The sun cast its final rays over the horizon.
Crimson streaks bled across the sky—as if the heavens themselves had been slashed open.
The wind whistled through the ancient walls, carrying the chill breath of an approaching night.
Noa tilted his head back slightly, his gaze locked on the blood-red clouds.
Every crimson glint reminded him of lost pain—of days that had slipped away forever.
Rion halted a few steps behind, suspicion and vigilance mingling in his eyes.
> "The sun is setting," he said in a low, steady tone. "Darkness will fall soon. It's the perfect time to enter the palace."
Noa snapped from his reverie and turned to Rion. He bit his lip, unable to conceal the ache buried deep in his heart.
> "The palace…" he whispered, pain lurking beneath his calm voice. "Yes. That cursed place."
His hands clenched into fists.
> "I wish everything I've heard was a lie, Rion. Maybe this time… someone will actually be waiting for me."
Rion stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder.
> "Sometimes the truth hides in the most painful places," he said quietly. "If you don't face it, it will never release you."
Noa offered a faint, sorrowful smile.
> "In my childhood, I remember the palace like this—white walls, silver pillars, music dancing between the winds…
Now it feels like nothing but darkness."
Rion gazed toward the capital. The sun's dying light gleamed on the empire's towers—like gold dipped in blood.
> "Every empire conceals its own darkness," he murmured. "The difference is: some command it… others are devoured by it."
A moment of silence. The wind ruffled Noa's hair.
> "Then I will command it," he declared firmly. "This time, the past will not consume me."
Rion gave a subtle nod.
They continued in silence. The sun vanished. The palace towers now loomed tall beneath the veil of night—like ancient dragons slumbering in the shadows.
Every step drew them closer to the palace, to the heart of their pain and secrets.
And the wind, like the whisper of the past, murmured behind them:
> "Those who return… never truly change."
---
Night had fallen.
The moon's pale glow hung overhead, a faint mist unveiling the capital's silhouette.
In the distance, the palace glimmered weakly—a lone lantern in the abyss.
Noa drew a deep breath. His legs throbbed with exhaustion.
> "The palace… why does it feel so far?" he muttered. "We've walked four, maybe five hours—yet it's still distant."
Rion straightened his shoulders, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
> "We teleported to the city's outskirts," he said calmly. "This is the old quarter. Dragons born here are weak—considered frail from their very first breath."
Noa fell silent, glancing around.
Empty streets, crumbling walls, shattered towers—this was a place where glory had long perished.
Rion continued:
> "But the central district… it's another world entirely. Pure-blooded dragons reside there—power, pride, wealth—all theirs.
To them, the people here are nothing but refuse."
Noa bit his lip.
> "Yes, I know. But even when I lived in the palace, I never realized how vast the capital truly was…"
Rion gave a brief nod.
> "Everyone sees the world through their own window, Noa. You used to look from the palace's glass."
Silence returned. Their footsteps echoed softly on the damp path.
Then Rion abruptly stopped. Noa frowned—Rion's shoulders began to tremble.
A faint hum filled the air.
From between his shoulder blades, two crimson wings slowly unfurled.
As they spread wide into the sky, sparks of light shimmered in the darkness.
Noa stepped back in astonishment.
> "Rion… those wings…"
Rion smiled faintly, though his eyes remained grave.
> "We're wasting too much time on foot. Flying at night is safer—no one can recognize us now."
Noa chuckled softly.
> "You could've mentioned that earlier."
Rion laughed under his breath.
> "During the day, the skies are crowded with dragons. They know every shadow.
Now, night is our only disguise."
He extended his hand.
> "Hold on tight."
Noa hesitated for a heartbeat, then grasped it. The palm was warm—a reassuring heat that pierced the cold.
> "Alright…" he whispered.
Rion spread his wings wide.
The air roared, lifting them from the ground.
Their feet brushed the earth one last time—then they soared skyward.
Below, the old quarter vanished into darkness. Ahead—the golden towers, blue-lit palaces, faint silhouettes of flying dragons—all drew nearer.
Night embraced them, yet the palace's glow stabbed straight through Noa's heart.
---
Rion angled his wings, gliding lower. The wind whipped their faces, tossing their hair backward like waves.
Below—city lights flickered; above—an endless, silent sky.
Now the palace stood clear: towering spires, golden roofs, protective runes spiraling along its walls.
Vigilant dragons hovered nearby; layers of shimmering shields laced the air.
Approaching this place uninvited was nearly impossible.
Rion locked his gaze on the palace, adjusting his flight.
> "The aerial defenses are formidable," he said gravely. "Crossing from above is suicide. But…"
He dipped downward, wings slicing the air.
> "…if we descend at a sixty-degree angle, weave like a serpent, then glide one hundred meters below at fifty degrees—they won't detect us.
It's a route built by the Emperor's own spies. I call it the Rift Path."
He smirked.
> "They erected defenses to protect the palace—yet forged a crack that could destroy it.
That's the greatest irony."
Noa remained silent, tracking his every move.
> "Rion," he said softly, voice heavy. "You're brilliant. We're nearly the same age, yet between us… there's such a gulf."
Rion smiled faintly without breaking focus.
> "High-born dragons are born with advantages, Noa. It's not surprising."
Noa looked down.
Beneath them, the city lights glittered like tiny stars.
He saw his reflection in those lights—always trailing, always fading.
> "Yes," he murmured. "Not surprising. But what astonishes me… is that I never had any potential at all."
The words hung in the air, heavy as stone. The wind could not sweep them away.
Rion glanced at him—long, silent, pensive.
A brief ache flickered in his eyes… then resolve.
He turned forward once more.
His wings carved through the night as they descended along the Rift Path, faster and lower—
blending into the city's shadow, invisible to the watchers above.
Noa clutched Rion's waist tightly as the wind intensified.
Each wingbeat carried them between freedom and peril—
each second, one step closer to fate.
The palace was now within reach.
But neither knew what awaited: destiny, blood… and betrayal.
---
### The Palace Tower
The wind howled relentlessly atop the tower.
Behind black curtains, a dim, flickering light danced.
By the window stood a dragon in the form of a man clad in a long, dark robe.
Half his face lay hidden in shadow.
His fingers traced the glass as his eyes tracked two faint silhouettes flying toward the palace.
His lips curled into a slow, chilling smile.
> "At last… you've returned, little brother."
His voice dripped with cold delight—laced with mockery and hatred sharp as blades.
In the window's reflection, two armored figures appeared behind him—
black steel and long coats, the imperial dragon insignia gleaming on their shoulders.
They moved without a sound, faces blank, presence suffocating.
> "You saw them, didn't you?" the dark figure asked softly, each word heavy as iron.
The first guard bowed.
> "Yes, my lord. Two of them. One is flying."
Silence stretched—then the man turned slowly, a faint smile on his lips.
> "So your eyes are sharp."
The guard smiled nervously.
> "Thank you, my lord—"
He never finished.
A sharp, slicing sound—*shhk!*
His eyes widened in shock.
Silence. Then his head fell.
Blood sprayed across the wall; his body lurched forward before collapsing lifelessly.
The severed head rolled to a stop on the marble floor.
The second guard froze, terror choking him.
> "H-how… when… he was standing right beside me—"
He couldn't even raise his hands.
> "M-my lord… please, I—"
The dark man stepped forward. His boots echoed—cold, deliberate.
He spoke softly:
> "Since when did you think your eyes were sharp enough to track my brother without permission…?"
He still held the severed head—gripping it by the hair, blood dripping onto the floor.
His icy eyes pierced the trembling guard.
> "I was never merely the Emperor's shadow… I was his fear."
He hurled the head at the wall—*thud!*—the sound shattering the silence like thunder.
The guard dropped to his knees, eyes squeezed shut.
> "F-forgive me…"
The man turned back to the window, gazing down at the city below.
The empire's sky had already lost the sun's final light.
He whispered—words like frost on steel:
> "Hide while you can, little brother.
But remember—in this city, this empire, even this sky… there is no place for you.
If you're caught, I'll take you myself."
He stared into the dark horizon—where the sun's last ember had died.
Now only night remained.
Night… and the scent of blood.
---
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