The city did not sleep after the rifts closed.
Fires smoldered in the streets, casting flickering shadows across broken stone and wounded bodies. Healers moved from one cluster of survivors to another, exhaustion etched into their faces. Guards stood watch at shattered gates, gripping spears as if the monsters might return at any moment.
Draco sat on the edge of a collapsed stairway, elbows resting on his knees, staring at nothing in particular.
Lyra knelt nearby, finishing the last of her work for the night. When she finally stood, the silver glow around her hands faded, leaving her looking as tired as everyone else — but calmer, somehow, as if the chaos slid off her rather than sticking.
"You should rest," she said, joining him. "Your system won't like prolonged strain this early."
Draco huffed a quiet laugh. "It hasn't exactly sent me a handbook."
"It won't," she replied. "Systems rarely explain. They expect you to learn by surviving."
He glanced at her. "You sound like you've seen one before."
Lyra hesitated.
"Not many," she said carefully. "But enough."
That answer carried weight — and boundaries. Draco respected both.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, listening to the distant crackle of fire and the murmur of voices drifting through the ruined district.
Then the system stirred.
[SYSTEM PROMPT AVAILABLE][OPEN STATUS WINDOW?]
Draco inhaled slowly. "Okay," he murmured. "Let's see what you think of me."
The world shifted.
A translucent interface unfolded before him, layered and intricate, its design reminiscent of overlapping scales.
NAME: Draco DawnbringerCLASS: WyrmlingLEVEL: 5
CORE TRAITS:• Draconic Vitality• Drake's Resilience
SKILLS:• Draconic Breath (Ember) — 7%• Drake's Strike (Passive) — 3%
ASPECT: Fire (Primary — Dormant Growth Paths Available)
At the bottom, a single line pulsed faintly.
[EVOLUTION THRESHOLD APPROACHING]
Draco exhaled. "It already wants more."
Lyra leaned closer, careful not to touch the interface. "That's normal. Dragon systems are… forward-moving. They don't believe in stagnation."
He glanced sideways at her. "You really do know a lot about this."
She met his gaze steadily. "I've had to."
For a moment, he thought she might say more.
Instead, she smiled faintly and straightened. "Show me how it feels."
Draco blinked. "How what feels?"
"The fire," she said. "Not the damage — the connection."
He hesitated, then nodded.
Closing his eyes, Draco focused inward. The heat answered immediately — a living presence coiled around his heart, patient and alert. He guided it carefully, letting just a fraction rise.
His skin warmed. The air shimmered faintly.
Lyra watched with quiet fascination.
"It's not angry," she observed. "Or wild."
"No," Draco said softly. "It's… certain."
"That's the dangerous part," she replied. "And the beautiful one."
Their eyes met.
Something unspoken passed between them — recognition, perhaps, or trust built faster than reason would allow.
Draco felt grounded again.
Across the square, Erynd watched from the shadow of a broken archway.
He had opened his own system window hours ago — and closed it just as quickly.
Not because he feared what it showed.
Because he didn't want witnesses.
Later that night, they regrouped in what remained of the city's council hall.
Candles flickered along cracked marble walls. The surviving councilors sat in a tight cluster, their faces pale as they looked between Draco and Erynd.
"You stopped the invasion," one said shakily. "For that, Aurelion owes you a debt."
Erynd inclined his head. "Debts are dangerous things."
Draco shot him a look.
The councilor swallowed. "What happens if it happens again?"
Draco answered without hesitation. "We'll help. As long as we can."
Erynd's gaze sharpened.
"And if help isn't enough?" he asked. "If the world keeps tearing itself open?"
Silence followed.
Draco turned toward him. "Then we protect people while we figure out why."
Erynd smiled — polite, controlled. "And how many cities burn while we figure it out?"
The tension in the room spiked.
Lyra stepped in gently. "Fear makes people rush toward answers that feel safe," she said. "Even if they aren't."
Erynd studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "A fair point."
But his eyes said something else.
Safety requires control.
That night, Draco couldn't sleep.
He sat on the steps outside the hall, watching the moon rise over broken rooftops. Lyra joined him quietly, draping a spare cloak over his shoulders without a word.
"Thank you," he said.
"For the cloak," she replied lightly. "Not for the world-saving. That's not a debt anyone should carry alone."
He smiled at that.
They sat close — not touching, but aware of each other in the way people became aware after surviving something together.
"Do you ever wish you were normal?" Draco asked suddenly.
Lyra considered the question. "Sometimes. But normal doesn't get to choose when it matters."
He nodded. "I don't want this power to decide who I become."
"Then don't let it," she said simply. "Power reveals. It doesn't dictate."
The moonlight caught in her hair, silver against dark.
Draco felt the dragon stir — not in hunger, not in pride.
But in approval.
Behind them, unseen, golden sigils faded from Erynd's hand.
He had been listening.
And he had made a decision.
If the world was breaking…
Then someone needed to decide what shape it would take afterward.
And if Draco wouldn't make that choice—
Erynd would.