As we continued westward, the trees gradually thinned out until the forest gave way entirely to an open grassland. We followed the Golden River, and an uneasy feeling settled over me. Without the cover of trees, we were exposed, making it easy for anyone—or anything—to spot us. The White Castle was a distant speck in the southeast, surrounded by nothing but rolling grasslands and the river. Every so often, a distant roar echoed from the direction of the castle, sending shivers down my spine.

“Is that a dragon?” Finn asked, his voice tinged with awe as he glanced over his shoulder.

“No,” Orion dismissed the notion quickly. “Dragons are long gone.”

“But the old quassari said—” Finn protested, but Orion cut him off.

“Whatever that creature is guarding the castle, it’s not a dragon. It’s an abomination...” Orion replied, his fists clenching and his teeth gritting.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it was about dragons that stirred such emotion in Orion. This wasn’t the first time he’d reacted strongly to the mention of them. He seemed to know a lot about the Dragonsworn Conclave back at the council, clearly viewing them as a significant threat. And back in the cave, when he saw all those dragon skulls, his rage had landed us in our current predicament. Now, even the mere mention of dragons set him off again. What are you hiding, Orion?

The fresh river breeze offered a much-needed reprieve, brushing our cheeks as it passed. Purple wildflower petals and pollen danced on the wind, causing someone’s eyes to become red and swollen—Silas was sneezing uncontrollably.

“Ugh, these allergies are killing me!” he exclaimed, wiping his runny nose with his sleeves. “I wish I had some of that god-awful smelling ointment Seraphina used to make.” The mere mention of my mother’s name made my heart skip a beat.

“Tell me about this... ointment,” I asked, eager to hear anything about her, even if it was something as mundane as an ointment. I missed her, and since she no longer remembered me, I had to keep her memory at a distance. If talking about an ointment was the only way to hear about her, then so be it.

“Um, sure,” Silas replied awkwardly. “What do you want to know?”

“Is it any good?” I asked, realizing too late how bad I was at making small talk.

“Yeah, it’s actually quite good.”

“Good,” I replied, and an awkward silence followed. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. “So, how does it work?”

“It’s simple,” Silas explained. “You apply the ointment just under your nostrils, and for the next month, it’s the only thing you’ll smell.”

“She must have been quite the herbalist.”

“Oh, she was!” he said, his tone brightening as he reminisced about his best friend. “When she wasn’t busy in her little bakery, she’d be out foraging plants and flowers in the nearby forests, fields, and along the riverbank. She’d mix them into all kinds of medicines. She and the local physician weren’t on the best of terms, though—her remedies often sent villagers to him for treatment after her herbs caused rashes or other minor mishaps.” He paused briefly, his eyes distant, lost in a memory, before he spoke again, this time in a soft, nostalgic tone. “I miss her.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Why did you leave then?” I asked.

“I had to leave, Valerian. She gave me no choice.” Silas replied, gripping the lute around his neck as if it were a lifeline. “Her mind was slowly slipping away... because she claimed that...” He trailed off, his thoughts unable to connect the dots. The letter my mother wrote had been the last thread anchoring her to sanity and her memories of me. When I allowed the Void Veil to consume that cursed piece of paper, I erased it from existence, severing that fragile link. The world finally forgot me—and now Silas no longer remembers why her mind had slowly faded.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, desperate to close this chapter.

“No, it matters! Why can’t I remember what caused my best friend’s suffering?” he shouted, frustration and sorrow spilling over.

“Maybe seven years of drinking have finally taken their toll on your mind!” I snapped, the words escaping before I could stop them. I knew instantly that I had gone too far. It wasn’t fair to lash out at him; the guilt I carried was my own. I was the one who had caused my mother’s suffering—and possibly Silas’s descent into drinking. I had sacrificed their mental well-being for their physical survival, believing the mind could heal over time, so long as the body lived. But I, more than anyone, should have known better. Some wounds cut deeper than flesh ever could.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, unable to meet his eyes, fearing the disappointment I might find there. But how could he feel disappointment towards me when he had only a limited understanding of who I am?

“We should—” I began, but a deafening roar that seemed to shatter the very sky drowned my words out. The ground shook violently beneath us, and a shiver ran down my spine. My heart pounded as if it might burst from my chest. Before I could fully grasp what was happening, a colossal shadow swept over us.

“Dear gods...” Silas muttered, clutching his lute tighter, his gaze trembling at the monstrous sight before us.

I looked up, and there it was—a dragon, but not the kind you’d find illustrated in children’s books. This was something from the darkest of nightmares. Its scales were black as night, shimmering with an eerie, obsidian gleam that seemed to devour the daylight. The creature was colossal, easily dwarfing anything I’d ever encountered or even imagined. Its four massive wings, instead of the usual two, stretched wide, blotting out the sun and casting us in a dark shadow.

It reminded me of the dragon I had faced in the vision shown to me by the fey queen, though this one was twice its size. But just like that dragon, this was no living beast. Charred bones protruded from between tattered, decaying flesh, completely exposing its ribcage. Festering wounds covered its body, and its wings, riddled with holes, looked like the tattered sails of a dying ship.

The most terrifying feature was its skull—half-stripped of flesh, revealing jagged, blackened bone. Where eyes should have been, there were only empty sockets glowing with an eerie blue light, a clear sign of necromancy. This dragon was but a puppet, reanimated by the Dragonsworn Conclave with the aid of avians.

What could we possibly do against such a creature? This wasn’t just a dragon; it was a nightmare made flesh, a terror resurrected from the grave that felt no fear, for it was already dead—a mere shell of what it once was. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to hide, but where could we go? Running was futile. I had to face my fear and hope for the best—that was the only choice.

“Everyone, run!” I shouted at the rest of the crew. “Save Lyra and Kaela; I’ll distract this thing just long enough for you to escape!”

“That’s suicide, Valerian!” Finn pleaded. “You’ll die!”

“I didn’t say I’d fight it! I said I’d distract it! I may not defeat it—none of us can—but I sure as hell can make it angry enough to buy you time!” I yelled over the dragon’s deafening roars and the thunderous flapping of its wings. “This thing can’t catch me, trust me. Now go!” I screamed one last time, launching myself into the air.

With heavy hearts, they listened and ran westward. Orion hesitated, torn between following Silas and Finn or staying to help me. For the first time since I’d known him, his eyes betrayed a feeling of helplessness. He stood there, staring at the beast before him, paralyzed by either fear or awe—I couldn’t tell which. A small grin crept across his face. But whether it was born of terror or some twisted sense of joy, I couldn’t say.

Before I could figure it out, I swooped down, striking the dragon’s exposed ribcage, tearing away a chunk of its rotting flesh before retreating. The beast let out an enraged roar and turned its full attention toward me, abandoning Orion and the others to pursue its new prey.