"ANASTASIA!"
She strode toward us like a storm that had grown legs.
Even dressed in full sorceress attire, she looked fierce, beautiful, and absolutely terrible to be on the wrong side of. Her long blonde hair whipped behind her as if the wind itself was afraid of touching her. The black-and-gold robes clung to her figure, layered with embroidered sigils that shimmered faintly, like embers trapped in silk. A mantle of deep midnight blue hung from her shoulders, the fabric crackling with residual mana every time she moved.
That aura around her… it wasn't subtle. It pressed against my skin, warm and sharp, like standing too close to a bonfire. Her power seemed poorly contained, and shaped by fear of losing someone she loved more than she probably ever allowed herself to say.
Her eyes were the worst—or the best, depending if you were into that. They were narrowed in fury, a molten glare locked on the princess at my side. A faint blush marked her cheeks, but not from embarrassment, it was the flushed, breathless heat of a woman pushed past her limit.
And dear God, her mood… She wasn't simply angry. She seemed furious, betrayed, terrified, and heartbroken all at once.
When she finally reached us, her boots hit the stone hard enough that I felt the vibration through the floor. She stopped only a few steps away from Anastasia, her hands clenched at her sides, crackling with arcs of blue mana that snapped like irritated serpents.
Her voice, when it came out, trembled—not from weakness, but because she hadn't chosen whether to scream or cry.
"Anastasia," she spat, the name like a curse. "You were supposed to be with him. You were supposed to protect him. Just one dragon—one!—and he ends up bleeding in the sky while you stand here like nothing happened?!"
Anastasia stiffened beside me, but she said nothing. She didn't have the chance.
The sorceress stepped closer, magic humming through her robes.
"Do you have any idea how close he was to dying?" Her voice cracked. Just once. "Do you even care? Or is he only important when the two of you need to look good for the court?"
I opened my mouth to intervene, but the words died when she shot me a glare sharp enough to carve stone.
She wasn't done.
"I let him go." Her fists shook, nails digging into her palms. "I let him go so this kingdom wouldn't tear itself apart. I stepped aside. I swallowed everything—all the years, all the feelings—because you were the one he was supposed to be safe with."
For a moment, her voice softened—barely.
"…and you still let him get hurt."
The power around her surged again, ruffling her cloak, making her look less like a woman and more like a furious goddess moments away from calling lightning out of the sky.
For a long moment, Anastasia just stood there beside me, staring at the sorceress like she'd been slapped.
When she finally tried to speak, her voice was thin, barely a whisper.
"…I didn't abandon him."
The sorceress let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"You should have been with him," the sorceress snapped back, stepping forward again. Her magic flared, but she didn't seem to care. "He always puts himself in harm's way first. You know that. You're the one who's supposed to keep him alive."
Anastasia flinched. That might have cut deeper than Muriel thought it would, I could practically feel the guilt radiating through Anastasia, though she did her best to keep her expression calm.
"I wasn't with him... Because I couldn't..." Anastasia said quietly. "I can only use 10% of my mana right now."
Both me and Muriel were surprised by her declaration.
"Why... What happened?" Muriel's fury seemed to recede and I could see a glimpse of real concern for her friend.
"Because I'm pregnant." Anastasia dropped a bomb.
"You're WHAT?!" Both me and Muriel said at the same time, making us look to each other and I think this was the first time she truly looked at me.
"Could we please go inside?" Anastasia asked in a small voice.
Understanding the gravity of the situation and wanting to know more Muriel guided us inside her house. I must say though, it's as beautiful inside as the outside.
Not in the palace-opulent way, but in the magically-lived-in way. Shelves full of tomes, crystals humming quietly, lanterns floating instead of hanging—like the whole house breathed arcane energy. If I weren't terrified for Alex's life, I'd probably have been gawking like a tourist.
She pushed open the bedroom door without ceremony.
The lights inside dimmed by themselves, as if bowing to the one who entered.
Alex lay on the bed—if you could even call that breathing breathing. His chest rose so faintly it looked more like the illusion of movement than the real thing. His skin was pale, jaw clenched even in unconsciousness, and his body… God. It looked like someone had tried to carve a hero out of him with claws.
Well... That was kinda what happenend, actually.
Anastasia rushed to his side immediately, her hands hovering above his wounds, glowing weakly. Too weakly.
"Come on… please…" she whispered, voice cracking as the spell flickered like a dying candle.
Muriel stopped dead at the sight of him.
Everything—the fury, the fire, the storm—just halted. Her eyes widened, her breath caught, and for a split second, she looked like a woman who was watching her entire world be on the verge of crumbling into dust.
"Oh Alex…" she whispered, voice small in a way I never thought possible from someone who could probably ignite a mountain on accident.
She approached slowly, almost reverently, until she was at his bedside. Her fingers trembled above his shoulder as if touching him might break him.
"You idiot…" she breathed. "Why would you take the dragon head-on alone? Why didn't you let me help? Why would you—"
Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard.
Then she looked at Anastasia. Really looked. Not as a princess. Not as a rival. As someone who was hurting just as much.
"…you weren't lying," she murmured, her tone softer than anything she'd used before. "You really can't use your mana."
Anastasia nodded weakly, tears clinging to her lashes.
"I didn't even realize it at first," she said, wiping her cheeks. "I thought I was just exhausted because of the skills I had granted. But the moment I tried to use anything beyond basic healing… the spell collapsed. And the diagnosis spell confirmed it. I'm eight weeks…"
Muriel's brows shot up.
Muriel stared at her for a long moment, then sighed sharply and placed a hand over her own face.
"For the love of the gods…" she muttered. "Of course you couldn't buff him properly. Your mana is split between you, the baby, and the skills embedded in you both." She said pointing at Anastasia and me "That's three drains at once."
She moved around to the other side of the bed, her expression shifting to focus. It was like watching a blade sharpen itself.
"Step back," Muriel said, flicking her fingers. Not unkindly—just firmly. "I need to see how close he actually is to dying."
Anastasia complied instantly.
I stood uselessly near the foot of the bed, hands clenched and heart in my throat, trying not to look like the completely mundane baggage in the room.
Muriel placed both hands above Alex's chest. Arcane runes flared beneath her palms, blue and gold intertwining like threads stitching reality itself.
Muriel's spell strenghtened, light bending inward, condensing around Alex like a star collapsing into itself. The runes floating above him brightened, then cracked, then stitched themselves back together as if rewriting the damage in his body.
The air felt charged enough to lift my hair.
Then, suddenly, Muriel's brow furrowed.
Not in confusion.
In recognition.
She opened her eyes and stared at me—really stared. Not the "don't get in the way, mortal" look, but the kind a scientist gives a piece of evidence they hadn't realized was in front of them.
"…wait," she whispered. "That… that residue…"
I blinked. "What?"
She lifted one glowing hand off Alex's chest and pointed it toward me. The air around me rippled—uncomfortable, like my skin was being scanned.
Her eyes went sharp.
"That is not normal human mana signature."
Anastasia turned her head, startled. "Muriel—?"
"No, no, no." The sorceress shook her head, stepping toward me slightly, her magic still working on Alex with the other hand. "This resonance—this density—this is the same mana that hit the dragon."
She stared at me as if I had just walked into her house holding a nuke under my arm.
"You," she said slowly, "are the one responsible for the blast. The one who vaporized the dragon."
"Oh? That... Well... Yeah."
"Oh, gods." Muriel dragged a hand through her hair. "He wasn't exaggerating. The king really did summon a hero."
"Wait." I blinked. "He told you about me?"
"At length." She gestured impatiently. "And also... About that sick proposal he made." She spat with disgust.
"I just saw the blast, what were the consequences?" Anastasia asked.
"Well," Muriel said. "He blasted a hole through space, incinerated the thing and the ashes were obliterated by the fragmented space stitching itself together. I followed the trail in the atmosphere." She turned back to me. "You could level a city if you sneezed wrong."
"…cool," I whispered, horrified.
Muriel held up a finger. "Yes, cool. But also, terrifying. Concerning. The potential to destroy a country, just like the founder." She exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We'll circle back to that."
But before she could resume her spell with full focus, Anastasia suddenly shifted uncomfortably—hand pressing to her stomach, face tightening in a way she hadn't before.
Muriel noticed instantly.
"…Annie." Her voice dropped. "How far along are you really?"
Anastasia bit her lip.
"…two weeks," she confessed. "Maybe three."
Muriel's entire body went still. I was here for a month now.
"That early?" Muriel softened—just for a heartbeat.
"And Alex isn't the father," she said quietly, not as a question but as someone reading the lines that were never spoken.
Anastasia's breath hitched.
Her cheeks paled—not the embarrassed shade, but the terrified one.
She didn't look at me. She didn't have to. Muriel followed her gaze.
Slowly… very slowly… Muriel's eyes widened as the pieces aligned.
"You," she whispered. "You are the father?"
The room squeezed in on me. My throat closed up. I couldn't even form words, just a strangled, "I—I—"
Muriel raised both hands, stopping any panic dead.
"No judgement," she said quickly, firmly. "None. Not right now. It's not the time."
Anastasia exhaled in relief, shoulders trembling.
Muriel glanced at Alex—still barely breathing—and her voice softened but turned heavy, almost sacred.
"And he doesn't know."
"Not yet," Anastasia said. "But he's aware that it would happen..." Her voice cracked.
Muriel nodded once.
"Then we protect him. All of us. And we deal with everything else later."
She placed her glowing hand back on Alex's chest, more determined and focused.
The magic surged again, brighter and steadier.
And this time, Alex's chest rose a little higher.
His fingers twitched again.
Anastasia let out a shuddering breath of hope.
Muriel didn't look away from Alex, but her voice found me—low, steady, unyielding.
"When he wakes up," she said, "you and I are having a very long conversation about your power."
She paused.
"And an even longer one about what to do in the future..."