Vespera stood amidst the carnage, the air thick with the warm, metallic scent of fresh blood.
She raised the crystal glass once more, taking one final, slow sip. The rich, living essence slid down her throat like liquid fire, sending a deep, intoxicating shiver through her entire body. Her golden eyes half-closed in momentary ecstasy, the corners of her lips curling into a dangerous, almost euphoric smile.
Then, with a graceful flick of her wrist, she materialized a scythe from the remaining blood in the glass.
The weapon took form in her hand — long, elegant, and terrifyingly beautiful. The shaft was forged from solidified crimson blood, smooth and gleaming like polished obsidian. The curved blade was a masterpiece of dark artistry, edged with razor sharpness and pulsing with faint, hungry veins of silver energy. Fresh droplets of blood still dripped slowly from the edge, falling to the floor with soft, wet sounds that echoed in the silence.
Vespera smiled wider.
She looked at the three warriors of the First Unit like prey — golden eyes gleaming with predatory delight, the hunger in her gaze unmistakable. The air between them grew thick with tension. The silence of the tower felt heavier, as if the very structure was holding its breath, waiting to see what the Crimson Princess would unleash.
The lead warrior sensed the shift immediately. He slowly sheathed his curved sword with deliberate care, raising his empty hands in a gesture of peace. His silver mask reflected the violet light as he spoke, voice steady but cautious.
"Please… do not continue. There is no need to spill any more blood."
Vespera's smile faltered. The hunger in her eyes dimmed, replaced by visible strain as she fought to contain herself. Her fingers tightened around the scythe's shaft until the weapon trembled faintly in her grip. The urge to swing — to let the blade drink deeply — surged through her like a living thing. A quiet, dangerous growl escaped her throat before she forced it down, jaw clenched.
The other two warriors stepped forward carefully, their movements slow and non-threatening.
"We are not your enemies," one said. "The Master wishes to speak with you. Come with us. There is no need for more violence here."
Vespera's golden eyes flickered. The words cut through the red haze clouding her mind. She remembered why she had come here — not for slaughter, not for blood, but for answers. For the Silent Hand. For the truth behind the Dragon King's legacy and the strange silence of these plains.
She took a slow, measured breath. The scythe in her hand dissolved back into swirling crimson mist, fading away into nothingness.
"…Fine," she said softly, her voice still carrying a dangerous, hungry edge. "Lead the way."
The three warriors inclined their heads in unison, then turned and began walking deeper into the tower. Vespera followed, her steps graceful and controlled, though the hunger still lingered in her golden eyes like a beast waiting for its next chance.
A while later, the massive doors to the uppermost hall opened with a deep, resonant groan that echoed through the tower like a sigh from the stone itself.
The three warriors escorted Vespera inside, their steps measured and silent. She walked with regal composure, golden eyes slowly tracing the intricate designs that adorned the walls and pillars. Ancient carvings depicted silent legions marching in perfect formation, dragons soaring through crimson skies, and towering figures radiating absolute command — scenes of conquest and dominion frozen in time.
From the raised dais at the far end, hidden behind heavy silk curtains, the Master began to clap slowly.
The sound was deliberate, echoing through the vast chamber like a slow, mocking heartbeat.
"Welcome," the Master's smooth, cold voice rang out. "I thought it could be anyone wandering my Silent Plains… but I did not expect the wanderer to be the one and only Blood Queen."
Vespera's golden eyes narrowed. She stopped a respectful distance from the dais, her expression serious and cold.
So this is the Master of the Tower, she thought. Hidden behind curtains like a coward who fears the light, yet his presence fills the entire hall. He feels old. Ancient. But not like Indura.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and deliberate.
Vespera spoke first, her tone cool and measured.
"The Silent Plains have a reputation for keeping their secrets well. I see the rumors were not exaggerated."
The Master chuckled softly from behind the curtains, the sound low and intrigued.
"Flattery from the Crimson Queen herself. I am honored. Please, treat this place as home. There is no need to be so… guarded. You are my guest."
Vespera's expression didn't soften.
"Guests are usually not greeted with hundreds of arrows and elite warriors. Your hospitality leaves something to be desired."
The Master laughed again, genuinely amused this time.
"Forgive my subordinates. They are protective of their home. But you… You handled them with remarkable efficiency. I must admit, I am intrigued. What brings the Blood Queen to my quiet corner of the world?"
Vespera remained silent for a moment, her golden eyes fixed on the silhouette behind the curtains.
"I heard the trumpets of judgment," the Master continued, voice turning more serious. "The descent of holy fire from the heavens. The South burned. Tell me, Blood Queen… what happened? Why did the sky itself turn against your people?"
Vespera's gaze remained cold, her voice steady.
"The sky has always been arrogant. They simply reminded us of that fact. The South stood. The South burned. That is the way of things in Chaos."
The Master was quiet for a moment, as if savoring her words.
"You carry yourself with the weight of someone who has seen too much," he said softly. "Yet you stand here, unbowed. I respect that. Please, speak freely. This tower has not had such interesting company in centuries. Tell me more about the fall of the South. I would hear it from the lips of its Queen."
Vespera's expression remained serious, her tone cold and controlled.
"The South fell because it dared to dream of something greater than servitude. The Dragon King's shadow still lingers over these lands. But I did not come here to speak of the past. I came because I'm curious. The silence… it feels familiar."
The Master's silhouette leaned forward slightly, purple eyes glowing brighter behind the curtains.
"Familiar? How intriguing. Few ever find their way to my tower without invitation. You, however, tore through my defenses like they were paper. That is no small feat. Tell me, Blood Queen… what do you seek in the heart of the Silent Plains?"
Vespera met his glowing eyes without flinching.
"Answers. And perhaps… an ally. Or at least someone who understands what it means to wait in the dark for a very long time."
The Master was silent for a long moment. Then he chuckled again, the sound rich and thoughtful.
"You are a dangerous woman, Vespera. Dangerous and fascinating.
Vespera sighed, her golden eyes sharp as blades.
"Let us speak plainly," she said, voice cold and direct. "I seek the Legion of Dragons. Where are they?"
The Master's silhouette froze behind the curtains. A long, heavy silence filled the hall before he let out a low, startled laugh — sharp with irritation.
"The Legion?" he repeated, voice dripping with disbelief. "Why are you looking for them? What business does the Blood Queen have with ghosts of the old wars?"
Vespera's expression remained ice-cold, giving nothing away.
"They are part of a larger truth I must uncover. The South has suffered enough. The silence in these plains… it hides answers I need. I will not leave without them."
The Master was quiet for a moment, then spoke with clear disdain.
"I do not know where they are. And even if I did, I do not care. This world has changed. It no longer revolves around—"
He stopped mid-sentence, as if catching himself.
Vespera noticed the hesitation immediately. Her golden eyes narrowed, pressing forward like a predator sensing weakness.
"Around the Dragon King?" she asked, voice steady and cutting. "Did you not serve him? Are you not one of his servants?"
The Master's silhouette shifted violently. With a sharp motion, he pulled the heavy silk curtains aside and stepped forward into the violet light.
He was tall and lean-muscled, with long, flowing black hair that cascaded down his back like liquid midnight. His skin was a deep, ashen gray, etched with faint silver scars that glowed faintly under the hall's light. Piercing purple eyes burned with cold intelligence and barely contained frustration. He wore elegant black robes trimmed with silver, exuding an aura of refined, ancient power — a ruler who had long ago traded loyalty for survival.
He stared down at Vespera with open irritation.
"Why are you asking about the dragons?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous. "If you truly seek them, why not go see the current ruler of this region yourself?"
Vespera did not answer. The silence stretched between them, thick and electric. Distant sounds of battle — faint clashes and shouts — echoed from far below the tower.
Then Vespera smiled — cold, deliberate, and unafraid.
"I have one question for you."
The Master looked at her, cold and judgmental, but finally nodded once.
"Ask."
Vespera's golden eyes locked onto his purple ones.
"The Dragon King disappeared three thousand years ago… Are you still loyal to him?"
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the distant sounds of battle seemed to fade. The violet lights in the hall pulsed more slowly, as if the tower itself was holding its breath.
Then the Master laughed — a low, bitter, almost manic sound that echoed through the grand chamber.
"Forgive me," he said, still chuckling as he stepped closer, his purple eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "You truly wish to know?"
He stopped a few feet away from Vespera, towering over her with his lean, imposing frame.
"I served that tyrant for hundreds of years. We all did — the Silent Hands, the Legion, every last one of us. We bled for him. We burned worlds for him. We watched him crush anyone who dared question his rule. And when the war turned against him… he vanished. Left us to rot in the ashes of his ambition."
His voice grew colder, more venomous.
"So no, Blood Queen. I am not loyal to him. I curse his name. I curse the day he dragged us into his endless conquests. The Dragon King is gone — missing, dead, it does not matter. His hand no longer reaches us. We are free."
He smiled, a sharp, diabolical grin that revealed too many teeth.
"And now… I serve someone far more worthy. A ruler who understands power. Who rewards loyalty instead of demanding it like a spoiled child. Someone who blessed me and my people with true purpose."
The Master leaned in slightly, purple eyes burning into hers.
"So tell me again, Vespera… why exactly are you looking for the ghosts of a dead king?"
Vespera smiled faintly, a cold, knowing curve of her lips.
"Forgive me for that," she said lightly.
The Master looked at her with mild annoyance, purple eyes narrowing behind the curtains.
Vespera continued, her tone almost playful.
"A dead King? How funny."
Suddenly, the air in the hall grew bitterly cold. Cold steam rose from their breaths, curling like white ghosts in the violet light. Frost began to form on the edges of the pillars and floor.
Amon looked around, confused.
Then — with a deafening CRASH — a massive ice glacier burst through the tower's ceiling, spearing straight down through the hall like a frozen lance from the heavens. It slammed into the floor with explosive force, cracking the stone and sending shards of ice flying in every direction.
The glacier shattered on impact, exploding into a glittering storm of frost and snow that filled the chamber in a beautiful, deadly blizzard. Harsh, freezing wind howled through the newly created hole in the ceiling, carrying the biting chill of the Silent Plains outside.
The Master's head snapped upward, purple eyes narrowing in shock.
From the gaping hole in the ceiling, Sabrel descended gracefully, landing on the cracked floor in a swirl of white wind and frost. She dusted ice from her shoulders with casual grace, her white hair still sparkling with frozen crystals, then looked directly at the Master.
"It's been a long time, Amon."
The Master... or rather Amon. His face twisted in pure shock. He leaped backward several steps, purple eyes wide with disbelief and rising horror.
It can't be… It's impossible… How is she here? Alive?!
Sabrel studied him calmly.
"Why are you looking at me like I'm a ghost? Have you too forgotten about me?"
Amon's voice cracked slightly.
"S-Sabrel?!"
His expression was one of raw disbelief — eyes bulging, mouth slightly open, the refined composure he had maintained earlier completely shattered. He looked as if he had seen the dead rise before his eyes.
He continued, voice trembling with panic.
"How are you here? I knew you were dead — why are you here?!"
Sabrel turned briefly to Vespera, then back to Amon, a small smile on her lips.
"I was never dead. I was sealed the whole time… and only unsealed a while ago. Now I find out the world is a mess."
Amon placed a hand over his mouth, stepping back further, his long black hair falling messily across his face.
No… no no no no no… It can't be. Of all times… We heard about her death. I know about her power. If she knows about the situation, she could challenge the generals.
Sabrel continued, her voice calm but edged with steel.
"It wasn't pleasant sending your forces to deal with us. Many have died for nothing."
Amon shook his head violently, scratching at his scalp in visible frustration.
"No… It's not right. You weren't supposed to come here. This is all wrong."
He held his head, muttering under his breath.
"It's just not right… You being here ruins everything."
Sabrel's smile faded.
"Ruins everything?"
Suddenly, Amon felt it — a powerful presence outside the tower. His purple eyes widened in pure horror.
That presence… There is no aura, but that presence… I know it. I know it very well. But how is it here? It shouldn't be here! Is it who I think it is?!
He grit his teeth, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood.
Vespera watched him break down with cold detachment.
"You asked me why exactly I was looking for the ghosts of a dead king?" she said, smiling faintly. "I wasn't the one looking for them."
Amon took several frantic steps back, his face pale.
Damn it!... Damn it!... Damn it!... DAMN IT!
He raised his hand and commanded the tower in a desperate, booming voice:
"Send them to the depths!"
The tower responded instantly.
The floor beneath Vespera and Sabrel shifted violently without a second to react — stone grinding and reshaping like living flesh. A massive hole opened beneath them, sucking them downward in a swirling vortex of stone and mana. The walls contracted and twisted, pulling them deep into the tower's bowels in an instant, the structure itself alive and obeying its Master's will.
Amon turned away, his long black hair falling messily across his face. He placed one hand against the cold stone wall for support and the other over his mouth, trying desperately to steady his breathing. His purple eyes were wide with disbelief and rising panic.
This peace cannot be ruined today… I must see it for myself. I could be wrong. Please… let me be wrong.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing composure back into his frame.
"Come," he commanded, voice low but firm.
From behind the raised dais, a hidden chamber opened in the shadows. Two brown eyes slowly opened in the darkness — ancient, intelligent, and filled with restrained power.
Outside the tower, the Silent Plains stretched in perfect, unnatural silence.
A black figure burst violently from one of the upper levels of the tower, shattering stone as it dove downward like a falling shadow. Massive wings unfurled mid-descent — vast, leathery membranes the color of midnight with faint silver veins pulsing along their edges. The creature had a long, sinuous neck ending in a sharp, horned head with glowing brown eyes. Its body was sleek and powerful, covered in dark obsidian scales that shimmered with an inner crimson glow, each scale edged like a blade. Four powerful legs ended in razor talons, and a long, spiked tail whipped behind it like a living whip.
Amon clung to its back, his black robes whipping wildly in the wind.
The dragon roared — a deep, earth-shaking sound that rolled across the silent desert like thunder. It dove toward the ground with terrifying speed, wings tucked tight. Amon narrowed his purple eyes, scanning the landscape desperately for that unmistakable presence he had felt earlier.
"Stop!" he commanded.
The dragon slowed its descent and hovered powerfully in the air, wings beating with heavy, rhythmic force, stirring up clouds of pale gray sand below.
Amon looked down.
Let me be wrong... for once let me be—
There he was.
Crimson hair swaying gently in the calm wind. Hands clasped behind his back. Golden eyes looking forward with calm, unhurried confidence.
Amon gasped in pure horror. His expression twisted into raw fear and recognition. He knew him. He remembered him. His body screamed at him — every instinct, every scar, every memory of servitude telling him that he should not be the one looking down at this being.
Indura walked calmly across the pale sand. He looked at the tower with mild curiosity, then turned his gaze toward the hovering dragon and its rider.
Another lookout?!
Their eyes met — golden and purple.
For a moment, the dragon's brown eyes locked onto Indura's golden ones.
Then… the dragon retaliated.
It spun violently in mid-air with a deafening roar that shattered the unnatural silence like breaking glass. Its massive body twisted like a living tempest, four powerful wings beating wildly, silver veins flaring bright across its midnight scales. The wind screamed around it in a howling vortex as it fought to throw its rider.
Amon shouted desperately, clinging to the thick ropes strapped across its back.
"Steady yourself! You beast!"
The dragon dove downward with terrifying speed, the world blurring into streaks of red and gray. Amon gripped the ropes with white-knuckled force, trying to wrench the creature back under control. But he quickly realized the horrifying truth — the dragon wasn't resisting an external force.
It was trying to throw him off.
The creature roared again, a deep, primal sound filled with ancient recognition and fury. Its long, spiked tail whipped around with lightning speed, wrapping tightly around Amon's neck like a living noose of obsidian scales. With one powerful, contemptuous motion, it hurled him from its back.
Amon flew through the air like a discarded rag, robes flapping wildly as he tumbled helplessly toward the ground. He crashed hard into the pale sand, rolling several times before skidding to a painful stop, coughing up dust and blood.
The dragon descended gracefully now, landing on the ground with cracking force. Its powerful talons dug deep into the earth, shattering the surface and sending cracks spiderwebbing outward in a perfect circle. The impact sent a low rumble through the Plains, as if the land itself acknowledged the creature's reverence.
Indura watched it all with calm, majestic composure. His crimson hair swayed gently in the breeze, golden eyes steady and unblinking. He stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, radiating the quiet, absolute authority of a king who had never truly lost his throne.
The dragon slowly walked toward him — taking short, deliberate steps, its massive body moving with surprising grace. Its long neck lowered respectfully. Its brown eyes met Indura's golden ones for a long, charged moment.
Then Indura's pupils sharpened into vertical, draconic slits — ancient, commanding, and filled with the unmistakable fire of the one who had once ruled legions of its kind. The air around him seemed to thicken with power, a subtle crimson aura flickering like embers around his form, as if the very world remembered who he was.
The dragon noticed immediately.
It closed its eyes in complete submission. Its massive wings tucked tightly against its body. The creature lowered itself fully to the ground, its head resting on the sand before Indura's feet in a deep, reverent bow. Its spiked tail curled submissively around its form, and a low, rumbling purr-like sound escaped its throat — not of fear, but of recognition and loyalty long dormant, now reawakened.
The dragon submitted.
Indura looked down at the creature with a calm, majestic smile. The wind brushed through his crimson hair as he stood tall and regal, the undisputed sovereign once more. The Silent Plains seemed to hold its breath in awe around him, the red sky itself appearing to bow in deference.
"Well... This is... Interesting."
Amon stared from afar, face pale with shock and dread.