Bakuzan still stood in the Dhama, that domain beyond dreams, where even silence seemed to breathe.
He sought answers there… a direction. For beyond this journey awaited Lilith, and the thread of his destiny had to pass through her.
When he met Isissis 3, no word was needed.
Their gazes linked—and everything opened.
Every question that Bakuzan carried, every doubt, every fragment of his quest found its answer instantly.
But in this exchange, he also felt a warning: a wave of gravity that made his soul tremble.
"What you seek is already waiting for you. But know that as you advance, something watches you too."
This thought—or this resonance—passed through him before everything shattered around him.
The Dhama collapsed like a glass cracked by sound.
Bakuzan crossed the veil and reappeared in another world.
He landed in a strange space: the Stagnant Reality.
A universe without wind, without pulse, where time seemed frozen in eternal hesitation.
Suspended reflections floated around him, fragments of universes frozen waiting for a movement that would never come.
The exchange with Isissis 3 had shaken him.
He now knew that someone was hunting him—not an ordinary entity, but a power not to be underestimated.
A presence lurking in the blind spots of existence.
He did not linger.
His body dissolved into a breath of black mist and reappeared in front of a small isolated cabin, placed on the edge of a horizonless world.
The place seemed peaceful, almost unreal, as if the house refused to participate in the stagnation of the rest.
Bakuzan walked slowly to the door.
He raised his hand, pressed the bell.
> Ding.
A long silence.
Then the sound of a latch, followed by a slow breath.
The door opened.
A woman appeared.
She was small in stature, pale-skinned, her features drawn by fatigue.
Her white hair fell in fine strands, her translucent blue eyes held a tired gentleness.
Under her black dress, a rounded belly testified to an advanced pregnancy.
She held the door with a trembling hand, but her gaze remained calmly noble.
— Black Grief? she said in a low voice.
What are you seeking here?
Bakuzan held her gaze.
He answered with the gravity of a being whose every word is a choice.
— Where is Nyxlongue, the purple dragoness?
At this question, the woman's face froze.
Her pupils dilated in terror, as if the name alone had the power to rekindle a forbidden past.
— What do you want from her? she asked in a dry, almost pleading tone.
Bakuzan remained silent, and in that silence, the truth unveiled itself.
She was not a mere mortal.
The silvery glow passing through her hair, the subtle vibration of her breath, the warmth radiating from her skin… all betrayed her nature.
Before him stood Sylongue, the white-silver Dragoness, incarnation of the Luminous Song and eternal Peace.
A draconic heir.
A sister.
Bakuzan observed her for a moment—and recognized the resonance of draconic blood.
But he also saw a new fragility enveloping her: that of maternity.
Sylongue carried the child of a Great Mythic Being, a deviant elf named Oyuo, once prince of the silver forests, now a being of mingled shadow and light.
When the Dragon Heirs once parted, Sylongue and Nyxlongue, the purple one, formed an inseparable duo.
They shared a soul split into two colors: light and night.
But their bond broke the day Sylongue chose the love of a deviant being… and Nyxlongue disappeared into the depths of the Dhama.
Bakuzan sighed.
He did not want to disturb this woman's peace, nor disrupt the fragile balance of her home.
But Nyxlongue was an essential piece.
And he knew that through her, he would find the path leading to Lilith.
Nyxlongue… he thought. The one who transcended even the Dhama.
For yes—according to the traces he had followed—the Purple Dragoness was no longer merely a draconic heir.
She had become a being surpassing the quaternary gods, an entity capable of plunging her song even into the dreams of the Dhama itself.
And Bakuzan knew that at this level of power, even Orlongue, their father, could no longer contain her.
The silence between Bakuzan and Sylongue seemed to weigh like a stormy sky.
The air vibrated softly, charged with a tension made of ancient memories and restrained mistrust.
Bakuzan finally broke the calm, his deep voice resonating like an echo in the small house.
Bakuzan: I do not come to harm her, Sylongue.
On the contrary.
I need her help… nothing more.
Sylongue held his gaze, her hand slowly sliding over her belly, as if to protect the child she carried.
Fatigue showed on her face, but her gaze burned with a draconic glow still untamed.
Sylongue: You? The Black Grief?
You want us to believe you don't intend to harm her?
We already know what happened with Nihlorgue… and what you did when you crossed Ysolongue.
Her voice trembled. It was not fear…but a grudge mixed with weariness.
She tried to straighten up, but the heaviness of her pregnancy made her stagger a little.
Bakuzan sighed, raised a hand… and snapped his fingers.
A silent black wave ran through the room.
The shadows on the walls began to move as if alive, undulating around him.
Then, from this dark mass, a silhouette formed—tall, fluid, made of flowing liquid darkness.
Sylongue stepped back instinctively.
Sylongue: What are you doing?...
The shadow knelt. A voice echoed, deep and cavernous:
> ???: You called me, master?
Sylongue's eyes widened.
That aura… that abyssal breath… she recognized it.
> Sylongue: N… Nihlorgue?!
Impossible… you are not dead?!
The shadowy being slowly turned his head toward her.
Two red sparks shone in his empty eye sockets.
He did not reply, but the air vibrated around him, saturated with ancient power.
Bakuzan, impassive, crossed his arms.
Bakuzan: As you can see for yourself, Sylongue…
I never hurt Ysolongue.
And Nihlorgue, I did not kill him.
I defeated him… then freed him from his own curse.
He chose to bind himself to me—not as a slave, but as an ally.
Silence fell again.
Sylongue watched Nihlorgue, petrified by the contradiction of what she saw.
He who embodied the Nothing, the cursed echo of the Dragon Heirs, stood there calm, almost appeased.
Sylongue: …Very well.
Then speak, Black Grief.
What do you want of Nyxlongue?
Bakuzan slightly averted his gaze, as if searching for the right words.
His expression grew more serious, almost melancholic.
Bakuzan: Along my journey, I have seen traces of her.
Fragments of stories, whispers…
Apparently she met Lilith, and that meeting led her to her true ascension.
She became the most powerful of the Dragon Heirs, just after Arlongue, the black dragon fused with the demon Erasa.
I want to know… how she did it.
How she managed to reach Lilith, and survive her presence.
A long, dense silence settled.
Sylongue lowered her eyes, then slowly looked back up at him.
She saw in his gaze something she had never perceived before: a calm resolve, but without arrogance.
A determination stripped of pride.
Then, despite the fatigue, she slowly nodded.
Sylongue: …Very well, Black Grief.
If your intentions are sincere, I will lead you to her.