For all the things Keiser had endured these past days, betrayal, waking up as somebody else, mana, curses, pain, and fated death, nothing had ever truly shaken him. He'd learned to look past agony, to numb himself to loss and cruelty. But this… this was different.

For the first time in a long while, his composure cracked.

His thoughts spiraled, a flood he could barely contain. Is this the dragon? The one he is looking for? The one that was supposed to be his, bound to him, to the blade they forged from betrayal and blood?

Is this where Gideon found it… turned it into his sword, the Dragonhilt?

If it was… then his mission had just shifted. His plans, his careful outline, they were all about to be rewritten.

This wasn't a setback. It was revelation.

He'd thrown a single stone and hit every damned bird in the sky.

"Your highness…" Tyron's voice trembled beside him, but Keiser barely heard. His pulse was roaring in his ears.

Without another thought, he moved.

"Wait, don't!" Tyron tried to pull him back by his cloak, but it was too late.

Keiser's hand shot out and closed around the metal bars.

It was immediate. Pain.

A harsh hiss filled the air as the runes flared alive, searing orange light bursting across the cage in a flash. The smell of scorched leather filled the room, his gloves blackening, curling at the edges. The sear spread, biting deep through the bandages beneath, burning down to his runes marred skin.

"Your highness!" Tyron gasped, lunging forward, but Keiser didn't let go.

The pain was white-hot, stabbing through his nerves, but he gritted his teeth and forced his grip tighter.

"I can take it," Keiser growled between clenched teeth, the words guttural, half a snarl. "I have to."

Keiser hissed sharply as the scent hit him, burnt leather, charred cloth, and beneath it, the raw, unmistakable stench of searing flesh. His own. The heat bit through glove, bandage, and skin, a crawling agony that dug straight to the bone.

He'd smelled it before, on the battlefield, in Sheol, in the aftermath of Hinnom. But here, surrounded by cages, that scent carried a far more dangerous consequence.

Because he wasn't the only one who could smell it.

A ripple passed through the undercroft. The quiet breathing and faint rustles that had filled the room moments ago changed, sharpened.

A low, guttural growl rolled through the dark, followed by the metallic clink of a chain dragged taut. Another cage rattled. And another. Then the fluttering of wings, small at first, then violent, thrashing against metal.

The beasts had caught the scent.

Keiser froze, jaw tight. He knew that kind of hunger, feral, desperate. One drop of blood, one trace of burning flesh, and it set them all off.

The noises swelled into chaos.

Snarls.

Hisses.

Screeches that rattled the rafters.

Cages shook on their bolts, metal scraping against stone. The sound of claws dragged across bars filled the air, a chorus of rage and craving.

Tyron flinched at every sound, shoulders trembling. His eyes darted from one shaking cage to the next. "They... they can smell you," he whispered in panic, pressing his back to the nearest crate.

"I know," Keiser gritted out, flexing his scorched hand. "Keep quiet. Don't. Move."

But it was already too late.

From above, the unmistakable clang of boots on the stairwell echoed through the hall. Then voices, angry, startled, overlapping one another.

"What the fuck?!" one of the porters shouted, nearly tripping over the last step as he stumbled into view. "Why are they all awake?!"

The second man cursed under his breath, covering his mouth with a sleeve as he glared into the smoky undercroft. "I told you the sedative fumes were thinning out too soon! We were supposed to add another dose an hour ago!"

The first snorted. "You do it, then! I'm not going near those cages when they're riled up like this!"

A low, echoing thud made them both spin. One of the larger cages at the far end had slammed against its bolts, the metal screeching under the weight of whatever was inside.

Tyron clutched his cloak tight around himself, his breathing shallow. "My Lord, what do we do? They'll find us..."

Keiser's mind raced. He could feel the mana thickening in the air, the beasts' collective hunger like a living thing pressing against his skin. "We stay low. Let them come down, check the cages. Then we move."

Another snarl erupted, closer this time, followed by the unmistakable rip of metal bending. The porters both jumped back, one yelling, "Don't just stand there! Get the chains, get the chains before one of those things breaks loose!"

The porters' shouts and curses echoed again, the sound of clanging chains and slamming cages ringing through the gloom. The beasts wailed and snarled and fought, the air vibrating with hunger.

And through it all, Keiser kept his gaze fixed on the faint glow beneath his hand... to the faint, rhythmic rise and fall of a child's breathing.

Tyron's eyes snapped toward the hanging lamps, the only visible source of light and, likely, the origin of the faint, invisible smoke curling through the undercroft. Even though he couldn't see it clearly, he could feel it, something faint in the air, a thickness that clung to his tongue from the very start, that strange heaviness that burned the throat when you breathed too deeply.

"It's the smoke," he whispered, voice barely above a tremor. "They're using it to keep the beasts docile."

Keiser didn't look up. His thoughts flicked quickly through memory and experience, mercenaries, auctions, the tricks men used to make young beast obey. It made sense. No wonder these beast no matter how young they are, had been half-drowsy despite the cramped cages and the constant sound of scratching and flutterings.

'No beast would tolerate confinement like this… unless it was about to be burnt soon after to ashes.'

Keiser hiss as his blood finally dripped down the metal bars, thin rivulets tracing along the grooves of the existing runes. The instant it touched, a hiss broke through the air, hot and violent, the sound of mana meeting mana.

The smell of iron and burnt air filled the space as his blood seared over the symbols, his own bloodscript twisting and reshaping them, consuming the older enchantments in a crawling red flare.

He knew this trick well, he'd used it on the runed gates of Hinnom Village. It wasn't exactly something he thought he would do again, but it was efficient.

He pressed his burned palm harder against the metal, forcing more blood to flow. His runes spread faster, the light shifting from dull orange to a deeper crimson, like veins pulsing beneath the cage's surface. He focused on the lines he needed to carve mentally, 'unseal', 'silence', 'bind response', and the blood responded, forming sigils over the runes that hissed into the metal.

Then something soft touched his hand.

He froze.

For a second, he thought Tyron had reached for him, maybe to stop him before the wards backfired. But the hand was far smaller. Warmer. Lighter.

Keiser's breath hitched as his eyes drifted down, just enough to catch a glimpse through the narrow gap in the cloth.

Two green eyes stared back at him. Not glowing fiercely, brightly, calm, unblinking, like polished jade catching firelight.

The tiny hand over his was trembling slightly, but there was no fear in the touch. Just curiosity.

"…What the---"

The child tilted her head, watching him with that small, oddly inquisitive look. Even in the dim glow, he could see the subtle shimmer of green scales tracing along the soft curve of her cheek, glinting like glass. They ran upward toward her ear, no, not an ear, not exactly. A small frill of emerald cartilage rose from the side of her head, faintly twitching when he exhaled.

Her hair, was like molten fire. Deep, burning red, spilling in thick, tangled waves down her back, swallowing her small frame. The faint light caught on each strand, making it seem like it was burning softly from within.

Keiser couldn't move. His burned hand remained pressed against the metal, his heart pounding so loud he thought the beasts might hear it.

"Oh…" Tyron's voice broke through the thick air, a strained whisper. "Your highness...?"

Keiser didn't answer. He was staring. Trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

The child, no, the dragon, was standing. Barefoot. Small. Thin. Her knees shook as she leaned forward, rising onto the tips of her toes just to reach his hand through the small gap between the bars.

She barely came up to his chest.

"Careful," he muttered, but too late. Her small fingers pressed down more firmly on his burned hand. The runes under his blood pulsed once, violently, and the air crackled with energy. Sparks leapt between their hands, and for an instant, the glow of both sets of runes, his red and the cage's orange, flared green.

Tyron gasped, stumbling backward. "My lord, s-she's---!"

Keiser didn't let go. He couldn't. The pain was searing, yes, but beneath it, something deeper stirred, a hum that thrummed through his bones, through the very marks etched into his skin. It wasn't rejection. It was resonance.

The little girl blinked slowly, her mouth parting just slightly. A hint of a fang glinted when she breathed.

"You…" Keiser whispered, unable to stop himself. "Do you---"

'---know me? Remember me? Are you the dragon whose promise of freedom I failed to keep?"'

Her voice interrupted him, so soft he almost thought he imagined it.

"Warm…" she murmured, her tone dazed, her small head tilting again. "You… smell like fire. Like me."

Keiser's pulse stuttered.

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