The wind abruptly stopped lashing Hayjin's face, morphing into a powerful updraft that sent his hair standing on end. Beneath them, the mountainous landscape parted to reveal the sheer majesty of Opes Castle. Rhaegalur's immense crimson wings unfurled to their absolute limit, catching the warm thermal currents rising from the valleys and braking their mad descent with a grace that contrasted sharply with the dragon's divine bulk.
The descent was swift yet incredibly fluid. The massive red-and-purple membranes beat one final time, kicking up a small swirl of white petals and dry leaves as they neared the ground. Rhaegalur touched down in his light sandals, absorbing their combined weight almost soundlessly. A moment later, with a sharp rustle like tearing silk, the imposing wings retracted, vanishing into the long cream-colored coat, which once again fell straight and flawless along his flanks.
Hayjin slid off his adoptive father's back, landing with a heavy, metallic thud from his blocky gray iron greaves. He had to take a small step forward to keep his balance, his thigh muscles still tight from the exertion of clinging on during the high-altitude flight. He adjusted his matte black vest, tugging lightly at the brown leather straps across his chest, and looked around.
They stood directly before the side entrance to the royal gardens of Opes, a place of almost brazen elegance. The contrast between the geometric tranquility of his surroundings and the chaotic storm of thoughts inside Hayjin's mind was nearly painful. The cult leader's words still echoed in his ears a nagging chant that only fueled his agoraphobia and the terror of being constantly watched by invisible enemies.
They hadn't even taken three steps down the marble path when the sharp clank of metal against metal shattered the garden's quiet. From the shadows of an arched portico emerged four guards of the royal escort. They wore the heavy, polished silver armor characteristic of the Opes military, complete with long blue velvet cloaks that swept lightly across the immaculate floor. Each of them gripped a gold-tipped spear, and their faces, partially obscured by ceremonial helmets, were as rigid as stone masks.
The moment they recognized the figure with long crimson hair and blood-red eyes, the soldiers froze. The captain of the guard, a burly man with a thick gray beard peeking out from beneath the metal, brought his left hand to his chest, striking his cuirass with a resounding thud before bowing his head deeply.
"Greetings to you, powerful Rhaegalur, Dragon God," the man proclaimed, his deep voice echoing under the portico's vaults. "The Kingdom of Opes welcomes you with the utmost respect. Your presence honors these walls."
Rhaegalur didn't bat an eye. He merely looked at the guards with his usual detached, vaguely bored expression, keeping his hands behind his back while the breeze stirred the beige tassels of his coat. A nearly imperceptible nod was the only response he granted such a formal greeting.
Then, the soldiers' eyes shifted.
The captain of the guard raised his gaze and locked it dead on Hayjin. In a fraction of a second, all the deference and respect they had shown the Dragon God vanished, replaced by a visible scowl of annoyance. The other three soldiers tightened their grips on their spears, glaring at the boy with eyes full of disgust and cold contempt. To them, this boy was nothing but a common plebeian, a manaless parasite who had the audacity to drag their beloved princess into a cursed dungeon.
Hayjin felt his jaw tighten. Beneath the collar of his white shirt, his skin burned with anger. He held the captain's gaze without lowering his head, clenching his fists at his sides until his knuckles turned white.
"Go ahead and glare, you iron-headed morons," Hayjin thought, a flare of dull frustration surging straight up from his stomach. "Do you really think it's my fault Zhilian is in this state? You haven't the slightest clue what was down there. If not for me, for this cursed Brand, and for the horrific shit I had to do, your precious princess would be nothing but an empty shell by now, her brain fried by those cult psychopaths. I literally had to rip a man's throat out with my teeth just to give her a chance to breathe, and now I have to deal with your self-righteous scowls? Go to hell."
The boy was about to take a step forward, his mouth already half-open to hurl one of his usual biting, arrogant retorts a defense mechanism he couldn't control when he felt humiliated or isolated.
But Rhaegalur's large, heavy hand settled onto his shoulder, pinning him in place. The Dragon God's touch was firm, devoid of violence but packing absolute authority. Hayjin stiffened, slightly turning his head toward him. Rhaegalur didn't look at the boy. He kept his eyes fixed on the castle gates, but his voice reached Hayjin's ear, low, calm, and sharp as a well-honed blade.
"Restrain yourself, Hayjin. Do not waste your breath on those incapable of understanding," Rhaegalur warned, his tone a clear reprimand. "Do not react to their provocations. Keep in mind why we came here. Think of Zhilian. We are here for her, not to bicker with sentries who know nothing but how to polish metal."
Hayjin drew a long breath through his nose, letting the cool garden air partially soothe the burning in his chest. He glared at the guards once more, then relaxed his fists, letting his arms drop to his sides.
"Yeah... you're right," Hayjin murmured, his voice reverting to that of a weary boy, stripped of all bluster. "You're absolutely right. Let it go. Let's just focus on her."
The guards, though continuing to cast grim glances at Hayjin, parted to clear the path toward the massive oak-and-silver-plated entrance doors. Before they could move, however, the heavy doors creaked open from within.
Out from the dimness of the foyer stepped a figure Hayjin recognized instantly. He was no soldier, nor did he possess the air of the pompous nobles who crowded the court. He wore a long, midnight-blue silk robe embroidered along the edges with silver threads depicting constellations and ancient geometric symbols. His gray hair was neatly tied back, and a short, well-groomed beard framed a face etched with the wrinkles of age, yet illuminated by two incredibly bright, intelligent eyes.
It was Arkon, one of the primary sages of the Kingdom of Opes, and one of the few enlightened minds within the Council that governed the country's magic.
Arkon descended the three marble steps with a light step, completely unintimidated by the Dragon God's presence. Closing the distance, he stopped, brought his right hand to his heart, and executed a flawless bow elegant and entirely devoid of the servile submission characteristic of the soldiers.
"Welcome back to Opes Castle, Exalted Rhaegalur," Arkon said, his voice clear, steady, and laced with natural authority. "The entire Council is grateful to you for agreeing to come here during such a delicate time for our crown. Your wisdom is ever a beacon in dark times."
Rhaegalur gave a brief nod, his expression remaining entirely aloof. "Spare me the pleasantries, Arkon. You know full well I am not here for your crown or your councilors. Let us move."
The sage offered a small, understanding smile, completely unbothered by the god's coldness. Then, his bright eyes shifted to Hayjin. Unlike the guards, however, no look of disgust crossed Arkon's face. On the contrary, his expression softened visibly, turning remarkably warm and friendly. He took a step toward the boy, looking at him with genuine, fatherly concern.
"And welcome back to you as well, Hayjin," Arkon said, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm, just above his leather bracer. "I confess I was deeply worried after what happened in the medical room two weeks ago. How are you? Have you recovered at all from that awful ordeal?"
Hayjin was momentarily taken aback by such a warm reception. Hearing someone in this castle address him by name and show genuine concern for him, after enduring the soldiers' revulsion, felt like a breath of fresh air. He offered a small nod, suddenly feeling less rigid in his heavy clothing.
"Yeah... I've recovered well enough, thank you," Hayjin replied, speaking simply and naturally, without putting on the airs of a master strategist or hiding behind complex vocabulary. He was just a boy responding to an elder who was showing him kindness. "I spent the last two weeks mostly in bed, sleeping and choking down the bitter concoctions Elara brewed for me. My head still hurts a bit from time to time, especially if I overthink things, but my legs are holding up. I can walk without collapsing, so I'd say that's already a huge step forward from last time."
Arkon chuckled softly, stroking his gray beard. "The rest cure is always best, particularly when the body undergoes such a shock. I am truly relieved to see you on your feet, my boy. I feared the strain of the dungeon might have left deeper scars."
Hayjin looked the sage straight in the eye, his expression suddenly growing incredibly earnest and sincere. He felt the need to voice something that had weighed heavily on his heart since returning home.
"Listen, Arkon... there's something I wanted to say," the boy began, lowering his voice slightly. "I really wanted to thank you again. Seriously. Thank you for everything you did with the Council sages after we got back from the dungeon. I know many of them wanted to bring charges against me or launch some kind of investigation. I know you had to fight hard to get them to leave me in peace and let me go home without facing interrogations. I am incredibly grateful to you for protecting me then. I don't know how things would have turned out otherwise."
Arkon shook his head gently, waving his free hand as if to dismiss the matter, though his eyes shone with genuine affection.
"You have nothing to thank me for, Hayjin," the sage said firmly and sincerely. "I only did what was right and logical. You were a wounded boy who had just risked his life to defend his teammates and our princess. Leaving you in the hands of those Council bureaucrats, who know only how to look at registers and magical ranks without understanding the true worth of a person, would have been an intolerable injustice. Besides, I know perfectly well that if not for your quick wits and courage down there, Princess Zhilian's situation could have been far worse. You did your part, and it was my duty to do mine to protect you."
Hayjin offered a genuine smile, feeling a fraction of the heavy guilt and isolation that had tormented him suddenly evaporate. Hearing that he was worth something, that his efforts had been recognized by a man of Arkon's stature, was precisely the medicine he needed most.
"Thank you, Sage Arkon. It means a lot to hear that," the boy said softly.
"Well, now that we've verified you are completely intact, I suggest we don't linger out here in the chill," Arkon noted, turning back toward the grand entrance doors and gesturing invitingly with his right hand, the wide blue sleeves of his robe rustling in the air. "Please, step inside. Princess Zhilian is awaiting you in her private quarters. The path is clear, and no one will disturb you during your visit. Follow me."
Rhaegalur set off first with his slow, proud stride, closely followed by Hayjin, whose gray greaves resumed their rhythmic, metallic clanking against the white marble slabs. As they crossed the castle threshold, leaving behind the still-resentful glares of the silver guards, Hayjin took a deep breath, tightening the bolo tie against his chest. The moment to see Zhilian again had finally arrived, and he was ready to face it with his head held high.
The three left the entrance foyer behind, venturing deeper into the inner corridors of the castle's private sector. Here, the marble floors gave way to long, plush, midnight-blue carpets that partially muffled the heavy thud of Hayjin's blocky gray iron greaves. The walls were decorated with gilded stucco and tall mirrors that reflected Rhaegalur's slender figure, his cream coat moving with an almost irritating elegance with every step.
As they turned a corner near a large stained-glass window overlooking the inner courtyard, Hayjin noticed a figure standing flush against a marble column.
It was an elf girl with short, straight green hair, wearing a light ceremonial gown of the Opes court. She did not move a single millimeter as they passed. She just stood there, motionless, her arms at her sides and her face entirely expressionless, void of all emotion. Yet, her narrow, piercing eyes locked dead onto Hayjin, tracking him with a strange, almost clinical gaze as he walked past her.
Hayjin instantly felt that familiar shiver of social anxiety creep up his neck. The white streaks in his black hair almost seemed to itch under such intense scrutiny.
"What the hell does she want now?" Hayjin thought, immediately averting his eyes and staring down at his armored boots.
Without a word, the boy quickened his pace slightly, completely ignoring the elf, who continued to watch him with that stone face until he vanished around the next corner. Rhaegalur, walking a step ahead of him, let out a faint grunt of amusement but chose not to comment, knowing how tense his adoptive son already was.
Arkon stopped before a monumental double door made of sandalwood, inlaid with silver filigree depicting the royal crest of Opes. Two honor guards, upon seeing the sage and the Dragon God, struck their spears against the ground in a sign of respect and opened the doors without question.
"I will leave you here," Arkon said, offering Hayjin a warm smile and a slight nod of understanding. "Go on in. She needs to see friendly faces that aren't doctors or state councilors."
Hayjin nodded, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you, Arkon," and followed Rhaegalur into the room.
Zhilian's private chambers were enormous, yet the atmosphere was decidedly more intimate compared to the rest of the castle. Large curtains of light blue velvet partially draped the windows, filtering in a soft, relaxing afternoon light. The air smelled of lavender and fresh medicinal herbs. In the center of the room, resting upon an immense canopy bed with white silk sheets, was the princess.
Zhilian was propped up against a mountain of plush pillows. She wore a simple nightgown, stripped of her usual military accoutrements, and her long hair flowed loosely over her shoulders. She was still incredibly exhausted and visibly pale, with faint dark circles under her eyes betraying the strain of the days spent battling the nightmares of the dungeon.
The moment the door opened and she caught sight of Hayjin's rumpled figure in his white shirt and black vest, the princess's face lit up. A genuine, radiant smile graced her lips, bringing a spark of life back to those golden eyes that had remained dull for two weeks.
"Hayjin..." Zhilian said, her voice weak and a little raspy, but incredibly sweet. "You actually came. And Master Rhaegalur is here too..."
"Of course I came," Hayjin replied, stepping forward and feeling an immense wave of relief at the sight of her smile. "I promised you we'd see each other again, didn't I? How are you? You still look a bit pale, but definitely much better than last time."
Before Zhilian could respond, a miniature figure detached itself from the shadows of the canopy, planting herself directly between the bed and the newcomers with her hands firmly on her hips.
It was Isabelle, the princess's personal maid. Despite standing a mere meter and forty centimeters tall and possessing the appearance of a cute, slender young girl, her presence flooded the room with a chilling pressure. Her long, golden-blonde hair, tied into two high twin ponytails that trailed past her shoulders, swayed conspicuously, while the large fuchsia bows and the black tiara with curved tips seemed to vibrate with irritation. Her large, crimson-red eyes narrowed, locking onto the two guests with a mixture of aristocratic superiority and pure annoyance.
Her sweeping plum-purple cloak flared slightly, revealing a short, form-fitting black dress adorned with a striking golden structure shaped like a stylized spine across her chest, topped by a small golden skull.
Isabelle lifted her chin, looking down at Rhaegalur from the absolute peak of her meter-and-forty stature of pure arrogance.
"Irksome."
It was the only sharp word she spat at the Dragon God, delivered with a tone of utter dismissiveness, as if she were facing a troublesome insect that had come to disturb the peace of her estate.
Rhaegalur didn't flinch in the slightest; he merely arched an eyebrow, looking down at the miniature maid with his usual bored expression, completely indifferent to the insult.
A split second later, Isabelle snapped her head toward Hayjin. Her ponytails whipped through the air, and her golden hoop earrings jingled loudly. She jabbed a tiny, accusatory finger directly at the boy's chest, right above his brown bolo tie.
"And you... degenerate," Isabelle declared, her sharp, piercing voice ringing clearly through the room. "I suppose you have only come here to take advantage of my lady's weakened state with your lecherous glances. You slimy, manaless plebeian. Out of this room at once, before I decide to blast you straight into the courtyard with my magic!"
Hayjin stood completely slack-jawed, frozen in place with an expression of pure bewilderment. His social anxiety vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by spontaneous, unadulterated frustration.
"What do you mean?!" Hayjin snapped, throwing his arms out and staring at the girl with wide eyes. "I literally just set foot in this room! I haven't even opened my mouth! What 'degenerate'? I only came to see how Zhilian was doing after two weeks! Is that any way to welcome someone, you conceited brat?"
"Silence!" Isabelle shot back, raising her chin even higher and glaring at him with disdain. "Your excuses do not interest me, I suppose. I know perfectly well the sort of thoughts that run through the minds of your kind when looking upon the princess."
From the bed, Zhilian let out a faint laugh, covering her mouth with her pale hand. "Isabelle, come now, stop it... please. He is a guest, and a very dear friend of mine. Be polite for once."
Isabelle turned toward the princess, and in a fraction of a second, her harsh, aloof expression vanished entirely, replaced by a childlike, almost adoring face full of doting affection. "But my lady! This plebeian lacks all manners, I suppose! I merely wished to shield you from such... unpleasant company."
Hayjin ran a hand through his messy hair, letting out a long, exasperated sigh as he looked at Rhaegalur. "See? I told you the air in this castle is hazardous to your health. Seriously, is this any way to start a visit?"
Rhaegalur gave a small, sarcastic smile, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I told you, Hayjin. You are among nobles. Getting used to it is part of the package."