As they entered, Zuka collapsed onto his bed with a heavy sigh of relief. "Guard," he said to the soldier stationed nearby, "inform my father that we have arrived."
The guard bowed and exited swiftly, leaving the chamber to its eerie stillness. Noir and the others had already left, dispersing to their own quarters or destinations. Yet, as Zuka lay on the silken sheets, exhaustion weighing heavily on him, a feeling began to creep in—a dark, gnawing sensation. It wasn't just fatigue. It was deeper, more sinister, like a whisper of something yet to come.
Dismissing the unease with a shake of his head, Zuka called out, and a healer entered the room moments later. She was a vision of beauty, her skin shimmering with an ethereal black hue that caught the light, flecked faintly with gold. Her faint Dragonoid scales glittered subtly, a quiet testament to her lineage. She wore no clothing, her confidence as unshakable as her presence, and she moved with the grace of someone who belonged to another world.
She approached Zuka, her delicate hands brushing over his skin as she examined him silently. Her gaze was focused, but there was a softness to her touch. After a moment, she straightened and said, "Follow me, my lord."
Her voice was calm yet commanding, carrying the authority of someone who knew their craft. Zuka stood without hesitation, following her into an adjacent chamber.
The room was an oasis—a golden haven that seemed more dream than reality. The walls were adorned with twisting vines of vibrant flowers, their blooms cascading like waterfalls of color. The air was thick with the fragrance of nature, soothing and intoxicating all at once.
At the heart of the room was the relaxation pool. The waters shimmered with a crystalline glow, their surface reflecting light like the facets of a gemstone. The pool radiated an energy that was as inviting as it was restorative.
Without a word, the healer began to undress him. Zuka allowed the layers of his robe to fall away, his tired body moving almost on instinct. She led him to the pool and helped him step in. The moment his skin met the water, a wave of relief washed over him.
The aches in his muscles, the strain of his mana depletion—everything faded. The pool seemed to embrace him, its magic flowing through his veins like a gentle current.
"Water magic: healing of the goddess's paradise," the healer murmured, her hands lightly brushing the surface of the water.
The pool glowed brighter, the energy within it intensifying. Zuka leaned back, letting himself relax as the water worked its magic. The healer joined him, moving effortlessly through the water as they talked about everything and nothing. Their laughter echoed softly in the chamber, blending with the gentle rippling of the pool.
Their connection deepened as time passed, their playful exchanges giving way to something more intimate. Their bodies pressed against each other, their lips meeting in a kiss that grew more passionate with each passing moment.
They made love beneath the glowing waters, their movements unhurried, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other. The pool's magic seemed to magnify their connection, making every touch electric.
Later, they emerged from the water, their bodies and spirits renewed. They dried off and returned to Zuka's bed, curling up together beneath the soft covers. The healer rested her head on his chest, and he held her close, their breathing slowing as sleep overtook them.
But Zuka's dreams were not peaceful. Flames roared around him, consuming the world in an endless inferno. The skies were blackened, the air choked with ash and the coppery stench of blood. The cries of the dying filled his ears, a symphony of despair that seemed to stretch on forever.
In the distance, a shadow moved. It had no defined shape, yet its presence was overwhelming, suffocating. It radiated malice, an ancient hatred that felt as though it had been waiting for millennia to be unleashed.
Zuka saw rivers of blood and mountains of corpses, the world collapsing under the weight of an unimaginable evil. The vision was vivid, searing itself into his mind like a brand.
He woke abruptly, his heart racing, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The healer stirred beside him, her eyes opening slowly. Her expression was distant, almost otherworldly, as though she, too, had seen the vision.
"Death comes for all of us," she said softly, her voice devoid of emotion. "Will you watch, or will you fight?"
Zuka sat up, her words echoing in his mind. The darkness he had dismissed earlier now felt all-encompassing, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn't escape.
He stood, dressing quickly in a simple robe. "I must inform Noir," he said, his voice resolute.
The healer watched him leave, her gaze unreadable.
He soared into the slightly darkened skies, scanning the landscape below until his eyes locked on Noir, standing still as stone atop a massive mountain. His figure was framed against the pale glow of the moon, his gaze fixed on the nation sprawling below him, an inscrutable expression etched into his features.
Zuka landed softly behind him, the crunch of gravel under his boots breaking the silence. "Brother, I must tell you something," he began, his voice steady but urgent.
Noir didn't turn immediately, his dark silhouette unwavering. "I already know," he replied at last, his tone calm yet laced with an edge of inevitability. "I had the same dream."
Zuka's brow furrowed, confusion and concern flickering across his face. "The dream... the warning?" he pressed.
Noir finally turned, his features obscured by the shadows of the night, his expression unreadable. "Yes. Something is coming. The spirit of the Dragon Gods within us… perhaps they're trying to warn us."
Zuka stepped closer, his voice hardening. "You know more than you're saying, Noir. What are you hiding?"
Noir exhaled sharply, the sound filled with resignation, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. "Of course, I know more. And so do you, if you'd only admit it." His voice darkened, his words dripping with sarcasm. "The slaves, Zuka—they weren't just slaves. They were sacrifices."
Zuka froze, his breath catching in his throat. Noir pressed on, his voice low and filled with a grim certainty. "A long time ago, before we were born, the seal that holds the Legion of Valthor began to crack. Not all of them escaped—only a handful, three maybe—but that was enough. They were strong. Strong enough to join forces with the Felborn, to weave a plan that's been unraveling for decades."
Zuka said nothing, the weight of Noir's words sinking into him like lead. His brother continued, his voice steady but burdened by something darker—regret, or perhaps guilt.
"They worked in the shadows, spreading corruption, fueling criminal organizations like the one we destroyed. That wasn't the first, Zuka, and it won't be the last. They've been at this for years, laying the groundwork, pooling resources for their ultimate goal: to free the rest of the Legion."
Noir's eyes burned as he spoke, his gaze locking onto Zuka's. "Years ago, during one of my… excursions, I stumbled into their world. It wasn't just criminals and monsters—it was something more insidious. They were charismatic, manipulative, almost convincing. For a time, I even moved among them. But then…" His voice faltered, bitterness creeping into his tone. "They turned their sights on Dragonoid slaves. They needed them for their rituals. I couldn't stand by. I fought them, and in doing so… Dracula fell."
Zuka's eyes widened, shock rippling through him. "Dracula… you killed him?"
Noir's expression darkened. "Yes. But it wasn't enough to stop them. It was only after that battle, after all the bloodshed, that I began to piece together the truth. The slaves—they weren't just pawns. Their lives were fuel, sacrifices to break the seal. With every life taken, the crack widens. And now… we're closer than ever to unleashing the Legion."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Zuka stared at his brother, his mind reeling with the implications. "You... you stood among them?" he said at last, his voice trembling with disbelief. "I should call you a traitor, Noir, but—" He shook his head, anger giving way to resignation. "In some way, I'm not even surprised."
Noir didn't flinch at the accusation, his gaze unwavering. "Say what you will, but it changes nothing. The truth remains, and the truth is coming for us."
Their tense exchange was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a guard, his hurried wings stirring the cold mountain air. He landed before them, bowing deeply. "Prince Zuka, your father, Lord Yogan, has summoned you. He insists on your presence immediately."
Zuka hesitated, his eyes darting back to Noir. "I'll be back," he said quietly, his tone laden with unresolved tension. "Don't think this conversation is over."
Noir's voice was calm, almost dismissive. "Don't speak of this to Father yet," he said. "He's not ready to know."
Zuka nodded reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Is this really how it ends for us, Noir? No… it can't be. The gods will help us. Klaus will help us. After all, we're not just Dragonoids—we're the reincarnations of gods."
At this, Noir's lips curled into a cold, humorless smirk. His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "I don't need gods."
Zuka opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of Noir's words left him momentarily speechless. Without another word, he turned and took to the skies, the guard following closely behind.
Noir watched him go, his gaze unreadable, his thoughts shrouded in shadows. Alone once more on the mountain's peak, he turned back to the nation below, his voice a low murmur carried away by the wind.
"Gods didn't save us before. They won't save us now."