The moon was still trembling from the storm that had torn open the heavens. Beneath its waning light, Catherine soared — her four wings catching the chill air like blades of gold and silver.

Her scales still glimmered faintly with residual mana, though her body trembled from exhaustion. Aiden sat behind her, his arms steady around her waist, feeling the fever of battle still in her breath.

Below them, the land rolled by like the skin of some sleeping giant — forests shrouded in ash, rivers reflecting dying stars, the horizon veiled by the lingering smoke of a war not yet named.

It had been only hours since the abomination vanished — drawn back into the dungeon by whatever force Aiden had summoned through half-truth and sacrifice. Yet in those hours, the world had shifted. Something in the balance between man and monster, between noble and slayers, had cracked — invisible, but deep.

Catherine's wings faltered once, then steadied again.

Aiden could feel it: her mana, flickering like a candle in the wind. She had already burned through most of her power — her body trembling, her veins glowing faintly with divine residue. But she refused to stop.

He could have told her to rest. He could have whispered that they were safe.

But he didn't. Because in truth — safety was just another illusion, and illusions were what Aiden dealt in best.

They descended over the Leonidus fief as dawn began to rise — pale and uncertain. The banners atop the walls hung still. The soldiers below, exhausted, lifted their gazes toward the sky as a streak of golden light descended upon them. Whispers rippled through the courtyard.

"Viscountess Catherine…"

"She returned…"

"With the knight…"

Aiden stepped off first, his boots crunching against the marble steps, the air still heavy with the scent of char and ozone. His armor was cracked, his cloak tattered, but his eyes burned — that strange, unyielding gold, like embers refusing to die.

He turned toward her. Catherine had already reverted to her human form, her wings dissolving into faint motes of light. She steadied herself, one hand pressed against the courtyard wall, breathing deeply. The maids giving covering her naked body.

She had regained barely a quarter of her mana — but her presence, her sheer aura, still made the air around her hum with authority.

"Rest," Aiden murmured softly.

"I will, after I tell Augustus that..," she answered, her tone softer than she intended. Then, after a pause: "you handle the...."

He smiled faintly, his face unreadable. "You should take the credit."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because," he said, turning toward the gathering guards and stewards rushing toward them, "they'll believe it better if it comes from you, and asks questions if it's from me..."

By noon, the story had already begun to spread — as stories do, like wildfire across dry grass.

They said Viscountess Catherine Leonidus had driven the abomination back into the dungeon herself.

They said the heavens trembled at her command, that divine flame had poured from her wings.

They said the slayers were nowhere to be seen — that they had hesitated, while nobility had acted.

And though none of it was entirely true, the tale served everyone in its own way.

The nobles rejoiced. They feasted, toasted, and spoke of unity — their voices laced with subtle triumph. At last, they said, the age of slayers' fame and dominance might be over. Nobility could defend their lands without relying on those cursed guilds.

But the slayers… they seethed.

Beneath their iron discipline, bitterness simmered.

For generations, they had stood between humanity and annihilation — but now, their glory was being stripped, word by word.

The fracture between the two powers widened quietly, like a wound left to rot.

Aiden watched from the balcony of his quarters that night. The city below still glowed from celebration. He could hear the faint echoes of laughter, the clinking of glasses, the meaningless toasts of men who thought victory was theirs.

Catherine was inside, resting — her breathing steady, her golden hair cascading over white silk. He could see her reflection in the windowpane, soft, serene, unknowing.

But Aiden's reflection — his eyes burned differently.

He whispered, almost to himself, "Let them believe."

Because belief was a weapon sharper than any sword.

And tonight, belief was his to forge.

Far across the city, deep within the slayer guild's stronghold, General Samael sat alone in the chamber of glass and iron. His armor hung from a stand beside him, and his long black hair shimmered faintly under the candlelight.

He had not attended the noble celebrations. He didn't need to. The truth of the event — or rather, the shape of truth — was already forming in his mind.

"The nobles claim the victory," murmured one of the guild's younger captains, pacing nearby. "They're spreading the story like wildfire."

Samael did not look up. "Good."

The captain hesitated. "Good, sir?"

Samael smiled faintly — a sharp, knowing smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Let them bask in their illusion. When the next dungeon breaks, and their palaces burn, who do you think they'll call for?"

He leaned back, the candlelight flickering over his scarred face. "A wounded reputation is still a weapon — if wielded wisely."

His thoughts drifted then — not to the nobles, but to one particular boy.

Aiden.

The name lingered in his mind like smoke. The strange golden-eyed youth who had appeared in his plans uninvited — and yet, somehow, seemed to move pieces only fate should touch.

Samael could have stopped him. He could have silenced him when the abomination took him. But he didn't. Because he saw something — something not yet clear, but powerful. The same quiet hunger that he once had in his youth.

For now, he would wait.

Days passed. The abomination had vanished back into the void, the dungeons sealed — temporarily. The empire's attention shifted from fear to intrigue, from death to politics.

Within the Leonidus palace, guests arrived daily — envoys from neighboring fiefs, curious nobles, ambitious suitors. Catherine, radiant yet still weary, received them with grace. Her wings were the talk of the empire now — "the golden dragoness of Leonidus."

But beneath the grandeur, tension coiled like a hidden serpent.

The slayers sent no congratulations.

The emperor sent silence.

And the whispers grew.

In the grand hall, Augustus Leonidus — the Viscount himself — stood beside Aiden one morning, both gazing upon the horizon through tall, glass windows.

"You did well, boy," Augustus said, his tone measured.

Aiden bowed slightly. "It was Lady Catherine who—"

"Yes, yes," Augustus interrupted with a faint wave. "She shone bright enough to blind them all. But I know better. You played your part." He turned, his eyes sharp, calculating. "Tell me, Aiden… what do you intend to do now?"

Aiden's answer came like steel wrapped in silk. "Serve. Serve you, Serve you're Family Name.."

The older man studied him for a long moment. "Haha....Good. Then you'll find service rewarding."

He smiled — thin, cold, and political. "My daughter Flora will be pleased to have a husband of action, not just words."

The words landed like quiet thunder. He had said this before, announcing to everyone.

Marriage. The sealed fate.

Aiden bowed again, hiding the faint curl of a smile. Perfect.

'its happening....'

That night, as rain began to fall again — soft, whispering — Aiden sat alone in the manor library.

Candlelight danced over the maps, the scrolls, the endless tomes of history and prophecy he had devoured since his arrival.

In one corner lay a cracked painting of the first emperor, blade raised beneath a crimson sky. A reminder of the empire's founding myth — the man who bound dragons and men alike under his crown.

Aiden stared at it for a long time. "Every empire," he murmured, "is just another dungeon. Some are made of stone. Others of blood."

He touched the scar on his wrist — faint now, but still burning whenever he thought of the abomination's voice.

You are ready… to give up your puny life…

The words echoed in his memory like prophecy.

He was not afraid of the monster. No. He was afraid of what he might become because of it.

Catherine entered quietly then, wrapped in a robe, her hair damp from the bath. She watched him in silence for a moment. The golden-haired dragoness — strong and yet, when she looked at him, always softer, always human.

"You're thinking again," she said softly.

"I always am."

She approached, setting her hand on his shoulder. "Are you contemplating about the marriage?"

He smiled faintly. "No...but what comes after.."

Her grip tightened. "You can trust me, Aiden. I know you, I know your Ambition..."

He turned, meeting her eyes — those deep, molten blue eyes filled with light. "I know, can you send a letter to Sabrina..."

For a heartbeat, silence reigned between them — heavy, electric, and impossibly intimate. Then Catherine leaned in, brushing her lips against his cheek — a whisper of warmth in the cold, candlelit room.

"Haha....I think I know what you're planning....," she said, her voice trembling in glee.

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