"Hey…! How much longer are you going to cling onto me like that?"
"Huh?"
Silva's cold, commanding voice cut through the haze clouding his mind, forcing Zack to snap his eyes open. He had thought he was buried under the mountain of debris, but—he felt wind whipping across his face.
"I'm… flying…?" Zack quickly realized he wasn't plummeting through the air to his death—he was riding atop Lancelot's back, with Silva seated in front of him, clutching the reins.
It seemed Silva had summoned her dragon just in time.
Below them, the city looked like a miniature model. Even St. Durkheir Square had shrunk in perspective, the massive, grotesque creature occupying its center still visible—looming like a tumor on the cityscape.
But there was a more immediate problem. Zack's arms were wrapped tightly around Silva from behind, and his right hand had instinctively grabbed onto one of her breasts. Soft. Warm. A pulse of electric embarrassment shot through him as realization set in.
His body had reacted on its own, ever since the building collapsed. His mind had been a blank slate, acting purely on instinct.
"Uwaaaaaa!"
"Don't loosen your grip, idiot! You'll fall!" Silva's sharp tone brought him back to his senses. He held on tighter—not to her breast this time, but to her waist.
"…Sorry," Zack muttered, shifting his hand away quickly.
Silva didn't answer. But he caught a glimpse of her profile, her porcelain face tinged with a deep, unmistakable crimson. She didn't yell. She didn't glare. She simply looked forward in silence, the delicate tips of her ears betraying her flustered state.
Then the creature below unleashed a thunderous second roar. Lancelot countered with his own, deeper and fiercer, activating a shimmering defensive spell. The pressure in the air thickened, yet the dragon remained untouched.
"Just as I thought," Zack murmured with admiration.
"This level of attack is nothing for Lancelot," Silva said, her voice regaining its usual calm. "But now comes the real test… Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with this?"
"Yeah. Take me to the drop point. This is something only I can do."
"…Then I'll place my faith in you. Lancelot!"
With a mighty roar, Lancelot obeyed. They swooped down, slicing through the sky like a silver arrow toward the monstrous dragon.
Its third and fourth attacks came fast—but Lancelot darted past them, weaving through the air with astonishing agility, without even needing to rely on his barrier. The distance shrank. Soon, the entire sky seemed filled by the dragon's gnarled, unnatural body.
Zack narrowed his eyes, searching for Ico. He knew there was a possibility—a terrible one—that she had already been swallowed, crushed, or worse. But this was the moment. His one chance to save her.
Gritting his teeth, Zack rose to his feet on Lancelot's back, balancing precariously. He grabbed Silva's shoulder for support. She didn't move. She didn't protest. She simply held the reins and let him stand.
The countdown had begun.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven…
Closer to the beast, closer to the ground.
Three. Two. One—Lancelot brushed past the creature's massive, hairy flank at point-blank range.
"Now!"
Zack leapt. His body hit the grey fur with a solid thump. For a second, he nearly slid off, but managed to dig his fingers into the matted tufts, clinging on for dear life.
The dragon snarled and thrashed, sensing his presence. Its movements became violent. With every shake, Zack felt his grip slipping—but he pressed on, crawling upward, using everything he had left.
He reached the space between its two jagged horns. There were likely other spots, but instinct told him: this was the place. Planting his boots firmly, he stood. And as he did, a strange memory returned to him.
His first time riding a dragon.
Just yesterday, a newborn Stradia had gone berserk after its handler accidentally fed it Fansal Tea. The Grooms panicked, trying and failing to bring it under control. And Zack, passing by at random, had jumped onto its back on impulse.
He had no training. Just a gut feeling. And somehow, he'd done it. Of course, the headmistress had chewed him out afterwards. But he managed to calm the beast down. That dragon… had been Lancelot.
"…Right. I'd almost forgotten." Zack smirked to himself.
Silva's dragon, her pride and joy, was the same wild creature he had once tamed. No wonder she was so obsessed with outdoing him. And that thought—that truth—reignited his confidence. If he had managed it once… he could do it again.
"Let's do this…"
He pressed his boots into the dragon's skull and reached deep—mentally, spiritually—into its being. Like roots burrowing into soil, he extended his consciousness and whispered softly.
"From this moment on… I am your master." The dragon halted.
Its massive limbs froze mid-step. It still growled, but the wild, thrashing movement ceased.
"That's it," Zack breathed. "Just like that…"
A surge of hope bloomed in his chest. But just as he prepared to push further, the beast threw its head violently upward like a catapult.
"Shit—!"
Caught off guard, Zack was launched into the air, flailing helplessly. The world spun around him. Wind howled in his ears. The city rushed up to meet him. But then—
FWOOOOOSH!—Lancelot soared in and caught him midair, the impact jarring but survivable.
"Phew… that was close."
Zack found himself once more behind Silva, pressed against her back on Lancelot's saddle. The warmth of her body and the smell of her perfume briefly overpowered the adrenaline still flooding his system.
"I've never met an idiot like you!" Silva snapped, knuckles white on the reins.
"I was this close…" His tone was grave. Sincere. He wasn't joking.
Silva didn't reply. She just remained silent, her golden hair flowing in the wind, her back stiff, but regal. To Zack, she looked every bit the noble lady people whispered about—poised, powerful, and impossibly beautiful.
And yet, despite the situation, one thing was clear: he wasn't giving up.
He was going to ride it.