Kael's massive head hovered just above Lyra, his deep blue eyes never leaving hers. For centuries, he had bowed to no one, had accepted no offering lightly, yet here he lingered, captivated by her fragile, trembling form. His muscles, normally taut and commanding, flexed subtly, an instinctive response he did not fully understand. His tail shifted slightly, brushing against the cavern floor with a quiet, deliberate caution.
Around them, whispers spread. The High Priest's fingers tightened around his staff. Lady Vaeloria's breath caught in her throat, and even King Elric's stern eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.
"Why… why is he… not devouring her?" one guard whispered, voice low but trembling.
"Could it be… he's choosing?" another murmured, face pale.
Outside the palace gates, the city had gone still. Children stopped mid-step, merchants froze with coins in hand, and even the wind seemed to pause as if holding its breath. A chill swept through the streets; storm clouds gathered and thickened overhead, blotting out the sunlight. A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the mountains. Every villager felt it, a silent recognition that the dragon had made a choice unlike any seen before.
Lyra's legs trembled violently. She tried to retreat instinctively, but the guards held firm. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath a struggle. Fear clawed at her throat, hatred at her eyes, and resentment at her heart. Every story she had ever been told—the tales of villages burned, families destroyed, lives lost at the dragon's command—filled her mind, mingling with the present terror. She wanted to run, to scream, to defy, but her body refused.
Kael lowered his head further, his warm breath washing over her hair. He studied her face with unwavering intensity. His gaze was no longer simply commanding—it was examining, curious, almost reverent. Every tear, every shiver, every uneven breath pulled at something deep within him. It had been centuries since he had felt such fascination. The centuries of anger, destruction, and solitude could not have prepared him for this.
He reached out with the tip of his claw, hovering near her shoulder, yet careful not to touch. The movement was delicate, cautious—a paradox from the dragon whose claws could crush mountains.
"Do not cry," he murmured again, softer this time, almost intimate, almost pleading. "I will not harm you."
Lyra's gaze flickered, but she did not meet his eyes. Hatred burned there, sharp and bitter. Fear filled every fiber of her being, yet beneath it, a flicker of awe gnawed at her resolve. She could feel the weight of his attention, the undeniable pull in the cavern, the way the air itself seemed charged around them.
Kael noticed it. He realized her heartbeat, so fast, so distinct, beat like a drum beneath her ribs, and somehow it resonated with him. It was loud enough to feel through the stone floor, and it made his chest tighten. He had no words for the sensation, no understanding—but it enthralled him, even as she feared him.
The whispers inside the chamber grew, quiet but tense. Nobles exchanged furtive glances, some gripping their robes, others pressing hands over mouths. "Has he… rejected her?" "Could he feel… something?" "The legends… do they… not explain this?"
Outside, the city mirrored the chamber's tension. Silence fell like a blanket over streets, homes, and fields. Even the wind hesitated; the animals in the courtyard crouched or froze. From atop the palace, the clouds twisted, and a cold drizzle began to fall, misting the windows and slicking the cobblestones. The weather itself seemed to respond to the dragon's choice—or perhaps to the presence of the girl before him.
Kael's gaze softened—not in a way humans would understand as romantic, but in a way that carried fascination, obsession, and an unspoken curiosity. He tilted his head, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to measure her spirit. She did not respond in kind; her gaze remained averted, tears streaking her face, lips pressed tightly in terror and disgust. Her hatred and fear were palpable, and yet the intensity of it made him even more drawn to her.
Kiki watched silently beside him, understanding the tension that filled the air. "She is the last," he murmured to himself, not daring to break the connection forming between the dragon and the girl.
Kael's deep breath rattled the cavern. He lowered his head closer, allowing the tip of his snout to hover just above her bowed form. "I see you," he said in a rumble that resonated through the walls, softer than before, intimate, almost protective. "I feel you."
Lyra shivered violently, not in awe, but in fear. She wanted to flee, to fight, to push him away, yet her body was frozen by the weight of centuries of stories, by the echo of fire and death drilled into her mind since birth. To her, this closeness was terror, yet she could not entirely ignore the strange fascination she saw mirrored in the dragon's piercing blue eyes.
Then, without warning, Kael slowly pulled back, rising slightly on his massive legs. Each step he took caused the stone floor beneath them to tremble. The guards stumbled to steady themselves, gripping the walls and their spears as the vibrations ran up their arms.
Noblewomen clutched the hems of their dresses, their faces pale. The High Priest gripped his staff like a lifeline, and King Elric's jaw tightened as he felt the cavern shift with every movement of the dragon. Even Lady Vaeloria's knuckles whitened as she pressed her hands together, eyes wide in disbelief.
Kael's claws scraped against the stone with a low, grinding sound, echoing through the cavern and into the great hall beyond. Dust and small pebbles fell from the high ceilings, and the air seemed to shiver around them, carrying the weight of his presence.
When he had reached a respectful distance, Kael lowered his head again, not at Lyra but at the gathered humans. His voice rolled through the cavern, low, deliberate, commanding:
"Prepare her," he rumbled, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. "Free her. She is not to be harmed. Make ready… for the wedding."
The words hit the assembly like a hammer. The High Priest froze mid-motion, mouth opening then closing without sound. Lady Vaeloria's eyes widened so far it seemed her face could not contain the shock. King Elric's expression shifted from controlled authority to disbelief, a rare crack in his usual rigidity. Even Captain Arien's posture faltered, his hand twitching toward his sword before he realized Kael's order was absolute.
"Wedding?" someone whispered, barely audible, the word vibrating through the tension-filled air.
Lyra's body went rigid. Her head snapped up slightly at the word, but the fear and hatred in her eyes burned hotter than ever. She could hardly process what she was hearing. Her mind screamed with anger and disbelief at everyone—at the King, at the nobles, at the guards who had guided her here. They had brought her to this moment, to this dragon, to the brink of what she had feared her entire life.
Tears spilled down her cheeks uncontrollably. She tried to pull back, to resist, but strong hands gripped her arms and shoulders, holding her steady. The guards, though careful not to hurt her, were firm. Their expressions were tense, uncertain, fearful even, because even they understood the power of Kael's command.
"No!" Lyra screamed, her voice shaking with a mix of terror and rage. "I don't—don't want this! I hate you all! You brought me here! You—" Her words dissolved into sobs as she struggled against their hold.
Kael's gaze remained on her, unwavering, not a hint of cruelty but a calm authority that even the King and the assembly could not challenge. He lowered his snout slightly, nostrils flaring as if drawing in the raw emotion of her fear and defiance.
"Do not hurt her," Kael repeated, addressing no one and everyone at once. "She is mine to prepare. None shall lay a hand on her without my permission."
The effect was immediate. The guards hesitated, holding her a fraction more loosely. The nobles exchanged wide-eyed glances, whispering, some muttering prayers, others shaking their heads in disbelief. King Elric's hands twitched at his sides, the power of Kael's command leaving him powerless to intervene. Lady Vaeloria's face went pale as the realization sank in—the dragon had effectively overruled the entire court.
Lyra continued to cry, her sobs echoing against the cavern walls, her body wracked with both fear and fury. Every instinct in her screamed that she should fight, should run, should curse every soul that had brought her here. Yet the grip on her arms guided her forward, slowly, step by trembling step. Each move toward the designated place for the ceremony, toward the inevitable union the dragon had decreed, felt like a betrayal of everything she had known and believed in.
The cavern seemed to hum with Kael's presence, the very air vibrating with the weight of his authority and his strange, unexplainable fascination with the girl who feared him so completely. The city outside felt the change too; the winds howled through the streets, and the storm clouds gathered overhead, dark and heavy, lightning flashing in the distance. A low rumble of thunder rolled through the mountains, shaking the palace doors as if echoing Kael's every step.
Lyra's fear intensified with every motion. She hated the dragon, hated the people guiding her, hated the history that had led to this moment. And yet, even as her hatred burned, the eyes of the massive creature on her—their piercing, calculating, and almost reverent gaze—made her heart pound in ways she didn't understand. She could not trust it, she could not forgive it, and she certainly could not stop the trembling of her own body in response to the sheer presence of Kael.
And so, amid the whispers, the shaking floors, the gathering storm, and her own sobs, Lyra was moved forward. Each step was a battle of will against the fear, the hatred, and the crushing weight of history—but all the while, Kael followed, silent, watchful, a presence as impossible to resist as it was terrifying.