Vaelor's eyes widened slowly, not from sudden shock, but from a creeping disbelief that tightened his chest. What stood atop the wall did not feel like a child. Fear was something all living beings shared—an instinct carved into blood and bone—yet the boy showed none of it. His posture was relaxed, arms crossed casually, as though the battlefield below was nothing more than an inconvenience rather than a calamity.
At first glance, he looked human. Too human. His frame was small, his presence quiet, almost easy to overlook if not for everything that felt wrong about him. Then Vaelor noticed the wings. Small, pale wings rested against the boy's back, unmoving, as if they did not need to flap to prove their existence. His hair was white, unnaturally so, untouched by ash or snow, and his eyes—
Vaelor's breath slowed.
Those eyes were cold. Not cruel. Not hateful. Cold in the way winter silenced the world, in the way inevitability erased resistance. It was the same gaze Vaelor had once seen make kings lower their heads and monsters abandon entire territories without a fight.
Then the pressure reached him.
It was heavy, pressing against his chest, against his instincts, against his very will to stand upright. The air itself felt denser, harder to breathe, as though the world was reminding him of his place.
Realization struck.
Before his thoughts could form words, his body moved. Vaelor rushed forward, boots crunching against frost-covered stone, and dropped to one knee. His armor struck the frozen ground with a dull sound as he bowed his head deeply. Above him, the boy did not react. He remained standing atop the wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed not on Vaelor but on the battlefield beyond.
Vaelor swallowed before speaking.
"Greetings, Prince of Atlantis."
The words did not echo across the wall. They settled into the silence, heavy and absolute.
Understanding spread slowly among the soldiers. Hands loosened around weapons. Goblins stiffened, ears flattening in disbelief. Ogres straightened instinctively, while elves drew sharp, quiet breaths. One by one, knees bent. Armor scraped against stone as the wall bowed as a single body.
"Greetings, Prince of Atlantis."
The boy clicked his tongue softly.
"Tch. You're distracting me."
His eyes never left Mortivex.
The colossal worm shifted uneasily. Its massive head lowered as it sniffed toward the force shield, testing, sensing. Slowly and unnaturally, its jaws began to open. Flesh twisted and strained as it tried to form a shape meant for speech. Teeth ground together violently, crushing against each other, blood spilling from its own mouth as terror forced it to attempt communication.
Then the Luby changed.
Their advance halted completely. The shrill cries that once carried hunger twisted into broken, panicked screams. One by one, their bodies trembled before collapsing onto the frozen ground.
They knelt.
Not from command. Not from control.
From instinct.
They screamed not in rage, but in recognition, in fear so deep it bypassed thought entirely. The boy remained unmoving, his presence spreading across the battlefield like an unseen tide, heavy and suffocating, erasing defiance with terrifying calm.
Vaelor felt it deep in his bones.
That presence.
That authority.
It was the same weight the Queen carried when she stood before armies and gods alike.
Only now—
It rested within a child.
Mortivex's massive body trembled.
For the first time since it had emerged from the frozen Land of Atlantis, the creature did not attack. Its countless eyes fixed on the boy standing atop the wall, unblinking, unyielding. The air around it twisted as something unfamiliar stirred within the beast—something buried deep beneath instinct and hunger.
Slowly, painfully, Mortivex forced its jaws to move.
Muscle tore against bone. Teeth crushed together with a sickening sound, blood spilling freely as the creature fought against a body never meant to speak. The roar that followed shook the land itself, but this time it was not a cry of destruction.
It was a question.
Broken. Heavy. Spoken word by word, as if each syllable threatened to tear the creature apart.
"ARE—"
Its throat convulsed.
"YOU—"
The ground beneath it cracked.
"MY—"
Its voice wavered, distorted and raw.
"PRINCE—"
The world seemed to stop.
Silence fell so suddenly it felt unreal. Soldiers stared in frozen disbelief. A higher-class monster—one believed to be nothing more than a mindless nightmare—had spoken. The Silent Nightmare creatures were known for one thing alone: killing. No intelligence. No reason. No language.
Yet here it was.
Speaking.
Vaelor felt his breath catch painfully in his chest. He had fought countless monsters, slain horrors that legends warned never to face, but this—this was different. Mortivex, a being renowned for overwhelming strength and endless destruction, was looking at a child and asking a question like a subject before a ruler.
Mortivex's massive head lowered further, eyes trembling as it spoke again. The effort was even worse this time, blood pouring freely from its broken jaw.
"ARE— YOU— MY— PRINCE—"
The boy sighed.
It was not fear. Not surprise.
It was irritation.
He tilted his head slightly, white hair shifting with the motion, his cold eyes narrowing as if he were being inconvenienced.
"Stupid worm," the boy said calmly.
His voice was clear, sharp, and utterly unshaken.
"Can't you speak faster?"
The pressure in the air intensified.
"I am the Prince of Atlantis," he continued, his gaze never leaving Mortivex, "not your so-called creature prince."
The silence that followed was heavier than any roar.
The boy's gaze remained fixed on Mortivex, cold and unmoving. There was no anger in his expression, only an absolute certainty that made the air itself feel heavy.
He finally spoke, his voice calm but carrying a quiet threat that needed no emphasis.
"If you do not wish to witness my rage," he said slowly, "it would be wiser for you to return."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You idiot… mortal creature."
Mortivex trembled.
For a being born only to destroy, instinct screamed louder than pride. The colossal worm lowered its massive head, its countless eyes shaking as they remained locked onto the boy for one final moment. There was fear there now—raw and undeniable.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Mortivex turned away.
Its enormous body coiled, muscles tightening beneath its grotesque form. Then, with a violent surge, it dove into the frozen ground like a monstrous dolphin. Snow and earth exploded outward as a massive crater formed, the land trembling under the force of its retreat. Within seconds, the creature vanished beneath the surface, disappearing into the depths below.
Silence followed.
Then the Luby screamed.
The remaining creatures shrieked in panic and began scrambling away from the wall, colliding with one another in their desperation to flee. Their cries filled the air, sharp and frantic.
The boy did not allow them the chance.
He raised one hand calmly, fingers slightly spread, his posture relaxed as if he were performing something trivial.
"Black flame," he said quietly. "Consume them."
A jet of black fire erupted from his palm, striking a single Luby. The creature did not die immediately. It writhed, its body burning silently, until it collided with another.
The moment they touched, the flames spread.
One became ten.
Ten became hundreds.
The fire multiplied unnaturally, leaping from body to body as if alive. The Luby screamed as the black flames devoured them, the inferno expanding in impossible patterns—ten by ten, then a hundred by a hundred—until the battlefield was swallowed whole.
Within moments, nothing remained.
No bodies.
No blood.
Only drifting ash settling softly upon the snow.
Vaelor's eyes widened as he stared at the aftermath. His breath caught, awe and fear twisting together deep in his chest.
"So this…" he murmured, his voice barely audible, "is the power of royal blood."
His gaze lowered instinctively.
"Pure-blood dragon… descendant of Seraphina."
The boy glanced at him.
There was no pride in his expression—only disappointment.
"If you cannot even eliminate pests like these," the Prince said coldly, "how am I to trust the borders of Atlantis to you, Vaelor?"
The words struck harder than any blow.
Vaelor immediately dropped to both knees, his head bowing deeply toward the frozen ground.
"I am sorry, my Prince," he said, his voice heavy with shame.
The Prince looked down at him, his eyes sharp and unforgiving.
"Do not mock dragon blood," he said. "Even mixed blood is still dragon blood."
His voice never rose.
That made it worse.
"You failed to defeat creatures this insignificant," he continued. "What a pathetic sight you have shown me."
Vaelor clenched his fists against the stone, shoulders trembling.
"I am terribly sorry," he said again, bowing even lower, his forehead nearly touching the ground.
The wind howled softly across the border.
And beneath it, the weight of royal judgment lingered—heavy, suffocating, and absolute.
At last, the battlefield fell into a fragile silence.
Broken only by labored breathing and the distant crackle of dying magic, it lingered like a held breath—until someone screamed.
A goblin.
The same one who had been the first to run when terror descended, the first to abandon formation and flee in blind panic. His fear had fermented into something uglier now—shame, anger, desperation.
He stepped forward, shaking, his voice sharp and cracking as it tore through the silence.
"Who do you think you are?!"
Every head turned.
"Just because you happen to be a prince—just because you're a dragon—you think you can stand above us all?!"
The boy's head turned slowly.
Too slowly.
His eyes locked onto the goblin.
The moment their gazes met, the goblin froze.
His body betrayed him first—muscles locking, breath catching in his throat. Instinct screamed at him to kneel, to look away, to run. Yet stubborn will forced words out of his mouth, even as his legs trembled.
"You keep calling our captain mixed-blood," he spat, his voice wavering. "You keep throwing that word around like it's nothing. But what about you, huh?"
He swallowed hard.
"You're mixed-blood too."
Vaelor's blood ran cold.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Pino—don't say another word! Someone stop him!"
No one moved.
They couldn't.
For the first time, the boy's expression changed.
The cold arrogance vanished, replaced by something far worse—something empty. His eyes became hollow, stripped of emotion, stripped of warmth.
They were the eyes of judgment.
He looked straight at the goblin.
The Dragon Gaze descended.
The air thickened violently, pressing down like an invisible mountain. The ground seemed to groan beneath the weight of it. Soldiers staggered. Elves gasped for breath. Even seasoned warriors felt their knees weaken.
Pino stumbled, choking as if unseen hands were crushing his lungs. Sweat poured down his face as terror flooded every nerve.
It felt as though death itself had taken a step toward him.
The boy spoke at last, his voice calm, cold, and heavy enough to crush.
"Mixed blood?"
His gaze never wavered.
"Explain what you mean by that."
Each word echoed in Pino's skull, rattling his thoughts apart. He could barely stand. He knew—without doubt—that he was going to die.
But hatred burned hotter than fear.
If this was the end, he would make it count.
The goblin laughed weakly, a broken sound scraping from his throat.
"Can't you see?" the boy continued, his voice steady. "I possess power beyond mortals. I stand above you. Is that not proof enough?"
He took a step forward.
"And if a mixed-blood dragon can wield such authority," he said, "does that not prove royalty itself?"
Pino's vision blurred. His heart thundered. Death stood before him now—patient, inevitable.
Still, he spoke.
Trembling, barely able to form words, he forced out the poison he had saved for last.
"You don't even know who your father is," he said. "You call yourself royal… but what if he was just some disgusting human?"
A hush swept the wall.
"What if," Pino continued, his voice cracking but cruel, "that human raped the Queen? What if that's how you were born—an ungrateful, arrogant brat pretending to be royal?"
The words hung in the air.
And the world held its breath.
In an instant, something inside Yuri snapped.
The words spoken by a mere goblin were too much—too filthy, too unforgivable. His emotions spiraled violently, rage tearing through the cold discipline that usually defined him. The air around his small body warped, trembling as if reality itself sensed what was about to happen.
Before Yuri could take even a single step—
Pino's head exploded.
There was no warning. No chant. No visible spell formation.
One moment, the goblin was standing there, gasping in defiance.
The next, his skull was crushed as if struck by an invisible god.
Blood, bone, and fragments of flesh burst outward in a grotesque spray. The sound was wet and heavy—nothing like a clean strike. It was the sound of meat being destroyed. The remains of Pino's face vanished instantly, reduced to nothing but red mist and shattered fragments.
Warm blood splattered across Yuri's face.
It dripped down his cheek.
The boy did not flinch.
Slowly, deliberately, Yuri turned his gaze.
His eyes met Vaelor's.
Vaelor froze.
The fear that seized him was unlike anything he had ever known—not the fear of death in battle, not the fear of overwhelming monsters. This was the fear of standing before something that would kill without hesitation, without remorse, without effort.
Vaelor understood it instantly.
If Yuri had acted first…
The wall would already be painted red.
He dropped to his knees.
"I—I am terribly sorry, my Prince," Vaelor said, his voice shaking as he bowed deeply, forehead touching the stone. "Please… have mercy on me."
Yuri's breathing was uneven.
His eyes were still emotionally unstable, burning with suppressed fury as he stared down at the kneeling captain.
"How," Yuri said quietly, his voice trembling with restrained violence,
"can you teach your soldiers so poorly?"
Each word landed like a blade.
"They do not fear royal blood," he continued. "They do not respect it. They dare to speak filth in my presence."
Yuri took a step forward.
"You disappoint me, Vaelor."
Vaelor barely had time to react.
In the next instant—
His arm was gone.
There was no pain at first. Just absence.
Then the agony arrived all at once, flooding his body like fire. Blood erupted from the severed limb, spraying across the ground as Vaelor screamed—a raw, broken sound ripped straight from his throat.
"Aaaaghhh—!"
He collapsed, clutching the empty space where his hand had been, his vision blurring as shock threatened to consume him.
Yuri stood there calmly.
"This," he said coldly, "is your punishment."
He looked down at Vaelor as if examining damaged property.
"For failing to teach your soldiers how to behave before royal beings."
Vaelor writhed, sobbing, teeth clenched as his body trembled uncontrollably.
Yuri leaned slightly forward.
"Next time," he said softly, almost conversationally,
"I will rip out your tongue."
His eyes darkened.
"And then," he continued, "I will cut you into small pieces—slowly—so my hydra may enjoy a full meal."
Silence fell over the wall.
Not a single soldier dared to breathe.
Through unbearable pain, through blood loss and terror, Vaelor forced his head down again.
"T-Thank you," he whispered hoarsely.
"Thank you, my Prince… for your mercy."
Yuri lifted two fingers to his lips and whistled.
The sound was sharp and clean, cutting through the lingering silence on the wall. It echoed into the sky, carrying a command rather than a call.
The clouds above shifted.
Something massive moved within them.
A dragon descended.
Its scales were white and red, polished like living armor, each plate reflecting the dull light of the clouded sky. Its wings unfolded as it landed beside the wall, the sheer size of its body covering the battlements like a moving fortress. The stone beneath it cracked under its weight.
The dragon lowered its head.
Its eyes—ancient and intelligent—focused on the boy.
"You called me, Prince?" the dragon asked, its voice deep, resonating through bone and air alike.
Yuri did not look impressed.
"Let's go back, Dina," he said coldly.
"Return to the castle."
Without hesitation, Yuri climbed onto the dragon's back.
Dina spread its wings.
With a single powerful beat, the dragon rose into the air, wind tearing across the wall as its massive body ascended. In moments, both dragon and prince vanished into the clouds, leaving behind nothing but silence and fear.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Vaelor's gaze slowly shifted downward.
Pino's body lay where he had fallen—or rather, what remained of it. The goblin who had followed him for years, who had trusted him, who had stood beside him in countless battles, was now nothing more than a bloodied corpse.
Healer elves and soldiers rushed toward Vaelor. One of the elves pressed glowing hands against his severed arm, magic pouring into the wound.
Then the healer froze.
"…Captain," the elf said quietly, fear creeping into his voice. "The wound… it isn't regenerating."
Vaelor gave a bitter smile.
"It won't," he replied calmly.
"This is judgment magic," he continued. "A royal price. What is taken by such power will never return."
Around him, goblins began to cry.
Some fell to their knees. Others clenched their fists, trembling—not from fear, but from rage. Their eyes burned as they stared at the sky where Yuri had disappeared.
Vaelor noticed.
He turned to them slowly.
"I know what you're thinking," he said.
One of the goblins looked up, teeth clenched.
"How do you know?" he demanded.
Vaelor's expression hardened.
"Because I'm thinking the same thing," he answered.
"But don't be stupid."
The goblins stiffened.
"He is a royal dragon," Vaelor continued. "And far more powerful than you can imagine. If you act now, you will die—slowly."
The goblins gripped their weapons tighter, rage shaking their hands as they continued to stare into the sky.
Vaelor exhaled deeply.
"Don't worry," he said quietly. "There will be a time."
They turned toward him.
"Soon," Vaelor continued, lowering his voice, "the Prince will turn five."
Their eyes widened.
"At that age," he said, "even royal blood has moments of weakness. Brief moments… but moments nonetheless."
Silence followed.
Vaelor lowered his voice.
"Don't worry," he said quietly, as if speaking to himself as much as to them. "Soon… the Prince will turn five."
The goblins stiffened, listening closely.
"At that age," Vaelor continued, his gaze fixed on the distant sky, "even royal blood becomes unstable. For a short period, his power will weaken."
He paused.
"When that time comes, I will let you leave my army," he said. "I will not stop you. You may act however you wish."
The meaning behind his words sank in slowly.
Vaelor's expression remained calm, but his eyes were cold.
"By then," he added, "he will have already created countless enemies in just a few short years. Far too many."
He let out a quiet breath.
"And when he reaches that age," Vaelor said, his voice dropping further, "he will be no stronger than a disgusting human."
No one interrupted him.
"It won't matter who strikes first," he went on. "Someone will kill him eventually."
His jaw tightened.
"Without the Queen… he will not survive."
Silence swallowed the wall.
Above them, the clouds drifted slowly, indifferent to the fate being discussed beneath them—indifferent to a future already stained with blood.
To be continued.