The sky above the capital of Aetheleon was no longer a canopy of azure; it was a jagged, weeping wound in the fabric of reality. The departure of the Ninth Whisper Sovereigns had not been a mere exit; it was a cosmic amputation. The "Void-Scar" left in the atmosphere pulsed with a sickly, rhythmic violet light, casting long, unnatural shadows over the smoking ruins of a civilization. The very air was stagnant, heavy with the suffocating, metallic tang of blood from five lakh soldiers—the Eternal Legion—whose lives had been extinguished like flickering candles in a sudden, cold hurricane.
Inside the titanic crater where the High Palace had once stood as a testament to human pride, Beatrice remained on her knees. The Dragon-Blood Chains that had suppressed her essence for the duration of the slaughter had dissipated into violet mist the moment Rena turned her back, but the weight of them remained etched into the very marrow of her bones. She looked up into the hollow sky, her white hair matted with the grey dust of her ancestors' pulverized halls. Her daughter—the child she had tried to suppress, to exile, and to control for over a century—had not just surpassed her. Rena had ascended to a plane of existence that made the "High Queen" of a mortal realm look like a beggar groveling in the dirt.
"The foundations..." Beatrice whispered, her voice a dry, rasping sound that barely carried over the crackle of distant fires.
Because Rena had physically ripped the palace from the tectonic plates of the planet with the raw strength of her newly awakened bloodline, the hidden underground dorms and ancient sanctums were now exposed to the open air. The Foundation of the First Flame, a vault of secrets that had been protected by the Human Kings for ten centuries, was now nothing more than an open, jagged grave in the center of the city.
Beatrice looked at the sky and saw the ten Dragon Knights hovering on their sapphire-scaled mounts, their silhouettes black against the violet rift. A mocking, jagged smile cut across her blood-streaked face—an expression of pure, broken irony. She began to laugh, a low, guttural sound that echoed off the jagged marble stones, sounding more like a death rattle than amusement.
"You think you won, Rena?" she hissed at the empty air. "You think you took everything? You missed the only thing that mattered. You left the seed of your own destruction behind."
Above her, the Dragon Knights watched with cold, reptilian indifference. Merin Son, the commander whose golden armor was still dripping with the gore of a thousand men, narrowed his vertical pupils. The mockery in the old woman's voice was an insult to the majesty of the Ninth Whisper. It was a fly buzzing in the ear of a god.
"Queen Rena," Merin Son called out, his voice booming like the collision of two mountains, vibrating the very stones Beatrice knelt upon. "This human crone still has breath in her lungs. She mocks the Sovereigns even as her kingdom turns to ash. Give the order, my Queen. Let us erase her from the cycle of reincarnation. A human who births a dragon but refuses to kowtow is a defect in the natural law. Her soul should be fed to the abyss."
The other knights shifted their weight, their Heart-Core swords humming with a lethal, high-pitched frequency that caused the few surviving palace maids hiding in the shadows to faint from agony. Meilin Yue, her silver hair fluttering like a battle flag in the toxic wind, placed a hand on the hilt of her obsidian blade, waiting for the word that would end a dynasty.
Suddenly, a pressure descended that made reality itself begin to fracture. It was not a physical wind, but a spiritual weight.
Rena did not move, but her Void-Vortex expanded in a sphere of absolute, crushing dominance. In an instant, the ten Dragon Knights—warriors who could extinguish stars and level continents—were slammed into the dirt. Their knees shattered the marble tiles as they were forced into a position of absolute submission. Their dragons shrieked in terror, their massive wings pinned to the earth by a gravity that defied the laws of physics. Even the stones beneath them were ground into fine, white powder under the sheer force of Rena's intent.
"Did I give you permission to decide the fate of my blood?" Rena's voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it carried the terrifying weight of a collapsing galaxy.
Meilin Yue's forehead hit the jagged stone, her pride dissolving into primal fear. "Forgive... forgive us, Sovereign! We were blinded by our zeal! We are but the dust beneath your feet! We shall never speak of the Queen Mother's death again! Have mercy, Great Queen!"
Rena retracted the pressure as quickly as she had unleashed it, leaving the knights gasping for air. She looked down at Beatrice one last time. There was no love in her eyes, nor was there the warmth of a daughter's gaze. There was only a cold, clinical indifference that was more painful to Beatrice than any hatred could ever be. To Rena, Beatrice was no longer a mother; she was a relic of a discarded past.
"We are going home," Rena commanded, her voice echoing across the ruins. "My husband—the Supreme King of the Ninth Whisper—has waited a million years for his Queen's return to the throne of shadows. Do not worry about the boy, Rayn. The universe is a vast, interconnected web, but for a dragon of our lineage, there is no place to hide from the blood-call. The threads of karma are already spinning, weaving his path back to me. We will meet him again when his wings are strong enough to carry the weight of his true name."
She turned her gaze back to the shivering form of Beatrice.
"Leave her," Rena said, her tone as sharp as a guillotine. "To kill her now would be a mercy she does not deserve. I want her to live. I want her to stand amidst these five lakh corpses and face the 'justice' of the humans she tried to protect. When the other Kingdoms of this planet hear that she gave birth to a dragon and brought this calamity upon them, they will not see a Queen. They will see a monster, a traitor to her race. She will die by the hands of the very ants she calls her subjects. That is a fitting end for the High Queen of Aetheleon."
With a final, blinding flash of obsidian and violet lightning, the dragons and their riders vanished into a rift in space. The wound in the sky closed with a sound like a slamming tomb door, leaving only the smell of death, the settling of ash, and the silence of a grave.
Beatrice stood up slowly. Her legs shook with the tremors of a woman who had seen the end of the world, but she forced her spine to straighten, a lifetime of royal training refusing to let her collapse. She walked through the wreckage of her life, her boots crunching on the gold-plated shards of the shattered throne. She found her two griffins in the far corner of the courtyard, where they had fallen during the initial dragon charge. Luna, the female, lay dead, her silver feathers matted with dark blood and her neck twisted at an impossible angle. Aurelius, the male, was clinging to life, his breathing a wet, ragged sound that tore at Beatrice's heart.
Using her remaining Earth-Dao, Beatrice shifted the rubble. She didn't use her hands; she used her internal will, moving mountain-sized slabs of stone to create a mass grave for her family. She buried the Chenwongo line—her husband's legacy and her own children—with a robotic, numb precision. No tears fell. The time for sorrow had been burned away in the sapphire purgatory of the dragons. Her eyes were as dry and hard as flint.
"Sleep," she whispered to the mound of stone. "The era of the humans has ended today. The era of the Dragon has begun, and I am the mother of the flame."
She mounted Aurelius. The griffin struggled to stand, his majestic wings broken in three places and his golden beak chipped, but the soul-bond between them held him together. He took to the air with a desperate, wobbly flap, his flight a testament to sheer willpower, as the first mobs of terrified, angry citizens began to swarm the palace gates below, looking for someone to blame for the gods' wrath.
Beatrice looked at the two suns overhead. The warmth they provided felt like a cruel lie. Her heart, once a forge of ambition and political maneuvering, was now a block of cold, jagged ice.
"I will find you, Rena," she vowed, her voice lost in the howling wind. "And when I do, I will not come as a mother seeking reconciliation. I will come as the executioner who ends the nightmare I gave birth to. I will bring your head back to this soil."
As she crossed the border of her ruined kingdom, the sheer exhaustion finally claimed her. She collapsed against the warm, blood-stained feathers of Aurelius's neck, falling into a deep, feverish sleep as the griffin carried her into the unknown wilderness, away from the ghosts of Aetheleon.
While his grandmother fled into the wild, Rayn's first sensation was the taste of grit and the smell of ancient dust. Not the common dirt of the Human Kingdom, but a dry, metallic sand that seemed to sap the moisture from his very tongue and lungs.
He groaned, pushing himself up from a pile of shimmering, golden dust. His head felt as though it were being compressed by an iron vice, and every muscle in his body screamed from the spiritual toll of the Sky-Leap Relic. He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of yellow particles, and tried to blink away the haze in his vision.
"The teleportation... it was too raw," Rayn muttered, his voice a dry, agonizing croak. "Grandmother... where in the hell did you send me?"
Where Rayn got teleported and what hard ships he is going to face?