brown leather straps that hung across his chest; the silver metal loop closed with a familiar, sharp click. He fastened the thin brown bolo tie around his neck, positioning the round metallic pendant right in the center, just beneath the shirt's top button. After pulling on the dark red, knee-length shorts, he bent down to fasten his heavy, blocky greaves those rigid gray plates that protected his legs and weighed like boulders with every step he took.
As he tightened the buckles of his armored boots, his mind inevitably drifted back to that day.
"What the hell was that place?" he kept asking himself, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached. "The flowers, the grass... and that blue-haired girl. She looked me in the eye and told me she loved me. And then that helmeted knight... he cut my head off as if it were nothing. Was it a dream? A hallucination? If I open my mouth, I risk having that horrific shit happen to me again..."
The Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was eating him alive. The awareness that he could reset events by dying made him feel as though the entire weight of the world rested on his shoulders, yet the impossibility of venting to anyone built an invisible wall between him and his family. He felt terribly alone, trapped in a loop of thoughts he couldn't switch off.
Hayjin opened the bedroom door and walked down the wooden stairs, trying not to make too much noise with his heavy metal greaves. Downstairs, the smell of burning wood and aromatic herbs welcomed him like a warm embrace.
In the kitchen, Elara was organizing glass jars on a shelf. Hearing the boy's heavy footsteps, she turned, revealing her large, deep dark-red eyes.
"You're finally awake," Elara said, flashing a sweet smile that was nevertheless tinged with worry. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and stepped closer, scrutinizing his face intently. "How are you feeling today? You still have that awful, ghostly complexion."
"I'm fine, really," Hayjin replied, forcing a smile to keep her from worrying. It was a clumsy attempt, and he knew it. "Just... a bit of a headache. It's nothing, it'll pass."
Elara wasn't fooled. She took a step forward and placed her open hand on his forehead warm and reassuring. Her red eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're still running a bit of a fever, Hayjin. And the dark circles under your eyes reach your cheeks," she said firmly, using the tone that brooked no argument in the house. She stepped away to pour hot water from a small pot into a terracotta mug.
"Listen to me, forget about your plans for today. Instead of going outside to pretend you're fine or, worse yet, going to train with Rhaegalur, it would be much better if you stayed home and rested. I've prepared an herbal infusion from what I gathered yesterday; it will help with the pressure in your head."
Hayjin took the mug in his hands, feeling the heat of the terracotta warm his fingers. "I can't stay still forever, Elara. It's been three weeks since the dungeon. I need to move, otherwise I'll go crazy cooped up in here."
"You weren't cooped up by choice; you were cooped up because you were shattered," Elara countered, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him with that severity that masked an unconditional love. "You risked your life down there. I don't know exactly what happened in that tower, since Rhaegalur plays the enigma and you won't talk, but I know you came home shaking like a leaf. Listen to me for once. Rhaegalur is outside acting lazy; go keep him company."
Hayjin swallowed a sip of the bitter infusion, feeling the warmth spread down into his stomach. "Fine, fine. I'll just go have a chat with him."
Elara gave his shoulder a gentle caress a simple gesture that acted as an emotional anchor for Hayjin amidst the storm raging in his brain. "Good boy. And see to it that you finish that infusion; I didn't make it for decoration."
Hayjin stepped out the back door, his metal greaves thudding heavily against the stone steps. The outside air was crisp, heavy with the scent of damp earth and dry leaves. The autumn woods were a spectacular display of vivid colors, with yellow and orange leaves drifting slowly from the branches, weaving a crackling carpet over the ground.
Not far from the house, stretched out on a long, rough wooden bench set beneath a massive oak tree, was Rhaegalur.
The Dragon God was taking a napping outdoors, completely indifferent to the autumn chill. His long, crimson-red hair was scattered messily across the wood, contrasting sharply with the pale complexion of his face, where his dark goatee was, as always, perfectly groomed. He wore his usual detached, almost bored expression, even while asleep.
Hayjin approached slowly, trying not to step on dry twigs, but his greaves weren't exactly engineered for a stealthy approach. Arriving a meter away from the bench, he stopped and looked down at him.
"Look at that, the great Dragon God. Terrifying," Hayjin said, using an ironic tone to mask the deep respect he held for the man.
Rhaegalur didn't move, but one of his blood-red eyes narrow and intense slid open a fraction, locking onto the boy. A corner of his mouth twitched into a sarcastic half-smirk.
"You are as loud as an ox cart on a cobblestone path, Hayjin," Rhaegalur murmured, his voice thick with sleep but still deep and cutting. He sat up slowly, adjusting his cream-colored coat and resting his bare feet, clad only in strappy sandals, onto the carpet of dry leaves. "How goes it? Did Elara finally let you escape the kitchen, or did you break out?"
Hayjin dropped onto a chopped tree trunk that served as a stool opposite the bench, resting his elbows on his knees. "Let's just say she granted me a day pass. Says I still look awful. What about you? How's the hard life of a god treating you?"
"Exhausting. There is too much light today, and these leaves keep falling on my face," Rhaegalur replied with his usual bored detachment, running a hand through his red hair to brush away a yellow leaf. Then, his expression grew a bit more serious, and his red eyes scrutinized his adoptive son. "Well? Speak. I can see your head smoking from here. What is wrong?"
Hayjin lowered his gaze to his gray boots, clenching his hands into fists. The playful tone vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the gravity of someone bearing a weight far too immense for their shoulders.
"I feel strange, Rhaegalur," the boy began, his voice low, a near-whisper lost to the rustle of the wind. "I'm serious. After what happened in the dungeon... I feel like something has changed inside me. I feel like... I don't know, like I'm different. But the worst part is I can't tell if it's in a good way or a bad way."
Rhaegalur listened without interrupting. He remained motionless on the bench, hands resting on his knees. For a brief moment, his millennial cynicism seemed to yield to the protective instinct of a father watching his child suffer.
"Changed in what way?" Rhaegalur asked, his tone stripped of its usual sarcasm.
"It's hard to explain," Hayjin replied, rubbing the back of his neck, right where he could still feel the phantom touch of that freezing blade that had decapitated him in the illusion. "I feel this constant kind of void. And at the same time, I get the impression that every time I make a false step, there's something ready to tear me in two. I can't sleep at night. I close my eyes and it feels like I'm still down there, or in a place that makes no sense. I'm afraid of making the wrong move and ruining everything again. I hate myself when I'm like this; I feel completely useless."
Rhaegalur let out a long sigh, his gaze shifting momentarily toward the crowns of the orange trees.
"Listen, Hayjin, do not overthink it," the Dragon God said, turning back to him and speaking with a firmness that brooked no denial. "You have a bad habit of digging your own grave with your thoughts. What happened in the dungeon was a disaster, we both know that. You pushed past your limits, saw things a boy your age should never see, and your body paid the toll. But the worst is behind us now. You are here, you are alive, Elara is stuffing you with wretched decoctions, and the house is still standing."
"But I don't want to just be 'alive', Rhaegalur!" Hayjin snapped, a flare of that old anger and frustration surging up from his stomach. "I want to be useful! If something bad happens to the people I care about, I'm just too weak to prevent it!"
"That is an idiocy and a logical error, to use the terms you favor," Rhaegalur cut him off, raising a finger to silence him. "You are not a god. You cannot control everyone's destiny. The important thing right now is to recover, mend that scrawny body of yours, and stop playing the victim. If you keep brooding over every single thing that went wrong, you will genuinely lose your mind. And I have no desire to listen to Elara complain because you have turned into a vegetable."
Hayjin fell silent, absorbing the blow. He knew that Rhaegalur, in his own way, was right. His cynicism was a bitter medicine, but it served to pull him back to reality, tearing him away from the limbo of PTSD in which he risked drowning every day.
A few minutes of silence passed, punctuated only by a flock of birds flying south. Hayjin cleared his throat, shifting his stance on the wooden log. There was another matter eating away at him for days, a thought that wouldn't leave him in peace.
"Listen... Rhaegalur," Hayjin said, his tone suddenly turning more hesitant, almost embarrassed. "Can we go visit Zhilian?"
Rhaegalur raised an eyebrow, looking at him with an amused expression. "The princess? And why on earth should we travel all the way to the castle? I wager her guards in their shiny armor are dying to see your face again just to slice you to pieces."
"I don't care about those knights," Hayjin replied, shrugging. "The last time I saw her was two weeks ago, in her bed at the castle, and she was still traumatized and sad. She barely spoke, her eyes were completely dead... she looked like an empty shell. That scene has stayed lodged right here, in my chest. I want to try to make her feel better, even if it's just going there to say something stupid or show her that I'm in one piece. I feel guilty sitting here resting while she's locked in that room alone with her nightmares."
Rhaegalur stared at him in silence for a few seconds, studying the boy's expression. He noted the determination in his eyes the very same determination that had driven him to tear the cult leader to shreds in the dungeon just to protect the princess. The Dragon God let out a brief grunt, scratching the dark goatee on his chin.
"You are a stubborn one, Hayjin. Elara tells you to stay in bed, and you want to play a knight of old at the Opes castle," Rhaegalur said, though his tone held no true anger, only a sort of resigned acceptance. He stood up from the bench, stretching his muscles and making his long cream coat rustle. "Let it be clear: if we go there and those fools with the spears try to Intimidate you, I will not lift a finger to defend you. I will leave you to fight it out on your own so you learn to heed advice."
Hayjin stood up as well, feeling a tiny spark of energy return to his body for the first time in two weeks. His gray greaves let out a metallic clank as he straightened himself.
"Deal. I can handle those stableboys myself," Hayjin said, flashes of his old arrogant smirk returning the one he used as a defense mechanism, but which, in that moment, tasted a bit more like normalcy. "So, shall we go? The sooner we leave, the sooner we return before Elara notices we're gone."
"Do not be foolish; Elara always knows everything before we even think it," Rhaegalur replied, walking toward the house with a lazy yet elegant stride. "I will go gather my things and tell her we are taking a turn. See to it that you do not faint on the steps while you wait for me."
Left alone in the courtyard, surrounded by the soft rustling of the autumn woods, Hayjin slid back down onto the wooden log. The silence that fell after Rhaegalur's sarcastic jab did nothing to help him relax; on the contrary, it opened a floodgate of thoughts he had tried to keep sealed for the past two weeks.
His eyes fixed on the grain of the wood, but his mind flashed back to the damp darkness of the canyon before everything collapsed. He could still smell the blood and scorched flesh, but above all, the raspy, shrill, and damnably confident voice of the leader of the Cult of the Brand echoed in his head.
Hayjin passed a trembling hand over his face, clenching his teeth until it hurt. Those words were carving a hole in his stomach. Up to that point, he had faced the dungeon and its dangers as isolated obstacles problems to be solved on the fly using intellect or luck. But now, the perspective had shifted entirely.
"Damn it, if those psychopaths were capable of tampering with a training dungeon protected by the entire Mages' Association, it means there isn't a single safe place on this whole continent," the boy thought, a cold shiver running down his spine despite the weight of his gray vest and metal greaves. "What if that guy was right? What if my power, that strange dimension... what if everything is connected to what they want? Now more than ever, I need to seriously worry about this Cult. They aren't just fanatics hiding in caves. They know too much about me. Things I don't even understand myself."
The frustration of being unable to reveal this secret to anyone, paired with the terror that speaking of it might cause his head to be severed once more in a surreal limbo, exponentially amplified his social anxiety. He felt like a walking time bomb among the people he loved, constantly terrified of dragging them into his personal hell.
"If you keep clenching your fists like that, you will end up driving your nails into your palms."
Rhaegalur's deep voice abruptly shattered his thoughts. The Dragon God had stepped out from the back of the house with his usual infuriating calm. His long cream-colored coat swayed slightly with every step, and the large golden buckle at his hip caught the final rays of sunlight filtering through the oak's orange branches.
Hayjin shook his head, forcing his fingers to unwind with difficulty, and looked up at his adoptive father. "Well? Did she give you permission, or do we have to make up a story about going mushroom hunting?"
Rhaegalur let out a brief puff, adjusting the woven collar of his white shirt.
"I told her the truth, Hayjin. I have no intention of lying to Elara to cover up your escapades," Rhaegalur said, crossing his arms and looking at him with a detached expression. "I told her straight out that we are going to Opes to see how Zhilian is faring."
Hayjin's eyes widened, his shoulders tensing beneath his vest. "And her? Did she throw something at you or what?"
"She accepted," the Dragon God replied, his blood-red gaze softening for an instant. "She knows your stubbornness better than I do, and she knows perfectly well that if you stayed here, you would spend the day consuming your brain with guilt. She only told me to bring you back in one piece and not to let you overexert yourself. So, see to it that you behave."
Hayjin drew a sigh of relief, feeling an immense wave of gratitude toward that ash-blonde woman who, without using too many words, always managed to be the emotional anchor for the entire family. "All right. Fewer curses than expected. So, how are we getting there? Walking will take us three days in these iron boots."
Rhaegalur gave a small, sarcastic smile, stepping forward a few paces into the center of the clearing carpeted with dry leaves.
"Walking? Do not jest, Hayjin. I have no time to waste watching you trudge along," the god said, turning his back to him. "Mount up. And see to it that you hold on tight; I have no intention of turning back to gather you if you fall amidst the mountains."
Hayjin didn't need to be told twice. He knew exactly what this meant. He rose from the log, his heavy greaves' articulated plates creaking, and positioned himself behind Rhaegalur's back. He reached out, firmly gripping the broad shoulders covered by the cream coat, and climbed onto his back, locking his legs tightly around his waist.
An instant later, the air around them shifted abruptly. The temperature plummeted several degrees, and an invisible, immense, and ancient pressure flattened the surrounding grass. Hayjin felt the muscles beneath Rhaegalur's coat tighten like steel cables.
WHOOSH.
With a deep, powerful sound, the cream fabric of the coat seemed to warp without tearing, accommodating the mutation. From the Dragon God's back sprouted two massive dragon wings. The membranes were a vibrant crimson red, almost identical to the color of his hair, with purple highlights and black veins that seemed to flow like rivers of solid lava. The wingspan was so vast it completely obscured the view of the house behind them. A single beat of those wings generated a violent rush of air, whipping thousands of orange and yellow leaves into a frenzied vortex that swirled around them like a golden storm.
Hayjin had to narrow his eyes and bury his fingers deep into the fabric of the coat to maintain his grip, feeling the sheer biological and divine power of the man holding him up.
"Ready?" Rhaegalur asked, his voice now carrying that distinct, deep echo typical of his divine nature.
"Move, before you change your mind," Hayjin replied, clenching his teeth and burying his face behind his father's shoulder to shield himself from the wind.
With an impressive thrust of his legs and a sharp downbeat of his immense red wings, the two launched into the sky at a staggering speed, tearing away from the ground in a millisecond. The house in the woods instantly shrank into a tiny brown dot amidst an expanse of colorful trees, while the imposing silhouette of the mountains bounding the Kingdom of Opes began to loom on the horizon under the eyes of a boy flying toward his nightmares, desperate to help the person he loved in any way he could.