By the time Draco and his companions arrived at the next city, word of the rifts had spread like wildfire. Lanterns burned in every window, and streets emptied as soon as the first rumors reached the gates: Dragon-touched saviors are coming.
But admiration is never simple.
The gates were guarded heavily. Spearmen and archers lined the walls, shields raised, eyes wary. Draco noticed the tension in every movement — not fear of monsters, but of the unknown. Of him.
"State your business," the captain barked as they approached. His voice carried authority but trembled with unease.
"We are here to help," Draco said calmly. He kept his hands visible, fingers loose. "There are rifts opening across the city. We can contain them."
The captain's gaze flickered to Erynd. "And you?"
Erynd stepped forward with that same measured confidence. "You are alive because of our power," he said simply. "The rest is yours to decide."
A tense silence followed. Then, a scream ripped through the square.
Draco spun.
A rift crystal had detonated in the marketplace, erupting into a violet shockwave that threw stalls and citizens into the air. From the shattered stone rose creatures warped by rift energy — twisted amalgams of bone and crystal, thrashing with hunger.
Draco didn't hesitate. Fire surged, wings of heat unfurling in a protective arc around the civilians. He inhaled sharply, channeling power into controlled bursts. Each blast scorched without harming the innocent, but the effort left him gasping.
Lyra moved like liquid silver, weaving lunar bindings that pinned the creatures' limbs and slowed their charges. Moonlight flowed from her staff in precise arcs, bending the beasts' bodies without shattering them outright.
Then Erynd acted.
He didn't just strike or bind.
He commanded.
Golden glyphs unfurled around his hands. Words of power, sharp and unyielding, cut into the very fabric of the creatures' consciousness. Limbs froze. Heads turned inward. Bodies collapsed on themselves under a force that wasn't brute strength — it was domination.
Draco stared.
Lyra gasped. "Erynd… stop!"
But Erynd only lifted his hand higher. "Efficiency," he said.
Draco felt a knot in his chest. He could feel the system stirring within him — it approved, rewarded, even encouraged. But his heart rebelled. There was no choice in Erynd's method. The creatures had not been destroyed by battle. They had been forced to destroy themselves.
When the dust settled, the square was silent except for distant sobs and whispers. Guards and civilians alike stared at Erynd as though he were a god — or a threat. Draco, drenched in sweat and ash, lowered his hands.
"That wasn't necessary," he said quietly, voice rough. "You didn't have to do it that way."
Erynd turned, golden eyes catching the last light of sunset. "It was efficient. That is what matters. The city lives. We succeeded."
Draco clenched his fists. "At what cost? Fear? Submission? You didn't even warn us."
Lyra placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, steadying him. "We can't stop him, not yet. But we can choose our actions."
Erynd's lips curved into a small, polite smile. "And that, Dawnbringer, is why some are meant to command while others… guide."
Draco swallowed. The system pulsed in his chest. Evolution wanted him to act, to assert, to dominate. But Draco realized something profound: the dragon inside him would not act without purpose, without conscience.
That night, as the city settled into tense vigilance, Draco found Lyra on the outer wall, gazing at the moon. He joined her, quietly slipping the cloak around his shoulders — the same one she had given him days before.
"The people are scared," he said softly. "They don't see the rifts as the danger. They see me."
Lyra didn't speak immediately. She traced her fingers along the stone. "Power is frightening when it is untamed," she finally said. "Even if you wield it with care, the world will project its fear onto you."
Draco met her gaze. "I don't want them to fear me."
"You can't control what people feel," she said. "Only what you do."
He exhaled slowly, letting her words sink in. The moonlight glinted against her hair, silver and calm. For a moment, he felt anchored again, grounded in her presence.
Then he glanced toward the distant city square — toward the spot where Erynd's golden light had bent the creatures' wills.
The thought that he and his friend were no longer entirely aligned weighed heavily in his chest. Not anger, exactly. Something deeper: a sense of inevitability. Paths had diverged. Philosophies had begun to separate like fault lines beneath their friendship.
"Do you think he'll ever…" Draco began, then stopped. "Do you think Erynd will ever care about restraint?"
Lyra was silent for a moment. Then she said, softly but firmly: "No. Not like you. And that's why he's dangerous."
Draco shivered slightly. Not from cold, but from understanding.
Dragons, he realized, were feared not for their fire.
They were feared for their judgment.
And his friend, Erynd, had already chosen which judgment mattered most: his own.