Smoke curled into the dark sky, thick enough to blot out the moon.
Dead bodies littered the streets.
Knights, royals, commoners, even horses. The once-proud city now burned in ruin.
The ground trembled as fire devoured the city.
Houses crumbled, their wooden beams collapsing with a sickening crack. The air was filled with the scent of burning flesh and the desperate cries of those still running for their lives.
"Run!" a soldier shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the roar that followed.
The roar wasn't human.
Flames swept through the streets like an ocean wave, turning soldiers and commoners alike into silhouettes swallowed by light. Amidst the chaos, a woman clutched her daughter close, her arms trembling as she tried to push through the stampede of bodies.
"Mother, I'm scared!" the little girl cried.
"I know, sweetheart, hold on—!"
Another explosion shook the ground. The force sent the mother sprawling, and her grip slipped. The child tumbled away, rolling across the cobblestone.
"LINA!"
The mother's voice cracked, but before she could reach her, a strong hand seized her wrist.
"Don't! You'll die if you go back!" a man barked, his armor dented, blood staining his sleeve. He was a knight—one of the few still standing.
"My daughter's there!"
"I'm sorry!" he said, pulling her back as she struggled, her screams echoing in the firestorm.
"Mama!!"
The little girl's voice cracked.
Small and terrified, she rose to her feet on trembling legs. The air shimmered with heat. She turned just in time to see the upper floors of a burning house sway dangerously. Her pupils shrank.
It was falling toward her.
Lina froze.
A sudden rush of wind cut through the roar of the flames. A silver streak shot past her, followed by the clang of steel cleaving through wood. The falling rubble split apart and crashed harmlessly around her.
The woman who landed in front of her wasn't a normal soldier. Her long brown hair was tied back, her armor lighter and more fitted for movement. She turned to the girl, eyes sharp but warm.
"Can you stand?" she asked gently.
Before Lina could nod, another man approached—a tall knight with blond hair and a scar cutting down across his left eye.
"Get her out of here," he ordered one of the guards who came running behind him. "Evacuate everyone you can to the western hill. Move!"
The guard saluted and lifted Lina into his arms. The girl looked back one last time, watching as the woman knight swinged her blade to remove thr rubble.
The blond man turned to the woman knight beside him.
Her sword was still in hand, gleaming in the light of the burning city. "You think he's still alive?" she asked, half a smirk on her lips.
"If it's Lucien," the man said, resting his blade on his shoulder, "he's probably coughing up blood and complaining while saving half the city."
He pointed to his face, "Did you forget who gave me this scar?"
She smirked, punching his chest lightly. "You mean the time you lost to a sickly brat?"
"Exactly."
The woman let out a short laugh despite the chaos. "He'd better not die before I get to punch him for that."
The man chuckled. "That's the spirit."
They ran off again, deeper into the flames.
A deafening roar split the sky.
The ground shook. Roofs ripped away as a shadow blotted out what little light remained.
When the flames parted, it appeared.
A dragon—massive, crimson-scaled, its wings wide enough to block out the horizon. Each beat of its wings stirred a storm of fire and ash. Its eyes burned black, bottomless and cruel, as it let out another roar that sent shockwaves through the city.
Men and women dropped to their knees in despair.
And then, amidst the falling ash, a figure appeared.
He hovered above the burning rooftops, his boots resting on a platform of blue light, golden magic wings unfurling from his back. His coat was torn, one sleeve blood-stained, but his eyes—bright gold—were steady. A faint smirk curved his lips despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Lucien raised his sword.
"So this is what you've been hiding behind all this time," he said, his tone dry, almost bored.
The dragon laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that made the flames twist.
"Lucien Carl Varvien,"
"What a distasteful being" it hissed, voice dripping venom. "A fragile human dares stand before me? You could not even fill the shadow of my claw!"
Lucien tilted his head. "You talk too much."
The dragon snarled, sweeping one enormous claw toward him. Lucien darted upward, slashing downward as the air itself split with a shockwave. The beast roared as blood sprayed from a clean wound across its foreleg.
Below them, the city shook from the impact.
Lucien steadied himself midair, brushing soot from his shoulder. "You should get that looked at," he said casually. "I'd recommend a doctor… oh wait, you burned them all."
The dragon's growl deepened, shaking the clouds. "Mock me all you wish, little boy. You will fall like the rest!"
A blast of fire exploded from its throat. Lucien's wings flared as he cut through the blaze, splitting it apart with one elegant swing. His expression didn't even flicker.
"Still can't hit me," he murmured, landing lightly on a tower's edge that was already half-destroyed.
The dragon glared down. "Without that sword, you are nothing!"
Lucien twirled the sword lazily, then smiled.
"This?" He glanced at the weapon, its edge glimmering faintly with blue light. "A gift from my brother. Forged from the strongest iron, blessed by the Saintess herself. You could call it divine, and probably worth a small country."
He paused, sheathing it.
"But I wouldn't waste a divine weapon on something as ugly as you."
The dragon's fury ignited, its body swelling with dark flame. "You insolent mortal!"
Lucien only tilted his head. "That's new. Usually they call me terminal, not insolent."
"You—!"
The dragon roared and launched a column of fire. Lucien sliced through it with a single arc, the flames parting like silk. Sparks glimmered across his golden wings as he raised his hand.
A glowing blue sphere of magic formed at his fingertips, humming with quiet power. The heat from it was enough to make the nearby flames tremble.
"You know," Lucien said, his voice steady as the heat distorted around him, "you might be right."
The dragon snarled. "About what?"
"I am sick."
The dragon's eyes narrowed. "Then die with that sickness—"
"But—" Lucien's smirk returned as the sphere floated toward the dragon, stopping right in front of its chest.
Lucien's smirk widened, faintly mocking.
"But I never said I was weak."
He snapped his fingers.
The sphere expanded, swallowing the world in blinding light.
The explosion tore through the sky, shaking the heavens. The dragon's final roar was lost in the blast as fire and lightning collided, painting the burning city gold for one, brief, beautiful moment, the entire world was light.
When it cleared, Lucien hovered amidst the drifting ash, chest heaving. Blood slid down his chin as he coughed softly, wiping it away with the back of his glove.
He looked down at the burning capital — the kingdom in ruins, the dragon's roar fading into silence.
A weary grin crossed his lips.
"Well…" he muttered, voice hoarse. "Guess that settles it."
A coughed. And then another one.
Lucien glove stained red—he sighed.
"Great," he muttered. "Now they're definitely going to call me sick again."