It had been two days since the start of Molly’s experimental treatment, and her health had rapidly declined since. Her body temperature was higher than it had ever been. She had lost even more of her strength, and her speech had slowed dramatically, as though she were too exhausted to keep up with her usually lively and curious personality. She had also been sleeping far more in the past few days than she had in weeks, often slipping into a sleep so deep she even bypassed the nightmares—trapped, it seemed, in the terrors of her own mind.
Despite all this, she hadn’t seen Doctor William Witherbark since his last visit. The rude and dismissive elven doctor at the medical center had practically told her to "hang in there" because there was nothing they could do for her at the moment. Apparently, Doctor Witherbark had fallen ill shortly after their appointment and was now on leave. None of the other doctors had dared to examine Molly, and they went out of their way to avoid Erica, when she stormed through the center's doors in anger, demanding answers.
She hadn’t heard the strange voice since that starlit night on the hill, but now she was beginning to truly consider its words. Perhaps it hadn’t been her imagination or a symptom of a fraying mind. Perhaps it had been something—or someone—trying to warn her about the events of the past few days. Had the doctors lied to her? If so, about what? And why? Part of her was furious for not taking the voice’s warning more seriously, though another part of her struggled to place blame; it had seemed like a product of her own mind, imaginary, or at least something only she could hear.
As her stress mounted, the blackouts she occasionally suffered had become more frequent. The exhaustion was relentless, to the point where Erica could no longer keep up. Every fiber of her being begged for rest—something she couldn’t afford to give herself. Work had become unbearable; she found herself snapping at rude or inappropriate customers, her composure slipping more and more with each passing day. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the Drunken Duckling, where she had worked since she was thirteen. Inside, her fellow waitstaff were cleaning up in preparation for the noon opening. They shot her dirty looks as usual, keeping their distance. Erica headed to the bar, grabbed a wet cloth, and began wiping down the tables. Her colleagues avoided her, taking wide detours to steer clear. Normally, she wouldn’t care—she was used to their treatment—but lately, it had begun to irritate her again, like an itch she couldn’t ignore or a scab she had to remind herself not to pick at.
Behind her, the door to the storage room opened, and Monica, a younger waitress, walked out. Erica didn’t know much about the girl; Monica had avoided her when she’d tried to introduce herself. It was clear, however, that Monica was the type who enjoyed attention—perhaps from men in particular, or maybe just in general. It wasn’t uncommon to see her in the laps of drunken customers and Erica couldn’t help but roll her eyes every time it happened.
“Mr. Steele wants you in his office,” Monica said coolly as she walked past, her wavy red hair swaying behind her.
“What does he want?” Erica asked, her voice careful, a weary sigh slipping from her lips. She wasn’t in the mood for a meeting, not after another sleepless night worrying about Molly.
“Ask him yourself,” Monica replied without looking back, strutting toward the kitchen.
Erica followed slowly. She had to pass through the kitchen to reach Mr. Steele’s office in the back. Inside the kitchen, Monica grabbed a knife from the rack and threw Erica a sharp look that said, Stay away. Monica slammed the knife into a carrot on the cutting board and began chopping it into small pieces to garnish the beer-basted duck-the tavern’s signature dish. With heavy steps, Erica turned her back on the woman and knocked on the door at the back of the kitchen.
“Come in,” a deep voice called from inside.
She pushed the door open and closed it softly behind her. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the man sitting behind the desk. Theodore Steele was a short but muscular man, his build softened by a prominent beer gut. His light brown hair and beard were streaked with gray, and his dull green eyes appraised Erica with clear disappointment.
“I heard you were causing trouble again,” he said with a sigh.
“Are you referring to yesterday?” Erica asked, her body suddenly feeling much heavier. She wasn’t proud of how she had lost her composure, but part of her was glad she had defended what little dignity she had left.
“Mhm… Care to explain yourself?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with a stern expression.
“There’s nothing to explain. I asked a rude customer to leave.”
“After you purposefully threw a glass of wine at him,” Mr. Steele said, sighing deeply, his disappointment evident.
“The man grabbed my ass and said I’d make a good wife if I didn’t have a cursed womb,” Erica shot back. She knew it wouldn’t sway him. Steele was one of those who believed the customer was always right. She bit back a sigh, knowing the cost of the man’s ruined clothes would come out of her salary.
“He was drunk. I had to pay for his clothes to be cleaned and replace the glass you broke,” Mr. Steele said, crossing his arms.
Erica knew there was no point in arguing. It had been a reckless decision, fueled by stress and exhaustion. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” she said quietly.
“Listen, Erica, this can’t continue,” Steele said, his voice heavy with weariness. “You’re costing me more money than you’re making. While I sympathize with your situation, I have a family to feed. People are scared—not just of your daughter’s illness, but of your temper. I kept you on because I wanted to help, but you’re driving away customers and creating more problems than I can handle. I can’t have you working for me anymore.”
Erica felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. For what felt like an eternity, she couldn’t speak, her mind completely blank. She couldn’t let this happen—she needed this job, not just for her sake, but for Molly’s. “P-Please don’t do this… I’ve worked here for a decade. If I’m late with my rent again, I’ll lose my home,” she pleaded, the words trembling from her lips. Her entire body felt weak, her legs on the verge of giving out beneath her.
“I’m sorry, but I have to let you go,” Theodore said. His voice continued, but Erica couldn’t hear the rest. Her entire being seemed to shut down, starting with her mind. A suffocating, constricting sensation gripped her, as though invisible hands were wrapped tightly around her throat. She couldn’t breathe, though there was nothing physically blocking her airways—only the paralyzing storm of her own thoughts. The room was silent, yet in her head, she heard screaming—her own voice, though her mouth remained closed. Beneath the chaos of her mind, another voice emerged, faint and indecipherable, blending with the overwhelming cacophony. What felt like minutes passed in mere seconds before Theodore’s voice yanked her back to reality.
“I understand this is sudden,” he said, pulling a small pouch from his desk and placing it before her. “There’s more here than what you’ve earned. It should help keep you afloat until you find work elsewhere.”
Erica’s mouth opened, but no words came. Her stunned gaze shifted between the pouch and Theodore’s face, searching for a reason, a protest, anything—but nothing came to her. With trembling hands, she reached out and took the pouch, feeling its weight before clutching it tightly to her chest.
Without a word, she turned and left the room. Her thoughts refused to form, and the familiar tavern around her felt like a vast ocean which she was drowning in. She wanted to run, but even the air felt impossibly heavy, weighing her down. Images flooded her mind, vivid and cruel: herself, in the streets, clutching Molly’s cold, lifeless body. Starving, clad in ragged clothes, begging for the kindness of strangers who recoiled in fear.
She barely registered the mixed glances from her colleagues as she staggered through the tavern. Their faces seemed distorted, smudged, like wet paint smeared across a canvas. Everything around her was a blur—sounds, smells, and sensations drowned by the screaming in her mind. She didn’t know where she was going, but her legs carried her forward on instinct. Eventually, she found herself in an alleyway, where her strength finally gave out. She collapsed against the wall of a stranger’s home and began to cry.
Why? The question tore through her mind as sobs wracked her body. Why was this happening? Nothing made sense anymore. She didn’t want to give up, but she had no idea what to do. Every option seemed exhausted, every door closed.
“What do I do?” she whispered into the cold, empty air. Her voice trembled, the words barely making it past her lips. She buried her face in her hands, desperate. Some part of her hoped the strange voice she had heard before would answer—would show her a way forward. Never in her life had she felt so powerless, so utterly lost.
She slowly moved her hands and tilted her head to look up at the sky. It was then she noticed something was wrong. The world around her seemed to lose its color, fading into gray as though reality itself were unraveling. Before she could make sense of it, the scenery shifted. She was no longer in the alleyway but on the floor of Molly’s bedroom. Colors gradually returned to the world as she heard her daughter’s weak voice.
“Mommy… it hurts...” Molly groaned, her voice trembling with pain.
Erica’s motherly instincts kicked in, urging her body to move, but her limbs refused to obey. “It hurts… Mommy, I’m scared,” Molly whimpered. Erica pressed a hand against the wall behind her, straining to force herself to her feet.
“She needs you,” the deep, resonant voice echoed in her mind. Summoning all her strength, she managed to pull herself up by grabbing hold of what felt like a small ledge. But when she turned back toward Molly, the bedroom was gone. She was back in the alleyway, her hand resting on a brick jutting out from the wall.
With newfound strength, Erica bolted home, throwing the door open without bothering to lock it behind her. She raced to Molly’s room.
“Molly?” she called as she entered, her voice tight with fear. But there was no response. Her daughter’s favorite stuffed bear lay on the floor beside the bed. The blankets covered Molly’s body entirely, save for one small arm dangling limply off the side. With trembling hands, Erica approached and pulled back the blanket.
Her breath caught in her throat. Molly was pale and still, her once-cheerful eyes now dull and lifeless. Erica collapsed to her knees, the last shred of her strength leaving her. Her daughter’s pained, tear-streaked face burned itself into her memory. She wrapped her arms tightly around the lifeless body, sobbing as though the world itself were ending.
This can’t be real.
She cradled Molly, ignoring the dark blisters tainting her daughter’s pale skin. Her throat closed up, and she let out a gut-wrenching sob. How? she thought. Why now? After everything we’ve been through? Tears streamed down her face as she stroked Molly’s cheek. She hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye or fulfill the promises she had made. They’d never baked bread over an open flame beneath the stars. Molly would never ride her first horse or pet her first dog. She’d never visit the festivals in the big cities, taste a candied apple, or try honeyed crumb cake.
“Now, if I’m being honest, no matter what happens, Molly’s going to die.” A cold, yet familiar voice appeared behind her. Erica turned, startled. The setting shifted once again. She was no longer in Molly’s room but in a place she didn’t recognize—a sterile meeting room where four figures sat around a table.
The voice belonged to the elven doctor from Willowcreek. “I’d suggest poisoning her. We can make it relatively painless and buy her a few more days, depending on what we use. That way, we can also offer it to the Rivers family as an experimental treatment. Erica would need to sign a consent form, of course. That would work to our benefit,” the elf said casually, as though she were discussing a routine task.
Erica’s heart burned with rage. Slowly, she laid Molly’s body back on the bed and gripped the dresser to pull herself to her feet. The grief in her chest mixed with fury as she watched the elf nonchalantly propose murdering her child. Each step she took toward the table felt like it might be her last, her body barely holding together under the weight of her heartbreak.
“Okay… who’s going to do it?” Penelope asked, her tone disturbingly casual. Were none of them bothered by what they were suggesting? How could they be this cold?
“William, of course,” Lore’leia replied quickly, as though preempting any objections.
“Fine,” William stood and walked toward the exit, his ghostly form passed straight through her. “Prepare something I can inject her with. I’ll get it done tomorrow.”
Erica’s fists clenched. She trembled with fury. Was this real? Had they planned Molly’s death? Had they given up on treating her? She didn’t care how she was seeing these visions—she only cared if they were true. The voices of the doctors echoed in her mind, fueling the fire growing within her.
An intense heat radiated across her back, filling her with strength. It wasn’t the soothing warmth she had felt before, but something raw and powerful—anger forged into energy. Her exhaustion burned away, and standing upright no longer felt impossible.
“They did this,” the resonant voice whispered as the vision dissolved, the scene blowing away like mist in the wind. “They lied, schemed, and took her innocent life. She could still have been saved.”
----------------------------------------
Erica burst through the doors of the Willowcreek Medical Centre like a raging bull, the sound of the doors slamming open echoing down the streets. “Where’s William!?” she shouted, her voice ringing through the reception area as her fiery gaze landed on the elven doctor seated at the desk.
“He’s not here,” Lore’leia replied coolly, not even bothering to look up from inspecting her nails. “He’s still at home with his illness.”
“Don’t lie to me, you stuck-up cow! I am done with all your fucking lies!” Erica roared, her fury only growing in response to the elf’s dismissive attitude.
“No matter what you accuse us of, I can’t summon someone who isn’t here,” Lore’leia said, her tone dripping with condescension. “Go home. I’m sure your daughter needs you—”
The sharp crack of Erica’s palm against her cheek cut her off mid-sentence.
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“How dare you?” Erica snarled through gritted teeth, grabbing the elf by the collar of her pristine robes. “After what you did?”
“You dare touch me?” Lore’leia hissed, her hand covering her reddening cheek. “What exactly did we do? Try our utmost to find a cure for your daughter? Who do you think you are?”
Erica’s voice was cold and venomous. “No matter what happens from here, Molly dies. I would suggest poisoning her.” The words sent a visible shiver through Lore’leia, her face draining of all color.
“How… how do you know about that?” Lore’leia stammered, her composure cracking. But Erica had no intention of answering. She shoved the elf to the ground and stormed toward the door leading deeper into the medical center. It flew open under her weight, slamming into the wall and leaving a dent where the doorknob struck.
Down the hallway, she heard hurried footsteps. Her gaze locked on the back of the man she sought—the one responsible for poisoning Molly—just as he ducked into a room. His slick, greasy hair was unmistakable. Fueled by rage and determination, Erica marched forward as fast as her legs could carry her. Behind her, Lore’leia’s voice rang out in a shriek. “Guards!”
Erica didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. She needed to hear the truth from his lips. Arrest, consequences, the rest of her life—it all meant nothing compared to this.
When she reached the door, she threw her full weight against it. A metallic clink sounded from the other side as the doctor’s iron key fell to the floor. Erica pushed with all her strength, but the door barely budged, held shut by the man on the other side. “Let me help you,” the now familiar deep voice whispered in her mind, and a soothing heat surged across her back. A moment later, her body filled with strength, and the door flew open as though it weighed nothing. She stumbled forward, momentarily stunned by the force she’d unleashed. Glancing at her hands, she realized that this shouldn’t have been possible—as the man behind the door was undoubtedly stronger than her.
Snapping back to the moment, she saw William sprawled on the floor, disoriented. The door had struck his cheek, leaving it flared up and bright red. He struggled to get up, his movements sluggish as though his head were spinning.
Erica was on him in an instant, rising to her feet and storming toward him. Before he could fully stand, she grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall. “Tell me you didn’t do this!” she demanded, her voice shaking with fury.
“What?” he stammered, his guilty expression betraying him as Riley burst into the room behind them.
“Tell me you didn’t kill Molly!” she spat through clenched teeth, her grip tightening.
The silence that followed was unbearable. William’s face twisted in pain—not from injuries, but from something deeper, a torment he couldn’t conceal. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he finally muttered, the words barely audible.
Erica froze as the sound of ringing filled her ears, drowning out the rest of his words. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed to the floor, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face.
“They did this,” the voice in her mind repeated, breaking through the ringing. “They took her from you. She could still have been saved.”
Rage consumed her, overpowering the grief that threatened to crush her. The voice was right. It had been right all along, but she hadn’t listened. Because of her hesitation, these so-called doctors—these monsters—had murdered her innocent child. Molly had died scared and alone, her life cut short by people who had no right to make that decision.
Without a word, Erica rose to her feet. Her body moved on pure instinct as she lunged at William. “Who gave you the right to take her life, you pathetic worm of a man?!” she shouted, slamming her fist into his stomach.
William doubled over, clutching his midsection, but Erica wasn’t finished. She raised her fist again, ready to strike, when a hand grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“Stop this! We didn’t have a choice!” Riley, one of the other doctors, pleaded, his voice trembling. He’d grabbed hold of her arm, yet the surge of strength which flowed through her body made his grip easy to break.
Erica turned on him, her anger flaring even hotter. “You chose to end her life! You chose to stop trying! And now you dare say you had no choice? She could still have been saved, but you chose the easy way out!” she screamed.
Before Riley could respond, she drove her knee into his crotch. He crumpled to the floor, his face pale and twisted in pain. Erica stood over him, her chest heaving as fury radiated off her like a blazing fire.
Her head pounded with an intensity that dwarfed all her previous headaches, yet she could still hear the heavy footsteps and the clinking of metal rapidly approaching behind her. Desperation took over as she grabbed a blue ceramic vase from the cabinet to her right. Turning toward William, she saw his expression shift from guilt to fear.
Before she could act, he bolted for the door behind Erica, but he didn’t make it far. The vase shattered against the back of his head, drenching him in water and scattering purple lilies across the floor. He stumbled forward, collapsing to his hands and knees, and began crawling toward the door. Erica stormed after him, stomping her foot down on his back to pin him in place. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, three guards burst into the room and yanked her away.
“Let go of me!” she screamed, struggling against the grip of the two guards who held her by the shoulders.
“She’s clearly lost her mind,” came the sharp voice of the damned elven woman. Lore’leia peeked into the room, her face twisted in a mask of disdain. “Please, remove her before she seriously injures any other staff—or the patients.”
Two guards pulled her back as a third guard helped William to his feet. He threw Erica a quick glance, his face a mixture of fear and guilt.
But he couldn’t hold her gaze for long, turning away as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. Erica wanted to scream, to let loose the anguish roiling inside her, but the words refused to form. Her vision blurred with tears she couldn’t hold back, and though she fought against the guards’ unyielding grip, her strength was no match for theirs.
At that moment, she knew she had lost everything. Hopelessness crashed over her like a suffocating wave. How is this fair? she thought. Why me? Why Molly? Her mind spiraled out of control, thoughts colliding like storm-driven waves, until finally, the chaos began to subside. Only then did she notice the eerie stillness around her.
The world seemed to slow down. Every movement—every sound—was reduced to a fraction of its normal speed. Yet her thoughts remained sharp, unaffected by the strange phenomenon. A paralyzing sensation gripped her body, making even the smallest motion feel impossible.
“It is unfair, is it not?” a voice said, no longer a whisper but loud and clear. It sounded as though it came from directly in front of her, but there was no one there. “But it doesn’t have to be this way. You can still save her.”
“Who are you?” Erica tried to ask, but her lips wouldn’t move.
“A friend,” the voice replied, as if it could hear her thoughts. “Someone who wants to help you.”
“Why me?” she thought, her voice echoing in her own mind, mimicking the voice she now realized she could communicate with.
“Because you are strong,” the voice replied, calm but firm. “Though not in the way this world expects of you. We can help each other, you and I.”
“Is it true?” Erica asked, her desperation evident. “Can Molly really still be saved?”
“Yes,” the voice answered, its tone steady and certain. “But I will need your help to do so.”
“How? What do I need to do?” Erica asked, nervous yet clinging to the faint glimmer of hope in her heart.
“Bringing her back to you would normally be simple, but there is a... predicament preventing me from using my full power. Help me resolve it, and I will return your daughter to you, free from the curse of both death and disease.”
“A predicament? Like a problem?” Erica asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “How can I help?”
“Many years ago, I was unjustly imprisoned by a man of great power. Shackled to the ground of a prison I cannot escape, I have remained here ever since. But the shackles can be broken. I will guide you to the means of doing so. Every step of the way, I will show you the path—until we are both free from the cruel fates this world has given us.”
“I… can I really do it?” Erica asked, doubt creeping into her voice. “I’m not strong. I have no talents. You’re asking me to do something even you can’t do, and you claim to have the power to defy death.”
“I already told you—you are strong, little one,” the voice said gently, as the lights around her began to dim. “You possess a will to fight that rivals the greatest warriors of this world. That is all I need from you. The strength and talents you lack, I will give to you. I will be the guide you need, so you can reclaim the life of the one you love most.”
A tiny flame flickered into existence before her, floating in midair as though held by an invisible hand. Its light cast a faint glow on Erica’s tear-streaked face.
“Power—comparable to that of the heroes in fairy tales—is yours,” the voice said, its tone commanding yet strangely comforting. “All you must do is reach out and grasp it.”
Erica hesitated only for a moment before raising her hand. Time seemed to resume its normal speed, the weight of the guards’ hands pressing down on her shoulders, the pain in her muscles screaming as she fought to push forward. But she refused to stop. Slowly, inch by inch, she reached for the flame, defying the forces holding her back.
With the last of her strength, her fingers closed around the small, fragile light. The flame vanished, extinguished in her grasp. For a brief moment, she braced herself for pain, expecting the fire to sear her flesh—but none came. Instead, a surge of power coursed through her. It started in her hand, spreading up her arm and into the rest of her body, filling her with strength unlike anything she had ever known.
“Let’s lock her up for now. I’ll need to ask some questions about what happened here afterward,” the fourth guard said to Lore’leia as time seemed to flow normally again. But with her newfound strength, Erica had no intention of going along with their plans.
Two guards held tightly to her shoulders, but with a single motion, she used her right hand to shove the guard on her left away. He stumbled backward into the large meeting table at the center of the room, the sound of his body crashing against it reverberating through the space. Erica froze for a moment, shocked at her own strength, her brief hesitation grounding her back in reality. The second guard clung stubbornly to her right shoulder, struggling to force her down. With her left hand, she pushed him against the wall, his iron breastplate heating instantly beneath her palm.
The man screamed—a high, ear-piercing sound that sent shivers down Erica’s spine. Between his cries, she could hear the sickening hiss of flesh burning as the metal glowed bright red. Her hand recoiled instinctively, and she stared at him in horror as he slumped to the ground, his armor seared to his skin. The stench of scorched flesh filled the room, making her stomach churn.
Before she could process what had happened, the guard she’d pushed into the table staggered to his feet, sword drawn and shaking in his hands. The blade quivered as he pointed it at her, his eyes wide with terror. The room filled with chaos—doctors scrambled out the door, their panicked footsteps echoing in the corridor. Erica couldn’t move. Her gaze was locked on the unconscious guard, his body limp as smoke curled from his armor. Did I do this? Her thoughts raced. It didn’t seem real. Magic was for the wealthy or the blessed, and she was neither.
A sharp yell from behind broke her trance, followed by a searing pain ripping through her right arm. Her head snapped toward the source just as warm blood began soaking through her dress. A sword had cut into her upper arm, slicing deep enough to expose bone. The guard, his expression wild, pulled back his blade, the weapon slick with her blood. He had aimed for her head and missed, but his intent was clear.
Adrenaline surged through her, dulling the pain. Her instincts screamed at her to run. The guard raised his sword again, preparing for another strike, but Erica didn’t wait. She bolted, rushing past him and the other guards, sprinting out of the medical center and into the open air. She didn’t stop, her feet carrying her toward the outskirts of town, past the edge of Willowcreek, and into the forest beyond.
Her legs burned as exhaustion and blood loss began to catch up with her. The forest seemed endless, and the further she ran, the heavier her body felt. Finally, her legs gave out, and she collapsed with her back against a large oak tree. The world spun, and her vision blurred as she tried to catch her breath. Every inch of her screamed in pain. She crawled toward a nearby tree and slumped against it, her chest heaving as she fought to stay conscious.
Rest,” the voice commanded, its tone calm yet firm.
“I… I don’t understand any of this,” Erica panted, leaning her head back against the tree.
“You don’t need to understand,” the voice replied, unshaken. “All you need to do is trust me.”
As the pain in her arm flared, she looked at the wound—only to find it stitching itself together. The torn flesh and exposed muscle were repairing before her eyes. Erica’s stomach churned at the sight, the grotesque transformation enough to make her want to vomit.
“Who… who are you?” she asked weakly, her trembling fingers brushing over the newly formed skin where her wound had been. “The god of the sun?”
“You confuse me with a spineless worm,” the voice said dismissively. “I told you already—I am a friend. And friends help each other, do they not?”
Frustration bubbled in Erica’s chest. “Do you not have a name?”
“My name has long been forgotten by this world. It has no meaning to your kind anymore.”
Erica hesitated, her exhaustion threatening to pull her into unconsciousness. Yet her curiosity burned brighter. “If your name doesn’t matter, then… tell me about yourself.”
The voice sighed, almost as if exasperated. “Little one, I am ancient. To tell you my story is no simple task.”
“It’s been a long time since someone told me a bedtime story,” Erica said with a dry, humorless chuckle.
Silence stretched between them, and she was convinced the voice wouldn’t answer. But just as her eyes began to close, it spoke again.
“Long before your people roamed this land, my father came to this world. He was an outsider, and mortals feared him for his immense strength. But more than they feared him, they feared each other. While he only watched, they fought over trivial things, spilling blood for fleeting power. Finally, the immortal one stepped down from the great beyond and granted the races a gift—a great power meant to bring peace to the land.”
Erica remained silent, her breath steady as she listened.
“My father was one of the gifted, alongside his brother. But not all used these gifts for peace, and jealousy poisoned the hearts of the giftless. My kind, few as we were, preserved peace for as long as we could. But then came the temptress—my mother. She stole my father’s heart, and through her, our species thrived. Yet she also stole the heart of his brother, and through her manipulation, war broke out among our kind.”
He paused, his tone growing darker. “My siblings and I were forced to choose sides. What followed was a slaughter. The skies bled red, and the land burned beneath us. And then, the other gifted interfered.”
“A man your kind now calls Aelius, the Sun God, sought to end the conflict. Foolishly, he stepped into a war he didn’t understand, choosing a victor without learning the reasons behind the fighting. He sided with my father’s brother—and with my mother. The consequences were devastating.”
The voice brimmed with restrained fury. “My father, enraged by the Sun God’s arrogance, rained fire upon the world and became known as the God of Rage. And while his anger was justified, no one listened.”
“What happened to you?” Erica asked softly, afraid to interrupt but desperate to understand.
“I confronted Aelius and his followers. I accused them of meddling where they didn’t belong, of crowning a deceiver who had torn apart my family. Their response?” The voice’s anger was palpable. “They locked me away. Sealed me in a prison with chains that cannot break, casting me as the villain. For countless years, I have been trapped, my body bound but my mind unbroken. They once called me Dror’Khanik. To the followers of Aelius, I was crowned the Enemy of the Sun.”
Erica’s breath caught. If his words were true, then she was speaking to a being as ancient as the gods themselves—a dragon and a demigod. “If you’re freed… what will you do?” she asked, her voice hesitant.
“When I am free, I will end the war within dragonkind and make the Sun God pay for his misdeeds. When the time comes, I will personally devour the sun.”