Trapped in Another World With No Magic

Neith, in his new disguise as an Imperial Knight by the name of Sir Larven, though not hiding his nature as a dragon whatsoever, finds that guarding Sundenelle is one thing compared to anything to do with Daniel.
It’s boring.
He doesn’t mind boring, of course. Boring means peace. Boring means that his charge is safe. Boring means that Neith will be able to meet his niece or nephew very soon, and in time, his very own child with Roestren. He regrets that recent events have him so busy, but Neith has been diligent about delivering letters to Roestren’s home, and when she’s not working, she writes letters in return to her dragon fiance.
As for Larven right now, he is watching Sundenelle as she catches up on an abundance of paperwork. A great many things require the direct review and signature of the sovereign, though her cousin, who was raised as her brother, is seated nearby at his own desk, reviewing his own documents. Sundenelle’s decree pardoning him provisionally isn’t official yet, but he has agreed to behave himself under strict guard at all times.
According to Sundenelle and Walliskah, though he’s the smarter of the two former-princes who were the first two in line for the throne until the shake up started by the Emperor’s deathbed confession, Themihk is honest to a point. He understands that the only true way to protect his family, who are political prisoners only by Sundenelle’s mercy, is to cooperate with her.
He’s also smart enough to know the implications her union with the Fievegal means as well.
The Fievegal is a known-unknown; they are beyond typical expectations, and constantly surpass estimates for military strength and methods. It’s rumored that the sovereign Empress, a child named Hekate, can appear and disappear at will.
Naturally, Larven knows very well that Hekate can literally appear and disappear from a location at will, utilizing her stupefying amount of mana in an even more ridiculously inefficient manner to teleport, a skill she developed the moment the Citadel was conquered to make sure she could always return to Daniel’s side with the utmost haste. Or, at least, that’s
outlook on her decision-making process.
Sundenelle stretches and yawns, and Themihk looks up from his own reading. “If you need a break, your Majesty, I don’t mind leaving the room.”
“No, no, I can go a little longer,” replies the albino empress. She’s not even bothering to hide her appearance anymore, seemingly inspired by Daniel so bluntly calling it what it is; a mere bloodline trait unique to her, sparked by chance, and beautiful in the most straightforward way, let alone, as Daniel put it, she is healthy and virtually unaffected by her pale white skin, silken hair like strands of glass, and red eyes. She adds, “There was a… hiccup while I was at the Citadel, and I suppose I’m still a bit sore from it.”
“A ‘hiccup’?” asks Themihk, both confused and worried. Larven knows that it’s an Earth term, and she’s referring to the berserker, where Sundenelle herself put her own life on the line to fight off a mutated monster capable of withstanding anti-magic bullets and possessing impressive regeneration.
“A minor skirmish broke out, but one that was handled swiftly. I happened to be in a position to utilize my meager magic to help. That is all.”
“Sundenelle!” snaps Themihk as he slams his desk to bolt up to his feet. The two knights assigned to watch him at all times place their hands on their swords, but they don’t overreact too significantly. Themihk is technically a risk to Sundenelle, especially because there may be a modest or even large faction of people who still support him and his brother as heirs to the throne.
The young Empress waves her hand dismissively, “It’s handled. I’m in excellent health. If anything, we should be more upset that the rumors about Daniel are absolutely untrue.”
Larven can’t help but scoff quietly. He also can sympathize a little with Themihk’s look of horror at his cousin having said it.
Unfortunately, the rumors started from Daniel’s rescue of Erimaya have evolved into lecherous and heinous deeds towards any woman. And, him having a harem of women doesn’t help matters, though it’s perfectly natural for a Dragon Lord.
Daniel being a human is what complicates that matter.
Either way, Daniel diminishes the strength of those rumors through tactical force. But, for anyone outside of the Fievegal or its allies, these rumors still carry a great deal of concerning weight for those who hear them.
Sundenelle clarifies, “My virtue is intact, so I can’t use that against him, and I’m obviously not pregnant as a result, Themihk. Even my knight, Sir Larven, is so much of a gentleman, he doesn’t even glance over his shoulder when I’m in the bath.”
A playful thought comes over the dragon serving as the Empress’s knight.
“Your Imperial Majesty, I have only kidnapped one princess in my life, and that was because she was wearing a dress made of scaled gold and platinum. It was an honest mistake.”
This time, everyone in the room stares at Larven, shocked by his ‘confession’. He did in fact kidnap a princess in his past, and she was wearing a dress layered with gold and platinum tiny plates. He kidnapped her because he stumbled across her during his pursuit of magic to make him strong enough to overtake Morthybargaron, and she was about to end her own life rather than marry a foreign noble much older than she was by at least a generation, and with a reputation that had a lot more evidence than anything surrounding Daniel for being a cruel and lecherous husband who goes through wives, instead of doing what he can to navigate coexistence.
Princess Meliarte did leave an impression on Neith, and because she caught his attention that fateful day, he decided to help her. He wasn’t fascinated by her appearance or the wealth her dress was made out of. He saw a sort of kindred spirit in helplessness trying to actuate one last shred of control over her own life. But, by facilitating her farce, Neith ‘destroyed her honor’ in a manner similar to the accusations levied against Daniel regarding Erimaya. Of course, Neith had Meliarte ‘captive’ for more than a year, fending off squadrons of brave knights effortlessly as the princess lounged in a captured derelict tower reading Neith’s collection of magic spellbooks.
thinks the dragon to himself.
“Sir Larven?” asks a male voice from near the door. He looks, and Duke Walliskah bows as he steps inside. “Your Imperial Majesty, your Imperial Highness, may I speak to Sir Larven in private for a moment?”
Sundenelle snaps out of her shock at Neith’s joke, since she realizes far too late that it was, even if technically true.
“Duke Walliskah? Certainly. Sir Ecklevon can look after me, yes?”
“Of course, my Lady,” replies the gatonine knight. “So long as a dragon doesn’t try to kidnap you.” He shoots a smirk at Larven, who dips his head respectfully.
The dragon then turns to Walliskah, saying, “After you, your Grace.”
The elderly duke leads the way out and up the hall to his own separate official space, which is a small operations center. He dismisses the ministers and analysts he has reviewing documents, and once the room is cleared, he activates a small device that negates eavesdropping by anyone outside of the room. As far as Larven knows, they were invented or improved by Wenlianna, and while not perfect, they are highly effective against all eastern races. Of course, the dragon would guess that they would be ineffective at preventing someone like Senn from being able to spy if she wished, but for most other cases, it’s as secure as they’re going to get.
“Now then, before I ask my real question, I’d like to address what I heard upon walking in, Sir Larven. Or, should I simply call you Lord Neith for this conversation?”
The dragon chuckles. He wasn’t too concerned about Walliskah recognizing him, since he did very little to hide who he is. “As you know, Duke Walliskah…; may I call you Walliskah for now?”
The gentleman nods, and Neith continues, “I am whatever I wish to be in the Fievegal, since I am brother to the fourth Empress Geirahoel, and bonded brother to our Emperor. I’d appreciate it if you simply call me Larven for now, just to preserve the habit.”
“Very well. But, I am certainly curious about why a dragon as powerful as you would be subservient to a human, and more importantly, choose to be a knight instead of an ambassador.”
“Because, a knight is
to have conditions under which they will kill everyone in a room, save the one they’re protecting. I represent the Empress’s unyielding shield on behalf of the Fievegal, which means my ability to keep her safe above all else is the priority over how my actions reflect on the Fievegal. If I were an ambassador, I would be the face of the Fievegal. And, I would have to show my face.” The dragon removes his helmet, proving that he is indeed the same man Walliskah met at the Peace Conference. “I know I didn’t do much to hide
dragon I am, but I am impressed you guessed who I was, and thankful you kept it to yourself.”
“I have learned to trust in her Imperial Majesty with these sorts of things. She grew up keeping her plans to herself, or amongst herself, her mother, and the late Emperor at most, typically. She had to. A
Imperial palace is… It’s not very friendly to the weak.”
“That, I understand all too well.” Netih smiles and puts his helmet back on. He then tells his story about Princess Meliarte and her ‘harrowing’ kidnapping.
***
Princess Meliarte of the Empire of Lorih’nimbael walks quietly in her nightgown across the palace gardens. It’s not the first time she slipped out of the gilded cage that is the royal homestead, but it will be the last.
She brushes a gentle hand across the violet petals of a rare laugur flower, imported to the Imperial castle generations ago, possibly before the Empire even stood on this very soil.
“Such beauty,” whispers the young woman. “I’m sorry this will be the last time I visit you.” She smiles as she walks through the garden, making her way to the decorative lake, which is further decorated with small islands of laugurs. She walks without a care in the world, truly beholding the breathtaking beauty of the garden.
Meliarte hums a gentle song as she walks, reaching her destination where a large clay flowerpot is decorating a long dock out towards the middle of the lake. She pets the blue laugur gently, inhaling its precious scent. The night is perfect, with all three of the great Moon goddesses smiling down on her. The smell of flowers of all kinds fills the night air. A gentle breeze kisses her cheek so softly, she wonders if the faeries might be around her for once.
Meliarte says gently as she looks at the beautiful reflection of the goddesses in the water, “I used to wish every day to feel the presence of faeries. I appreciate this gift.” She looks up with tears trickling from her eyes, gazing upon the moons in the sky. They are the most beautiful things in the world, and not even the water can capture their true majesty.
“Thank you for this beautiful sight, my beloved goddesses.”
With that Meliarte reaches down inside of the flower pot, retrieving the rope that is anchored inside. She has to dig into the dirt of the flower pot, and it’s a shame that the blue laugur she carefully planted inside will die. But, it won’t be going alone.
Meliarte pulls the rope taut, wrapping it around her waist and tying it off. She wants her last sight to be peaceful, looking up at the moons from the beautiful lake water; to see what the water sees.
Just as she’s cinching down her knot, a chill runs up her spine.
She looks across the water to the far side, the side that not even the walkways approach.
There, two glowing orbs of silver moonlight hover in the darkness, glimmering in the moonlight as pitch black crosses narrow slightly, as if dialing in to cut through her with dark magic.
It’s only as the orbs start to rise through the darkness from near the water’s edge, ascending above the treeline amidst a dark form glimpsed only in flickers of the moonlight, that she realizes she is looking upon the eyes of a titanic creature.
“D-Dragons aren’t allowed here,” murmurs the Princess. “You’ll be killed.”
There’s a moment of quiet as the shifting clouds reveals enough light to illuminate the titanic dragon’s form. It is the largest dragon she has ever seen, and something about his horns glimmers in the divine glow of the goddesses.
“They might try,” replies the dragon with a softness to his voice that seems to dance across the water’s surface, rather than booming at her. “Might I ask what you’re doing?”
Meliarte stares at the dragon in disbelief. The dragonslayers of this land are among the most formidable warriors in the world due to the titans they specialize in killing. For one to speak so carelessly, especially with the enslavement crests the ones of the palace bear…
However, Meliarte suddenly remembers what she was doing, looking down at her hands and the rope. She feels a bit embarrassed for some reason, but the dragons are required to give their lives to protect the Imperial Family. Now that she’s spotted, even if this dragon will be punished to death, he’ll be compelled to save Meliarte from drowning.
“J-Just walk away, dragon. I order you as the Imperial Princess…”
“You’ll find I’m not one of your pets, your Highness,” replies the dark grey dragon, who emerges out from under the trees on the dark side of the lake, laying down like a lion on the edge of the lake with his foreclaws dipped in the water casually, watching the young woman. “If you wish for me to watch you die, I don’t mind. But, I will need to know the reason. I care little for the affairs of humans, but I can’t help but see the eyes of one who is lost and sympathize.”
“L-Lost?” asks Meliarte in disbelief.
The dragon nods once. “I was there. When I lost
You’ll find peace at the bottom of this lake, of that I have no doubt. But, that will be it. Your life will be over, and your body will vanish from this world.”
“What would you have me do!?” exclaims the Princess passionately as she clutches the chest of her nightgown. “The same will be true after I’m murdered by my husband-to-be! Do you have
idea how many wives he’s had already!?”
“I told you, I care little for the affairs of your people. I am merely an individual speaking to a fellow individual. I know nothing of your Empire, save this is the utterly safest place I could possibly rest after sneaking into your library to read your books. Only the Imperial family and a handful of guards are allowed out here, meaning there is very little foot traffic.”
Meliarte leans on the heavy flower pot as her knees nearly give out from despair. “It’s not like I
to die. I just… I made peace with it. I wanted to go out on my terms, s-surrounded by beauty.”
“Why not get revenge?” asks the dragon.
She snaps her gaze up to look at him. “Wh-What?”
“Revenge. There are many ways to do it. It is what drives me even now. I have vowed a pact of revenge against one of my own, someone I once considered a brother. Now, I wish to find the strength to ensure that I can slaughter him and every single one of his allies to save my sister and the other dragons of my homeland.”
Meliarte looks at him with horror, and he adds with one of his gigantic hands raised disarmingly, “My revenge is stemmed from betrayal. If you’ve never known betrayal, it is beyond much of anything short of treason.”
“I… I think… I know betrayal…” murmurs Meliarte as she sinks to a kneel next to the flower pot. “I… I’m being… I’m being told to marry a man from another country… To… ‘establish ties’ between us. But, it’s for money… And, both of my parents… they both… support it.”
“To my knowledge, such is very common in human and human-kin nations,” replies the grey reptilian. He’s not being mocking nor condescending. He’s simply having a conversation while Meliarte hangs by a near literal thread of her willpower to do what she must do in order to preserve her fate.
“I… I know it’s my duty. I know my responsibility is to help further ties and preserve the bloodline of the Imperial Family. I would uphold my duty with grace and dignity… if there was grace and dignity to be had… I don’t even know if I’ll be lucky enough to
children on my current path, let alone live long enough to see them grow up.” She wipes her face as the tears stream down her cheeks. “I would be a good Princess. A
princess. I would be meek, graceful, supportive, courageous… Whatever I need to be to be the perfect wife and representative of this Empire. I just… I want… the chance to see it through… All the way through…”
“You’ll find that impossible at the bottom of the lake,” retorts the dragon bluntly. Meliarte slumps on the flower pot, weeping.
She finally screams, “What am I supposed to do then, huh!? Look at your kind! Slaves to us! You can do nothing! Just like me! A tool, and nothing more! I just want to live! Is that so wrong of me!? I just… I want… to live…”
As she sobs, the entire world seems to change around her. The darkness yields instantly to light as the walkway magic lanterns are illuminated all at once, immediately giving her away in the darkness.
Voices call out as the entire Imperial Palace becomes a glowing beacon in the night, “Your Highness! Your Highness, where are you!?”
Meliarte flinches and looks back the way she came. Dozens of people are flooding into the garden already, from knights to eunuchs, and even a dragon is visible in the air.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“N-No! I…” She looks across the water. The contrast has made it hard to see the far side once more, and the dragon has vanished into that darkness. “Y-You’ve condemned me, dragon! I won’t forget this! I won’t!”
” whispers his voice, as if right next to her. “
“You devil! Who will protect me from my fate!? You!? Who will save me if I want to live!? If I offer you riches, will you help me!?”
His last words ride the slight breeze just like the fairy kisses Meliarte so wished she was feeling in that moment. She can hear their cries, especially as they shift to, “She’s over here! The islands! To the islands!”
It’s too late. Her chance to break the threads of fate she is bound to has just been lost.
***
The next day, Princess Meliarte stands in the audience chamber in her betrothal dress. It is layered with small plates of gold and platinum, like dragon scale, and it glimmers in the sunlight shining in through the stained glass window of the hall. Her mind does ponder the irony now that she met a dragon like the one last night, since the dragons are
from revered in their culture. If anything, the Emperor’s clothes are made of dragon skin because of the resistance to basic attacks, and as a status symbol of the conquerors of the known world.
Meliarte’s flower pot was inevitably destroyed and removed from the dock, and she was reprimanded endlessly by her father, the Emperor, for her reckless stunt.
It seems no one, not even the slave dragon flying overhead, saw the one she spoke to. And, as she stands in her gown, awaiting her fiance, she realizes something.
She has always known the dragons have words, just like her fellow humans and the demi-human slaves, what few there are. But, she has never asked any of them for their names. She has no idea if the dragons live their whole lives nameless, or what the name of the one who stopped her from ending it all was.
Surely they have names, but she was so self-absorbed in her own problems, she never gave it a second thought.
“Announcing, his highness, Morthybargaron de Shiaulvolgarro,” calls out the Herald at the door.
This name surprises Meliarte, snapping her out of her thoughts, and she glances at the Emperor and Empress, who are both seated in their thrones. They, too, are confused by this name.
“What are you talking about?” asks the Emperor.
But, as the Princess looks to the Herald to see how he answers, he, too, seems confused, like he can’t believe he just said the words that came out of his mouth.
A man with grey hair, silver demi-human horns, and a scaly iron-colored tail walks into the room.
He approaches the deis where the Emperor and Empress are seated, and upon one of the steps of which the Princess is standing in wait for her betrothed.
“Who are you!? You do not have permission to be here!” snaps the Emperor.
“You’ll find that I go where I please,” replies the man. His accent is foreign, but not in the way Meliarte’s fiance speaks. She has met him and his retinue several times, so this demi-human doesn’t hail from that region. In fact, he doesn’t sound like anyone at
from the continent.
Regardless, his answer enrages the Emperor, who rises to his feet. “How dare you!? Guards, kill this beast!”
The soldiers immediately close in on the newcomer, but the reptilian demi-human shows no fear. His face is tranquil, and his posture is completely calm.
“I’m not here to slaughter you, your Majesty,” replies the strange man, ignoring the knights pointing spears at him and the others with their swords or axes at the ready. Even a dragon would fall in seconds amongst these men, since no fewer than seven of them are trained dragonslayers recruited by the Emperor. Regardless, the fearless demi-human continues, “I came because my sleep was disturbed.”
“What!?” asks the Emperor sharply, being ushered back by his personal guards, while Meliarte is left defenseless on the stairs of the deis. Even so, she can’t take her eyes off of the man. It’s when her eyes find his that she really can’t move.
They are a silvery-grey with dark, black crosses for pupils.
Just like a dragon.
Meliarte is speechless, and the one known as “Morthybargaron de Shiaulvolgarro” replies casually, “My peaceful slumber was disturbed by a member of this Empire. Normally, I might raze the entire Empire to the ground, but that is exhausting. So, instead, I shall take something of value from you.” He has since reached the foot of the deis, and the knights have him trapped. Or, so they think. He hasn’t even looked at them.
“Guards, spill his blood,” orders the Emperor.
“I wouldn’t,” warns the stranger.
In spite of this warning, several knights call out “Hah!” as they lunge forward, spearing their weapons at the man.
Most of the blades deflect off of the man’s skin, at most, damaging his clothing, which seems like little more than bath robes compared to the clothing she is wearing. Other blades snap from the sheer force the dragonslayers put behind their thrusts. Every one of the warriors moved perfectly, exactly as trained, to instantly kill any enemy that approaches the Emperor. There is no ‘overkill’ in the Emperor’s eyes. Failure would be punishable by death, so there are no half-measures once the order to kill is given.
As one of the spear heads slashes past Meliarte by a frighteningly-close margin, sailing through the air and somewhere behind her as gasps fill the hall, one thing becomes crystal clear.
Not a single one of the warriors –knights or dragonslayers– managed to even wound the being.
These words echo in Meliarte’s head, and she is more and more certain that the man before her is the dragon she met last knight. Somehow, he has taken a mostly-human form, but didn’t bother to hide his horns or tail as most demi-humans do with their non-human features.
But, even a dragon should have been run through with ease by some of those attacks. None should have been more effective than those that actually broke their weapons in the attempt.
But, the dragon simply smiles.
“Very well. So be it.” He spins, and his tail sweeps like a club as wind magic erupts around him. The warriors and knights are launched backwards with devastating force, some of them crashing through the walls or even the entrance doors several leagues away from the deis where they are.
Everyone is stunned into silence, and the dragon simply brushes himself off as he returns to his normal standing posture. He then says, “Now, then. As I said, I’ll be taking something of value as compensation for my inconvenience.” He points at Meliarte, saying, “That will do.”
Before anyone can protest, magic swirls around the stranger, and in mere seconds, he grows in size to reveal his true, titanic form as a dragon. He is larger than any of the slaves, nearly filling the audience chamber. The knights who weren’t blasted away by the monster’s attacks go through one of three states; fainting on the spot, dropping their weapons, or dropping to their knees. Some go through multiples of these states, and even the Emperor is speechless.
For a time.
“Slave! I-I order you to stand down this instant! Surrender or bite your own tongue, beast!”
“I’m afraid, your Majesty, that you misunderstand. I am not one of your pets, nor a subject of your Empire. If anything, I am a drifter, and had I been left alone, I would have drifted right along. Instead, I was cruelly awakened from my much-needed rest.”
Meliarte looks up at the dragon with a mix of horror, awe, and shock. She is helpless when he reaches down and scoops her up with his massive claw, which is large enough to hold her entire body in just one hand. He says in the same, strangely-calm tone, “Hmm… A human has wrapped itself in this treasure, has it? No matter.” He looks at the Emperor, as if pretending not to know the Princess, “You may have whatever’s left when I’m done, your Majesty. Though, I advise you not to expect much. Humans are such valueless things in the grand scheme of things.”
As Meliarte remains too stunned to speak or act, simply bracing herself against the dragon’s grip, one of the dragonslayer mages, possibly the strongest of the dragonslayers, casts a spell. “Cailesh’gallom’freideirach!” This spell has proven effective at killing even the strongest dragons in an instant, and Meliarte feels a moment of disappointment when she hears the spell finish and its mana swirl across the dragon.
That is until he simply cocks his head. “I’m not familiar with that spell. It
like it tried to stop my heart, but I’m afraid your spell was far too weak. Allow me.”
Without warning, the dragon speaks in a much deeper voice that booms through the air, driving everyone to their knees while covering their ears, including all of the dragon slayers. Even so, his words easily reach them, “Cailesh’gallom’freideirach.” Rather than shouting it, the dragon casts it with a level tone, but one that booms with all of the presence his size would normally suggest. Once it ends, the Emperor taunts, “That is a dragonslaying spell, you beast! It has no effect on…”
The emperor trails off in horror. A body has just hit the floor. It is none other than the lifeless corpse of the dragonslaying court mage responsible for protecting the emperor.
And, the very one who just attempted that same spell on the dragon.
Morthybargaron, if that is his real name, chuckles deeply. “Is it? I didn’t think that man was a dragon. Though, perhaps merely using enough mana is enough to make a heart explode, regardless of race.”
The giant creature aims his free palm at the Emperor, and the entire throne room falls silent. A couple of the axe wielding dragonslayers were charging into position to attack again, but have halted all movement, and the room is so silent, the dragon’s slow and steady heartbeat, calmer than a small brook in the hillsides, can be heard with the clarity of a quiet winter’s morning. Every stretch and movement of the dragon’s scales seems to echo throughout the room, especially when he gives a massive, toothy grin that pulls his scaly lips back to reveal teeth nearly as long as Meliarte’s entire forearm.
She glances around at everyone, who have become too terrified to move.
“Very wise, humans. Now then, I shall be off. Oh, you’re a new face.” The dragon turns, and Meliarte can see her fiance, the aging man old enough to cross the line from her father’s age to her grandfather’s generation. He is still in excellent health in spite of that, and though he’s grown in non-muscular ways in his increasing years, he was once a dragonslayer himself.
“I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time,” remarks Morthybargaron facetiously. “I’m certain I’ve soured the mood, but my own was soured just this very morning, you see.”
With shaking hands, Lord Bahla’theulsk manages to draw his legendary sword, which translates to ‘Scaleripper’ in Meliarte’s language. It’s said to have spells and reinforcements that prevent it from being knocked from the wielder’s hand, even with the heaviest blows, can stop dragons in their tracks, and can carve through their scales with direct slashes, let alone their flesh beneath.
“Dragon, by the order of the legendary Dragon’s Bane, Lor-Lord Bahla’theulsk, activate your death spell or be slain by my hand.”
“Very brave words, but I’m afraid ancient pacts and blood oaths won’t help you here. My bloodline is clean and pure.”
“Then die!” yells Bahla. He uses the spell he was preparing to launch himself forward with explosive force, impressively closing the distance without seeming to have lost a single step from his youthful days at his peak. The air cracks, and if she wasn’t coming directly towards Meliarte, it would appear that he simply vanished in a flicker of movement.
The Princess can feel it in her whole body. The impact was directed at the dragon’s arm, just below the wrist. She braces for the fall, as he flips up into the air, preparing his killing blow on the dragon.
But, something strange has taken hold of the room.
A strange silence after the echoing metal sound, like a hammer hitting a bell. Bahla is looking down with horror, his sword held above his head and charged with magic, but something is amiss.
Meliarte realizes she hasn’t fallen. Gravity hasn’t even shifted. She is still locked firmly in the dragon’s grasp, and the dragon smirks. He reaches up with this free hand, which Bahla tries to slash away, only for the nails of the dragon, each nearly as long and thicker than the blade itself, to catch the sword and lock it into place.
The Empress, who had risen to watch, faints and falls to the floor of the deis, narrowly avoiding falling down from its height. No one even looks at her other than Meliarte, but she, too, quickly returns her gaze to the impossible feat.
Bahla grunts and yelps, his voice cracking in ways that likely hasn’t happened in decades. Regardless, the dragon’s pincer grip on the sword doesn’t yield. He even moves it closer to his face, which makes it easier for Meliarte to see and hear. Bahla dangles from the sword, unwilling to let go of the weapon, since the drop could kill a normal person of his age, and may yet wound him gravely even with his dragonslaying strength.
“I-Impossible!” chokes out Bahla. “N-N-No dragon can touch this blade without suffering!”
“Is that so? I’ve only encountered one such blade in all my life, and no one alive can wield it. Merely forcing a draw hits like a thunderbolt. But, as I said, your ancient blood oaths will have no effect on me. This blood sacrifice magic is strong, truly. But…” Morthybargaron swings his arm in an arc with terrifying speed, and Bahla screams as he sails through the air, slowed only a bit by one of the titanic Imperial banners before slamming into a wall under the arcades. The dragon shows the sword still pinched between his nail-tips, remarking, “You see…?”
Blood drips from the hilt of the sword, where flesh still remains. “Even I can not easily remove the wielder’s grip on this sword. But, as you can see, that spell is only surface deep. And, it would be troublesome for far too little gain to re-spell this blade to have the same effect for me.”
Bahla begins screaming in agony from where he is, his palms destroyed. And, for his part, the dragon simply casts the sword to the ground and turns his back on the Imperial court, including the stunned Emperor, who can’t even speak yet.
“Hmm. I hope you will surrender the treasure more easily, human girl,” taunts the dragon as he carries her for the large doors meant for the dragons. A single dragon stands in the way, a sacrificial guard and emergency escape for the Emperor, since dragons can fly.
“L-Lord dragon…” whispers Meliarte.
“Hmm? This whelp? Pay him no mind.”
“Y-Y-You must s-s-surrender the p-princess…” stammers the dragon, shrinking and trembling in fear, but not allowed to move away from the door without orders.
“I’m sorry, child. I cannot break the spells on your bloodline. Not with my current abilities. The only freedom I can grant you right now is death. Stand aside. I’ll not warn you again.”
“Th-The Princess…” stammers the dragon. Meliarte probably can order him aside, but when it comes to her ‘safety’, he is forced to intervene either way.
Morthybargaron’s large claw snaps outwards and grips the dragon by the throat, and the titan screeches and claws helplessly.
“D-Don’t kill him, Lord Dragon! I-I surrender myself to you!”
The grey titan sighs, and thunder booms and crackles from his grip, causing the smaller slave dragon to roar before going limp. Morthybargaron casts him aside, and the Emperor finally yells, “D-Don’t let that thing escape! After them! Summon all of the beasts!”
But, with no one in the room who can take him, Morthybargaron simply walks out through the dragon exit.
The Imperial forces don’t give up pursuit, however. Even in the sky, the dragons are powerful allies, and their riders are dragonslayers themselves.
“Lord Dragon!” calls out Meliarte, seeing the other dragons following behind him. She doesn’t feel as much wind as she imagined, and in fact, the riders behind them are being jostled and staying low on their mounts to avoid the wind, which flaps their hair and mantles violently.
The Princess yelps as gravity suddenly shifts once more. Without warning, she is kneeling on soft, off-white greyish scales that are much wider than the armored ones of a dragon’s body. She looks up, and Morthybargaron is sailing ‘backwards’, with his belly towards the sky as he grins at the enemy dragons.
“Your Highness, apologies for the rough exit, but I decided I couldn’t ignore your plight after all.”
“Wh-What are you talking about!? What are we supposed to do about them! They’ll kill you when they catch us!”
The large grey reptile gives a soft, almost disappointed smile with a slight sigh. “I assure you, I used not parlor tricks just now. I don’t know how your dragons came to be like this, but they are all twisted up; barely slivers of their true bloodlines remain. The strange thing is, they aren’t even diluted as halflings. It seems… the magic has simply left them.”
“Wh-What does that mean?”
“It means this.” The dragon flaps his wings a little faster, and they noticeably gain distance on the pursuers, who are already flapping their wings as hard as they can just to keep up.
“Now, let’s have a little fun, shall we?” Without warning, Morthybargaron turns back over, using his claw to hold her safely again. Still, he comes to a halt in mid air, losing every inch of gap he gained and more. Just as quickly, he accelerates violently, though, and like Bahla charging at him to attack, the air booms as if the dragon is a spear from the sky, and he flies right at the pursuing dragons. He weaves elegantly with fast and agile movements, and the one dragon who
able to engage is blown off course by the cone of violent wind around Morthybargaron and Meliarte.
She is stunned, and her dragon kidnapper races away, sailing over the Imperial palace. The spell launchers are unable to hit him, and he flies towards the mountain visible in the distance. He holds Meliarte up to his head, asking, “The question now is, your Highness, how far do you wish to go? I can not take you on my path for revenge, but I can dedicate some time to try to break your fiance’s hold on your fate.”
“I… I want… that… Please help me, Lord Dragon. I-If you do, I will grant you whatever you wish within my power. If… If you so order it, I will take over my Empire and give it to you.”
“I don’t want any of that. But, if you could help me more efficiently search your Imperial library once it’s all said and done, I will accept any books that help me on my journey as payment.”
“I-Is that really all?” asks the Princess.
“Books are a precious resource, dear child. They are the history of the past. To me, they are worth far more than a Princess’s life. No offense intended.”
She smiles and relaxes in his grip. “None taken, Lord Dragon.”
“My actual name is Larvenmaouchoul. If that is too long, simply call me Larven, your Highness.”
“Well, then as your captive, you should call me Meliarte, Sir Larven.”
“Very well.”
As the mountain draws closer, she feels free. She looks at the scenery passing beneath her, the clouds they are nearly able to touch, and the clear and free morning sky. For the first time in a long time, she feels truly relieved.
“I should warn you, your Highness. I can try to drive back your pursuers with mercy, but… there will be bloodshed.”
“I… I know…” whispers Meliarte. “And… I know it’s selfish of me…”
“Most decisions in one’s life start from being selfish. An empire does not rise without someone wanting more power for himself. Naturally, the altruism of bringing prosperity to the subjects is important, but it has to start with, at its most base, a selfish desire for power, glory, wealth, or anything else. Their pursuit of you will serve their own goals, starting from the selfish desire to not consider other options, nor consider your own thoughts on the matter and the likely outcomes.”
The dragon sighs. “And, if I’m being honest, there are… whispers forming. I’m not a Dawnseer myself, since I don’t have the talent for it, but even I can hear the whispers forming in the world’s mana. I made this decision because it felt right. But, sometimes, the right thing does indeed require bloodshed.”
“You have come to my aid when I do not deserve it, Sir Larven.” She lays her head on his finger, stroking his scales as he carries her effortlessly through the sky. “I will not place this burden on your shoulders. I wish to remain free from that man. If it means… If it means defending us from Imperial knights and warriors… P-Please keep me captive by any means necessary. B-But, as… as gently as you can where possible.”
Larven laughs. “Yes, your wishes have been heard, Meliarte. We shall bide our time and see what the winds of destiny bring to our shores.”
Meliarte smiles, and she allows herself to rest peacefully in Larven’s grip. She owes him everything already, and she has no idea how far her selfish whimsy will actually carry her.
Nor what it will mean for the fate of her homeland.
***
“I see,” remarks Walliskah, sipping the wine Neith decided to share with him. “So ‘Larven’ is part of your real name?”
“My friendly name,” replies the dragon, who is keeping most of his face hidden, but still sharing in the wine. For every part of the story that Neith told, Walliskah would ask interesting questions, and Neith got so invested in sharing his tale with a friendly gentleman much like he values in himself, he just kept telling the whole story.
He continues explaining, “A dragon’s true name is almost impossible for non-dragons to pronounce fully, and we would almost never give out our true name to anyone we do not trust completely, since certain magic types can enslave us.”
“Is that what happened to the ‘bloodlines’ you kept mentioning?” asks the Duke curiously.
“I suspect it was a factor, but there are also some theories in other parts of the world that living beings born on a land share that land’s mana amongst them all. And, there were
more dragons on that continent than there are here. But, they were far smaller and didn’t live as long. I didn’t smell very many hybrids among them, as Daniel’s children with the Empresses will be. But, their mana had deteriorated nonetheless.”
“So, you think this ‘shared mana’ theory could be true?” Walliskah looks at the dragon seriously.
“I have never discounted it completely, that much I can say. But, if it were true, the feldroks somehow violated this rule. There was never a time in history that I know of where feldroks were unable to become the strongest magic users in the world. And, there
once a time when they were an abundant race.”
“Could the extinction, or near-extinction rather, my apologies to her Greatness, have anything to do with it?”
“I can’t say for certain, though I also wouldn’t be surprised to learn that is the case. But, to my knowledge, our continent was the home of the feldroks, and they had an ancient agreement with the Strylak to minimize their own crossing of the oceans. Legends claim the Strylak protects the oceans this way, and indirectly, the continents from destroying each other. The feldroks kept a sort of peace on Stoerykame. And, if Morthybargaron hadn’t been cursed, dragons like myself, but a bit more… impolite, would have overrun the continent by now.” Both of them chuckle, and Neith adds distantly, “Perhaps that’s all that plagues the dragons of Lorih’nimbael; a curse that has endured the generations, weakening them with every passing generation. Given how weak they were, it has probably been that way for thousands of years.”
“Incredible…” remarks Walliskah. He finishes his glass of wine, and Larven pours him another, topping off his own glass as well.
“Yes, quite incredible,” remarks a female voice that startles them both. Sundenelle is at the door, and she remarks, “A known drawback of the Stalvaltan silencers is that it can dull a knock.” She looks suspiciously at them both, and Neith feels guilty.
“My Liege,...” starts Neith, but she holds up her hand. “I don’t mind about the wine or the story, Sir Larven. I know that Daniel has rules about the wine and his personal favorite rum, which I will abide by. More importantly,” She takes a seat on the settee near the two of them, crossing her legs as she leans back. “You’ve had my knight hostage for all this time, so I came to listen, and what do I hear, but Sir Larven’s own personal story.” She smiles as the two men glance at each other. It has probably been a half hour or more that they were sharing and drinking.
“So then, go on, Sir Larven. What happened next?” Larven glances at Walliskah, and the Duke smiles and nods.
“As her Majesty requests, Sir Larven. Now that we’ve come this far,...”
***