The world spun, colors blurring into streaks of light and wind.
Ryn didn't remember screaming, but the echo of it trailed them as they plunged through the cold night air.
They crashed through the upper branches of the garden trees with a burst of broken twigs and crushed petals. The landing wasn't elegant — it was a tumble, a roll, and a very undignified thud.
Ryn groaned, flat on his back, staring up at the hole in the roof far above. "Okay," he muttered to himself, "I'm alive. That's… new."
He blinked and pushed himself upright. His ribs protested, his shoulder burned, but nothing felt broken. He looked down — the princess lay beside him on a bed of shattered blossoms and frost.
Her gown was torn, her pink hair tangled with rose petals. She wasn't bleeding, only unconscious, her breath steady. Ryn exhaled, half in relief, half in disbelief.
"Great. Of all people to fall on top of me, it had to be royalty."
He rubbed his neck. "If anyone asks, I heroically saved you. Let's just skip the part where gravity did most of the work."
He leaned back, catching his breath, the sounds of chaos still echoing from the mansion above. Flames and magic lit the sky like war had come to the heavens.
Ryn sighed. "So much for a quiet infiltration."
He glanced at Lysandra again. "You're a heavy sleeper, princess. I nearly died falling off a palace, and you're just… napping."
He frowned. "Wait. Did she hit her head?"
He crouched beside her, checking. No blood, just faint bruising. Her skin glowed faintly with divine magic — a protective charm, maybe.
"Well, that explains it," he murmured. "Royal privilege. Even unconscious, you've got better defense than I do fully awake."
He slumped down beside her, gazing up at the shattered ceiling. "All right, Ryn. Let's think. Step one: don't die. Step two: make sure she doesn't die. Step three: run before someone sets you on fire."
A low rumble rolled through the air.
He froze. "That… wasn't thunder."
The rumble deepened into a roar that shook the very air. Birds scattered from the treetops. Heat prickled across his skin.
"Oh, come on," Ryn muttered. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."
He looked up.
From the burning hole in the mansion roof, something vast emerged — a creature of molten light and shadowed wings. Its scales gleamed like liquid ruby, its eyes burning embers. Each beat of its wings scattered sparks that set the air aflame.
A dragon.
A flame dragon.
"The gods hate me," Ryn whispered. "They absolutely hate me."
The beast's roar split the sky, a sound of wrath and ruin. The air itself shimmered under its heat.
Its name came to him — every child in Artheria knew it from songs of old.
Ignathar, the Flame Sovereign, one of the six great dragon spirits of creation.
The spirit of endless fire.
And the prince above, Caelum of Solvane, possessed half of its essence — the power to summon its flame and will. Which meant this was no random appearance. The dragon had been called.
"Okay, so someone's definitely opposing this wedding," Ryn said weakly. "Problem is, it might be the groom."
Ignathar's gaze turned downward, the molten eyes sweeping across the garden.
Ryn could feel the air ignite around him, heat building like a storm about to break.
"Yup. He sees me." He gritted his teeth. "Of course he sees me."
He hoisted Lysandra into his arms, trying not to think about how light she felt. "All right, Princess Unconscious. We're leaving before Dragon Barbecue becomes tonight's main event."
He bolted through the garden, darting between hedges and marble fountains. The once-peaceful paradise was now a maze of shadows and flame. Above, the dragon circled, roaring again, wings stirring a storm of ash and petals.
"Could've been a normal thief," Ryn muttered. "Could've stolen a crown, robbed a merchant… but no, I had to crash a royal wedding and anger a dragon. Great career choices, me."
He slid behind a stone archway as a torrent of fire crashed into the courtyard. The flames hit the fountain, turning water into steam with a hiss. Ryn shielded the princess, crouching low.
The heat seared his arms. The ice spirit inside his sword pulsed faintly, reacting to the fire.
"Hey, Frosty," he whispered, holding up the blade. "Now would be a really good time to do your ice thing."
The spirit within answered weakly, a cold shimmer rippling across the sword's edge. A thin veil of frost spread outward, cooling the air enough for him to breathe.
Ryn peeked from behind the arch. Ignathar was still circling, its scales glowing brighter each time it roared.
"Right, new plan," Ryn said quietly. "Don't fight the dragon. Dragons are big. Dragons breathe fire. You… are basically walking snow. Simple math."
He shifted the princess's weight in his arms. "You know, you could wake up and maybe throw a spell or two. I wouldn't complain."
No response.
He sighed. "Figures."
Another explosion rocked the garden as a piece of the roof collapsed, flames spilling like rivers from above.
Ryn ducked, coughing. The smell of smoke mixed with the sweetness of crushed flowers.
"Okay, Ryn," he muttered. "You've been in worse situations."
A pause.
"Actually, no. No you haven't. This is officially top of the list."
He dashed toward the hedge maze at the edge of the garden. Maybe he could lose the dragon's line of sight there. The path twisted between tall green walls, their leaves now rimmed with frost as his spirit power leaked through the air.
Behind him, the dragon's fire crashed down, turning the maze's entrance into a wall of flame.
"Well, that's inconvenient."
He turned, back pressed against a marble statue, trying to steady his breathing. "All right, think. The others must've retreated. Leader said fall back if the treaty's destroyed, so… mission success, technically."
He gave a short laugh. "Yay me. Now I just have to not die."
The princess stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping her lips.
Ryn froze, looking down.
Her eyelashes fluttered. She opened her eyes — emerald green, glowing faintly in the firelight.
He smiled awkwardly. "Oh, good. You're awake. Welcome back to the land of people about to be roasted alive."
Lysandra blinked at him, confusion flooding her expression. "You—where are we? What happened?"
"Long story short," Ryn said quickly, "you fainted, I heroically prevented you from dying, and now we're being hunted by a dragon. Standard wedding reception, really."
She stared. "A… dragon?"
He gestured upward. "Big, red, loud, currently ruining your landscaping."
A roar answered, shaking the ground. Lysandra gasped, clutching his arm.
"Hey, hey, easy," Ryn said, shifting his grip. "Panicking makes you heavier."
Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
He hesitated. "Window inspector?"
She scowled.
"Fine," he said. "Freedom enthusiast. Professional survivor. Ice user. Currently regretting every life choice."
Another blast of fire tore through the garden. Ryn ducked behind the statue, shielding her again.
"That roar," Lysandra whispered, trembling. "That's Ignathar. Caelum must have called him."
"So that's his pet? Great. I always wanted to get roasted by nobility."
"No," she said softly. "Ignathar is one of the six dragon spirits. Caelum holds half its power — he must have merged with it. The others…"
She looked up, horror dawning in her eyes. "If the flame awakens, the others may follow."
Ryn blinked. "Wait, others? As in plural dragons?"
She nodded. "Six in total. Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Greenery, and Ice."
"Fantastic," he groaned. "So everyone gets a cool dragon except me. What do I get? A freezer burn."
She frowned. "You're an ice user?"
"Technically," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But my ice spirit's more… personality than power."
"Yet you froze the treaty's seal."
He blinked. "Oh. You saw that? That was mostly luck. And panic. Mostly panic."
She gave him a long look, as if reevaluating the fool who'd just carried her through fire. "Then perhaps you're not as weak as you think."
Ryn snorted. "No, I definitely am. But thanks for the optimism."
Ignathar's roar echoed again, closer this time. The air shimmered with heat. Ryn grabbed her hand. "We move. Now."
They ran through the maze, dodging falling debris and waves of fire. Ryn's ice trailed behind him, freezing paths that the flames couldn't cross. Lysandra's gown glimmered, her magic faintly shielding them both.
At the maze's end, they burst into a courtyard filled with statues of the gods. A shallow pond reflected the firelit sky.
Ryn stumbled to the edge, panting. "Okay… we're not dead. Yet. I'll take it."
Lysandra looked up at the blazing mansion. "The treaty is broken. This war will only grow worse now."
"Yeah," Ryn said, staring at the flames. "Guess I just made myself public enemy number one."
She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "Then why did you do it?"
He hesitated, then smirked faintly. "Because someone had to."
For a moment, their eyes met — his blue like frost, hers green like spring — and the chaos seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet pulse of shared breath.
Then another roar shattered the silence. Ignathar descended, wings spreading across the entire garden, a storm of flame and fury.
Ryn sighed. "Of course. Romance moment canceled. Thanks, dragon."
He raised his sword. The blade shimmered weakly with frost.
"Hey, Frosty," he whispered, "we've got maybe one shot. Let's not die ugly."
The ice spirit pulsed faintly, and a gust of cold burst around him. The dragon's flames met the frost, steam exploding between them. Ryn dove into the mist, dragging Lysandra toward the far gate.
Ignathar's fire roared behind them, lighting the night like dawn. The frost spread, forming a shimmering trail of blue-white light across the garden. The dragon hesitated — confused by the sudden fog.
Ryn didn't stop running.
They broke through the last hedge, stumbled past the marble wall, and finally collapsed beyond the garden's edge — into the dark forest below.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The mansion burned in the distance, a golden inferno against the night sky.
Lysandra's breathing steadied, and she looked at him — this awkward, exhausted, ridiculous man who had just defied an empire and a dragon.
Ryn chuckled weakly. "Okay," he panted, "new rule. No more weddings."
Lysandra couldn't help it — she laughed, soft and tired.
Above them, Ignathar roared one last time before retreating into the clouds, leaving only smoke and stars behind.
And beneath the falling embers, the weakest ice user in the world lay in the dirt, smiling faintly beside a princess who had no idea her fate had just changed forever.