I moved between them like a red blur, blood flaring to my hands, taking shape into curved claws sharper than any fang. I clashed against the beast's talons with a sickening crunch. The force of the impact rattled through my arms, but I held firm.
The wyvern shrieked, reeling back from the unexpected resistance.
I slashed forward, carving a long, jagged line down its foreleg. Blood sprayed in thick arcs, painting the shattered stones crimson.
"Run!" I shouted at the elf.
He didn't hesitate.
As he fled with the child, I turned back to the beast. Its wings flared, gusting wind in all directions as it leapt backward, only to slam them forward again, sending slicing currents like blades through the air.
I dodged low, sliding beneath the gust, then leapt up. The claws melted away from my hands as I reformed my weapon midair—long, serrated chains of blades, thick as tree roots, conjured from the blood in my bones.
"Let's see how you like this."
The chain surged from the ground beneath the wyvern like a striking serpent. Its ends twisted and fractured into jagged teeth, impaling the wyvern through the chest and shoulder. The creature howled—a deep, broken cry of pain—its wings twitching as blood poured from the wound.
It staggered.
But it wasn't down yet.
And neither was I.
The wyvern thrashed, struggling against the blood-forged chains pierced into its chest. Its wings beat wildly, kicking up debris and cracking wooden beams with each gust. I pulled hard, forcing the blades deeper into its flesh.
But then—I felt it.
A shift in the wind. Heavier. Colder.
I looked up.
The second wyvern was descending.
Larger. Scales darker, with patches of ridged bone along its spine. Its eyes—void of thought, pure predation—locked onto me.
"Of course," I hissed, breaking the chains with a flick of my wrist before leaping back. The first wyvern crashed forward, no longer bound, but slow—bleeding heavily.
It dove, wings tucked in like a living spear, and I barely rolled aside before it slammed into the earth, shattering the stone path I had stood on just moments ago. A wave of heat and dust erupted from the crater.
I conjured a wall of blood between us, bracing for the impact as it roared and swung its tail like a battering ram. The wall cracked—then shattered—sending me flying backward into a ruined stall. My spine ached, ribs bruised, but I rose before it could close the distance.
It was smarter.
It didn't rush like the other. It circled. Observed. Waited.
This wasn't normal behavior. Wyverns were territorial, yes. But not tactical.
"You're not wild," I whispered.
The first wyvern tried to rise, but collapsed. Still alive—but not for long.
The second one howled again and lunged.
I raised both arms, and from my back erupted twin wings of crimson—gossamer yet reinforced with blade-like feathers. I soared upward just in time, evading the snapping jaws. It clipped my foot, tearing the boot and grazing skin, but I didn't let pain distract me.
I circled above it, high enough to gain distance.
Then I conjured a blood lance—long, spiraled, and infused with the venom of my own lineage.
"You want a real fight, beast? Then let me give you something to remember."
I hurled it down with all the force I could summon.
The spear struck true—piercing deep into its back just near the base of the wings.
The wyvern screamed, thrashed, and tried to pull it out, but the venom was already spreading.
It didn't die.
But it slowed.
Heavy breath. Wavering limbs. The beast was resisting—clawing at the ground, wings twitching.
Still standing.
Still watching me.
This was no ordinary attack. Someone sent them.
Or worse… drove them mad.
Out of nowhere, a thick root—twisted like a coiled serpent—erupted from the ground and slammed into the wyvern's torso, pinning it with crushing force. Another root followed, then another—snaring wings, limbs, and tail, until the beast was bound tight to the earth like an offering to the gods.
"Wha—" I breathed, eyes wide.
The scent of wildflowers and ash swept the air before I even saw her.
From the misted treeline, cloaked in warlight and blooming thorns, the Queen emerged.
Her armor glinted like obsidian kissed by emerald veins, forged with the breath of spirits long dead. A living crown of vines rested upon her head—thorns coiled tightly into her braids, leaves whispering with every step she took. Her presence silenced the battlefield.
"Queen..." I muttered, grounding myself, blood still sizzling on my hands. "How—?"
She didn't answer me.
Not yet.
Her gaze—calm, calculating, ancient—settled on the wyvern struggling against the roots. With a gesture, more vines burst from the soil, piercing through the creature's wings and forcing its head down in reverence—or defeat.
"I told you to stay near the quarters, Vanessa," she said finally, her voice sharp and musical like a blade drawn across glass. "But I see your instincts still outweigh your sense."
"I saw people in danger." I swallowed. "I reacted."
Her eyes softened for just a breath, then hardened again as she stepped past me toward the beast.
She knelt before the wyvern—this monstrous, breathless force of nature—and whispered something I couldn't hear. The vines responded first, writhing like they understood a command not meant for mortal ears.
Then the wyvern's eyes rolled back. Its breath slowed. Until at last, it collapsed.
Alive, but sedated. Controlled.
The second one—the one I thought long dead—screamed in pain, trying to lunge. Another root snapped from the ground and skewered its hind leg, dropping it mid-charge.
"That's enough," the Queen murmured.
All fell quiet again. The guardians behind us stared in awe.
I stepped closer, lips parted. "Were they summoned? Who could drive them here like this?"
She rose and turned to me.
"There's something stirring in the north," she said. "Something ancient. These beasts are not acting on instinct. They're fleeing... or being pushed."
My heart sank.
"Then this... this was just the beginning?"
She looked to the sky—clouds now curling in ominous spirals—and nodded once.
"Yes. And the forest is starting to remember what it once feared."
A heavy silence followed. My chest rose and fell with each breath, the smell of blood, scorched bark, and wyvern bile thick in the air.
She walked toward me slowly, each step deliberate, as the vines released their grip on the unconscious wyverns behind her.
"I've already handled the rest," she said. "Six others attacked the southern ridge near the shallow streams. My roots dealt with them before they even reached the outer wards."
I blinked. Six? These two alone had nearly torn through the inner village—how much power did she just wield on the other side?
"I don't understand. This isn't normal. Even if they were pushed out by something... why us? Why here?"
Her expression darkened. "Because someone is disturbing the deeper wilds. Stirring things that were buried and sealed long before your kind ever drew breath."
A chill coiled down my spine.
She turned her gaze to the north, beyond the jagged hills. "There are things older than wyverns... things even dragons once feared. But now, some fool with a desperate hunger has begun unearthing them again."
"Who?" I asked, my voice low.
She didn't answer immediately. Her hands folded behind her back, and her eyes glazed as though staring through time itself.
"The greedy bastard," she whispered at last, venom lacing her words. "The one who believes power is his birthright. Who would trade the breath of this world for a throne of ash."
She met my eyes again. "He's been moving in the shadows—breaking pacts, coercing forgotten species, tampering with old ley lines. And now, even the wyverns flee his encroaching scent."
I felt my nails dig into my palm. "You think he'll come here?"
"I know he will." Her voice was like a winter wind now—biting, without comfort. "This was not an invasion, Vanessa. It was a warning. Or perhaps... a test."
The vines around the wyverns twitched once more, then retracted into the earth entirely, leaving only torn ground and steaming breath behind.
"Warn the Sentinels in the north," she commanded the nearby guardian. "Reinforce the second ward. If he seeks to test our forest again, we shall teach him why even gods once walked softly here."
She turned back to me. "And you, child of the blood moon... I hope you've not grown soft among my kin. You may need to recall the lessons your kind were once feared for."
I straightened. "I haven't forgotten."
"Good," she said, her tone sharp but not unkind. "Because next time... it won't be beasts we face. It'll be the sins of an empire we tried to forget."
"But who is the greedy bastard?" I asked, still gripping the fading warmth of the bloodied chains.
"A name one shall not speak of," the Queen replied, her gaze fixed toward the distant skies as if invoking that name might summon something ancient and terrible.
Just then, a loud horn blared from the village's heartwood—sharp, desperate. I turned, and through the veil of smoke and shattered rooftops, I saw him.
Duke—the elven guardian from before—rushing toward us, his cloak in tatters and his breathing ragged. Twigs clung to his hair like they had been trying to hold him back.
"What is the matter, Duke?" the Queen called, calm but firm.
"My Majesty..." he wheezed, placing a hand against his chest to pace his breath. "We have another trouble."
"If it's another wyvern, we can deal with it," she answered plainly, almost bored.
But Duke shook his head grimly. "No... the thing is... a dragon—an adult one—is approaching. Fast. It's tearing across the horizon like a comet."
I blinked. "What?"
Even the Queen's brow twitched at that. "A dragon? Here?"
"Why would a dragon be flying this far inland?" I asked, stepping forward. "This village is nothing."
"That... we don't know," Duke replied, his breath now steady but his voice laced with fear. "It didn't land. It hovered. Then… turned straight toward us."
I could feel the Queen's nerves being tested—her fists tightened at her sides, her roots humming with faint energy. A protective instinct older than kingdoms stirred in her.
Then she turned to me.
"Right. Are you okay, Vanessa?"
I nodded, flexing my fingers. The blood that once streamed from my wounds had already closed. "I'll be fine… The wounds heal almost instantly. You forget what I am."
She gave a tight nod. "Good."
Then, with the same grace she had when she struck down the wyverns, she gestured for me to follow.
"Majesty, where are we going?" Duke asked as we began moving swiftly across the ashen path.
"To meet the dragon," she answered, her voice low but absolute.
The silence that followed was heavier than any roar.
Makunishita, the village elder and long-serving advisor to the Queen, finally broke the heavy silence as we approached the outer edge of the village.
"My Queen," he called out, his voice weathered but calm, "if we were to engage in conversation with a potential threat… it would spell disaster to us all. Diplomacy with dragons is a fool's game, especially when uninvited."
"I know," she replied without turning back. "But Vanessa—can you sense the dragon? If it harbors bloodlust?"
"Uhh, yes—I'll do it now."
I closed my eyes and steadied my breath, tapping into that odd tether I have… that unnatural, vampire-born sense that lets me trace killing intent from miles away. I reached outward, feeling the wind stir past me, the faint pressure in the air shifting with the dragon's approach.
There?
For a moment, I felt nothing—no hatred, no hunger, no rage… and that's what bothered me. Not the presence of malice—but the absence of everything else.
"My Queen…" I opened my eyes. "I hardly felt anything. There's no bloodlust, no emotional residue. Just... a presence I can't fully see. Like a shadow behind smoke."
"Then it's good," she said firmly. "We shall meet it head-on."
What?
I stared at her. Is the Queen crazy?
We had just fought off a flock of wyverns. She herself had said there were six more dealt with in the south. And now, she wanted to walk up to an adult dragon like we were going to exchange pleasantries?
"Majesty," I said, trying to mask the crack in my voice, "what if it's hiding its intent? Some dragons are older than memory itself. What if it wants us to think it's passive?"
She stopped then, her back still to me. "Then we shall find out the truth through our own eyes and instincts, not cower behind theories."
Makunishita stepped forward, lowering his voice like he was trying not to argue too openly. "And if this dragon is sent by the one whose name we shall not speak?"
The Queen turned, slowly, and for the first time, I saw something grim behind her emerald eyes.
"Then," she said, "we will know the time of hiding is over."
And with that, we continued walking. Toward the field. Toward the dragon. Toward whatever madness awaited.