[ A FEW HOURS PRIOR ]
Perched atop the ruins of a once-majestic fae territory, stands The Hoarder's Castle emerging with a mesmerizing blend of ancient magic and ethereal beauty. The castle's foundation, infused with the residual power of the fallen Fae kingdom, imbues the entire structure with a living essence.
The castle itself rises majestically into curved towers and elegant spires reaching toward the sky, adorned with ivy and flowering vines that seem to dance with the wind.
Having grown from land itself with its roots entwined with the remnants of the Fae ruins, its structure, constructed from enchanted stones and living vegetation, seems to breathe and groan, echoing the memories of the lost faedom and unappreciative of its current residents.
Nevertheless, under the subjugation of the Celestial Dragon, the vines and stones creep along the mossy surface of the floors and bind together, performing a practiced ritual of churning and crackling to form a chair for their master to rest on. An Ephemeral. A temporary existence.
The said Master cards a hand through his gold locks, ruby eyes concentrated on a small glass bead sitting between his thumb and index finger.
"We will kill him in his sleep. While he rests, you can shove the orb down his throat and he'll be gone for good. How many children does he have? I don't mind their ages, kill them all."
"No, my Lord, the orb cost us too many lives to waste it on a mere Emperor," the Celestial Dragon disagrees. He's a being of power, with a striking inherent elegance that draws attention of all but his Master. The castle preens with every footstep he takes.
The Celestial Dragon's eyes reflect the depths of the night sky, shimmering with stardust and lending an enigmatic allure to his gaze. His Master catches his bold gaze and challenges it, smoldering ruby eyes a reflection of flames dancing in a sunset.
"Alternatively, we can kidnap a bunch of witches, brew the Veil Elixir, sneak inside the castle, perform the Shadow Ritual and very gently kill the Emperor's soul and let me control his shell. Sounds brilliant and plausible, right?"
The Celestial Dragon shakes his head. His lustrous and silky hair, flowing like strands of liquid stardust. "I encourage you to not comit regicide, the heavens will surely punish us for it and you're suffering enough," he curls a long lock behind his ear.
It makes his Master squirm.
"The heavens are a myth," he shrugs.
"I am a creature from the heavens!" The dragon breaths out in exasperation.
"Certainly a myth, probably a delusion of mine, you never know," his master nonchalantly stabs his subordinate with words.
"Master, I am hurt."
"Better than being bound to a FUNGI for the rest of your life!" He flicks the orb into the air and the celestial dragon jumps to catch it— sighing in relief when it lands in his palms unscathed — for safekeeping.
"Marrying her wouldn't be the end, you know, I reckon the Emperor is a fool for commanding so."
"Draco, if I had to bind my ephemeral core to a magical entity just so my ascension into being a Celestial Lord is less painful, I'd start from choosing the dead fairies in our cellar!" His fist bumps against the hand-rest of the chair and the castle shifts and groans with contempt.
"They wouldn't be of much help, my Lord."
"Precisely! They're dead and she's a parasite! Same difference!"
"Incorrect. She's someone who will get you off of the Wanted List. Surely it would make matters much easier for our future."
He stands up and the chair is quick to unwind; the vines and roots all slither back to their origin spots, making haste to spare not a moment more in service of their current master.
He stands tall with a lean build veiled by loose dark trousers and a silken shirt hanging off his shoulders, giving way to prominent collar bones, a veiny neck and a sharp jaw. "You just want to see me bloody wedded and fail graduation, don't you?" He purses his lips together and narrows his slanty eyes in a condescending fashion.
"Forgive me, my Lord, but you know I detest your ephemeral dedication," Draco mumbles, loud enough for the castle as well his Master to listen. The viney ceiling blooms in agreement and its Master can only roll his eyes.
Draco side-eyes the windows as dawn falls over them, captivating his soul.
"You're all just ganging up on me now," he scoffs as nobody twitches in disagreement. "Fine, no more souls for you, wretched castle! And no more skipping practices to talk to the stars, Draco!"
The bloom on the ceiling instantly dies out with just as passion as Draco retorts, "But Master! The deceased call on me! I must talk to them, to let them be at peace!"
"You can fight for dead-people-peace in your free time O' Paragon of Souls, burn some midnight oil while you're at it," The Hoarder seethes with smiling ruby eyes burning a glare through Draco. The silver haired dragon nods with his lips pursed.
Draco never worked a minute past eleven on the Hoarder's ephemeral clock and not a minute before seven. He had fallen into schedule for the twelve years they had been together and it was hard for him to break out now. The worst case was when he literally escaped a battle with the Fae to sleep according to his schedule.
His Master would never let him live that one down.
The castle vines slither with haste, crackling and churning as they deliver to their master's feet his wardrobe and a full-length mirror.
"Now, let us get this over with, shall we?" He whispers as the vines open the wardrobe doors for him. He gazes at the monotonous black and white tee-shirts and sweats reigning supremacy in his closet. "Cannot show up to my wedding dressed in athleisure, we've got a fungus to charm."
"How about you wear one of mine?" Draco suggests.
The Hoarder turns to observe his fit and surely, a dragon has better dressing sense than him. He narrows his ruby eyes in a cold glare, tonguing his cheek whilst pretending to be offended.
Draco was draped in a suit from the skies, like always. Today it was a milky white, stitched with the mysteries of space and bejwelled with starlights. It fitted his built perfectly and The Hoarder takes a moment to scorn at how Draco is taller and wider than him.
Surely, he was a magical dragon afterall.
"No," The Hoarder concludes after quick contemplation. "We've got time, let us raid the Silkweavers for their new stock."