Chapter Sixteen: Between History and Reality
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Skyrel's entry into the room was not ordinary this time.
There was something faint in the air, as if the light itself hesitated before touching the walls.
He paused at the threshold for just a second, but it was enough for him to feel that Ayant… was here and not here.
As if the child he knew had slipped half a step out of his body, leaving a strange trace in the air, like a heavy silence searching for an exit.
"What's wrong, Ayant…?"
This isn't a full presence… nor a full absence…
This is what Skyrel thought inwardly before he smiled lightly, hiding the shiver that passed at the corner of his lips.
He approached with familiar lightness,
and cracked a short joke to bring some warmth back into the atmosphere.
I laughed a little in response, yet his eyes watched me with sharp focus, as if measuring the depth of the crack he noticed upon entering.
He patted my head with exaggerated gentleness, his voice wrapped in paternal kindness as he said:
"Human life is complicated… I don't know how they dare harm my little child."
I felt the weight in his words, and sighed, saying:
"They are blind."
Skyrel raised an eyebrow slightly; that calculated twitch he shows when testing a sentence, a feeling, or… a person.
He seemed to be testing me: Am I still here with my full self, or has the room's fracture reached me as well?
I sat waiting, and he continued, with his voice regaining its sarcastic warmth:
"I didn't disappoint you, right? You… were the target. And the culprit is Princess Aila."
He said it with a hiss of annoyance.
I stared at him in surprise, then a note of sarcasm and sharpness crept into my voice:
"I don't even remember meeting her more than once."
Skyrel chuckled laughing as he rose from the bed, waving his hand with feigned disdain:
"Are you a magnet for trouble?"
I laughed despite myself, but this time he looked at me with a different gaze… reassuring this time.
Thank God… he's back to being a child. Not that face I saw when he first entered.
This is what he thought inwardly before signaling me to follow the "gift" he had brought.
--- At the Empress's Palace ----
I entered the office without feeling bothered by Ayant leaving; he always understands the timing of others.
And most importantly… the assassination was not aimed at me.
If I had been the target, the carriage itself would have vanished from existence.
No sooner had I closed the door than Ayak raised his hand, and a silent magical barrier emerged from the air, swallowing all surrounding sounds.
Then he extended his hand toward me, removing the illusion spell layer by layer… until I appeared.
My black hair flowed to the floor like a loose shadow, several times longer than my body. My eyes had become two full white ovals… as if I were staring at a blank wall without any feeling or features.
Ayak said, staring at me with eyes burning with worry:
"How will you heal yourself?"
I replied coldly:
"I need the heart of a pure… and rare… beast."
He didn't ask why. Ayak knows his questions change nothing. He merely disappeared to climb one of the dangerous mountains in search of that heart.
And now… alone.
The old distortion crept back into me. This is not my shape… not this world.
The problem is not the "transformation," but the memory it carries with it.
That body… that mountain… those voices…
I approached the mirror. I saw myself—or what resembled me—suddenly.
"I really look like a monster."
But the truth?
I was disgusted.
As if every cell refused to be part of me.
Fingers with tiny black claws, thick lashes, a prominent white horn on the left side, and black wings slicing the air behind me.
That small symbol on my head… like a miniature scepter, trembling with cold light.
And a black mark under my eyes screaming that the past is not past.
Flashes of thunder… distant screams… sounds shattering in my head.
I did not want to remember that. I did not want to.
At that moment Ayak returned, carrying the heart in his hands.
He froze for a moment when he saw me… not from fear, but genuine astonishment:
This… this is what I was hiding?
I lowered my eyes from him, whispering to myself:
"How I hate this sight."
It wasn't the heart… it was me.
I took it from him, repeating words in the Yuka language… a language no one masters anymore.
A language no one wants to hear.
I swallowed the heart, and the taste surged in my mouth… that old bitterness that never changed. I felt disgust rise from my stomach to my throat before the reverse transformation began.
First the hair disappeared, the black mark faded, the wings folded, and my features slowly returned to Eswar.
I breathed… then opened my eyes.
Ayak was watching me from my office chair, as if witnessing a chapter from a book that should not be read.
"Have you heard of the Yuka tribe of Arakaza?" I asked him.
He frowned slightly, trying to recall:
"I thought all the Arakaza disappeared. We haven't heard of separate tribes… just one name: Arakaza."
I began adjusting my torn clothes:
"The Arakaza… an ancient clan like dragons. And as you have lineages… they had tribes. In my time… there were ten tribes."
Ayak leaned his whole body closer, his eyes gleaming with the curiosity of one seeking truth.
I continued reluctantly, as if walking over memories I didn't want to touch:
"Yuka… Yuga… Kuja… Roma… Sura… Yara… Akara… Aka… Nira… and finally… Kyuja."
I tried to end the conversation:
"Enough. I told you… I don't like too much explanation."
But Ayak was recording.
Recording frantically.
As if he had found a pendant pointing to a door he had sought for years.
He muttered as he wrote:
"The dragons will be pleased… continuation of the Arakaza bloodline…"
I laughed bitterly:
"They were annihilated. What fame are you talking about?"
He lifted his head toward me:
"Yuka specifically… it was said they terrified all races. Just a description of their appearance was enough."
I fell silent. I did not want to return to the mountain… to that night… to that body.
Ayak sat in front of me and immediately sent the information to the heads of the races under the title:
"Arakaza Clan"
As if he had found the first thread… to a myth everyone thought extinct.
__ Back to Ayant and Skyrel __
Arabella's alleys were alive, with colorful shops, the smell of spices, and the bustle of merchants and wanderers of all races and classes. But it was not a scene that delighted Skyrel today; his heart was preoccupied with Ayant, who had disappeared in the crowd.
"Ayant… stop playing, show yourself now!"
Skyrel whispered to himself, his eyes scanning the area quickly, watching every suspicious movement. Panic began to creep across his face; the mere thought that his child might be harmed made his hands tremble slightly.
On the other side, Ayant felt foggy. The sounds of the crowd merged in his head, the faces of passersby seemed overlapping and suspicious. For a moment he thought the one approaching him was Skyrel, so he dared not defend himself. His heart raced, but his mind was scattered, unable to understand what was happening: why he felt threatened, who these people were, and why danger touched everything around him.
Small gifts, smiles, kind words… everything felt very distant, like a faraway dream he could not reach. He no longer knew if he was moving or being pushed by the crowd, no longer knew if he was hiding or being pursued. The fog in his mind made every movement around him suspicious, every shadow a threat, yet he could not see the truth: he was the real target.
As danger drew near, blood sparkled on his shoulder, and the pain of the first stab forced him to feel his human limits.
The intruders' attacks were swift; each strike tested Ayant's strength.
His sword and halo cooperated to defeat them one by one.
His body began to grow heavy, and his old wound ached severely,
yet he did not scream. Pride, or perhaps something else, prevented any sound.
Finally, he paused to catch his breath, leaning on his side, appearing pale, lying on the ground, having lost much blood.
Skyrel's arrival was not merely a physical intervention, but a rescue from Ayant's mental fog and the chaos of his torn emotions.
Skyrel carried Ayant with a heavy heart toward the palace and brought his doctor
to begin immediate treatment.
Skyrel knelt beside the bed, his draconic traits beginning to show: sharp eyes, small horns on his head, dragon skin gleaming a clear golden color. His anger was directed only at those who harmed his child, yet he calmed slightly as he held Ayant's hand and spoke softly:
"I'm fine… don't do anything that might hurt you."
Skyrel leaned close to Ayant's ear, whispering:
"You are right, my little one… but for me, those nuisances don't matter."
He then left quickly for the empire, leaving Ayant's doctor, Sienia, behind to stop Yardemil and Rakael from trying to follow him.
"Don't try to follow him… you won't succeed."
The looks of Rakael and Yardemil were strange, so Sienia decided to ask:
"What do you know about dragons, guys?"
Rakael covered his face:
"Arrogant and selfish, and they don't like each other."
As for Yardemil, rubbing his head:
"I thought they were just mythical creatures…"
Sienia did not comment, but she felt both the threat and respect at the same time, understanding that protecting Ayant sometimes meant facing forces no one could anticipate.