The first time I had read about Furnaiona, learned her name and her tragic story, had been when I was only six years old—still a child, innocent and curious. I had discovered an old, dusty children's book that had been carelessly shoved into a forgotten corner of a bottom shelf in the castle library, hidden behind newer volumes. It was a thin thing, containing just four or five pages total. Each page featured big, simple letters designed for young readers. And of course, there were colorful illustrations throughout depicting a dragon in various poses. The creature was portrayed as a black serpentine being, elegant and terrifying—four-legged with powerful limbs, crowned with curved horns, and possessing distinctive silver eyes that seemed to follow you across the page. The slim book bore the simple title: Aiona the Last Dragon.
According to this sanitized, child-friendly version of history, she had been the last dragon to ever walk upon the earth, her death marking the end of an age. This had occurred around 939 years ago, nearly a millennium in the past. The children's story said quite simply that she had tragically broken her sacred vows to protect the people she served and was subsequently hunted down and killed by a legendary Dragon Hunter. But as I grew older and my education became more sophisticated, I was eventually introduced to the massive, ancient tome housed in the restricted section of the library in Draga castle—a section I gained access to only after my dragon awakening. This enormous book was filled with detailed accounts of almost every dragon that had ever walked on our world throughout recorded history. Their complete life stories stretched across pages and pages of dense text, accompanied by intricate illustrations of each dragon in their true form. Some entries even included rare illustrations of their human forms, the shapes they could assume to walk among mortals.
Furnaiona's extensive page didn't include that particular human form illustration, frustratingly. But the text described her as being so breathtakingly beautiful in human shape that the king of her country—the nation which she had solemnly vowed to protect with her life—had supposedly asked for her hand in marriage every single day for years, never giving up hope. She had faithfully protected her country for literal centuries, watching over countless generations, and had never once shown interest in marriage or romance. Then, mysteriously, some crucial details were deliberately omitted in even this comprehensive book—censored or lost to time. But according to what remained, she had suddenly gone completely mad for some unexplained reason and burned the entire prosperous country to ashes in a single night of rage. No one had survived the conflagration. Not a single soul. She was captured and sentenced to eternal imprisonment in the Abyss to atone for her gruesome, unforgivable crimes. But, since she was a dragon—and like us Draganian royal family members, born with our souls tied eternally to a Dragon soul each time we were born into the world—she had been fortunate enough to have her ancient soul bound to me at my birth, escaping the Abyss's torment and coming back out into the world, freed from punishment as long as I remained alive.
I felt certain she must have had her compelling reasons to break the very sacred laws and binding conditions that had restrained her soul for so long. She had protected and loved and looked over her Kingdom devotedly for centuries—what could possibly have made her burn the very thing she had dedicated her existence to protecting? That crucial piece of information, I did not know. I thought I might ask her later when the time was right, but now was definitely not that time. We had more pressing concerns.
"What should we do about this situation?" I asked her directly, once her vicious claws had transformed back into her normal slender fingers. She let out a long, frustrated sigh, releasing some of her pent-up anger into the air.
"We have to confront that parasitic elf, what else is there to do—and scare him off permanently. He's been actively using a siphoning spell in combination with a powerful charming spell—and Arvid had all his attention completely focused on him during dinner. I really don't like it," she said, her voice dripping with clear annoyance and possessiveness.
"Back then, in my time, elves siphoning small amounts of our magic wasn't considered a big deal at all," she explained, her voice taking on a nostalgic quality. "We dragons were creatures blessed directly by the gods themselves—gifted with an infinite, inexhaustible amount of magic to sustain us. When we flew through the sky, magic leaked from our wings into the air. When we lay upon the earth to rest, the ground absorbed our excess magic. When we took a leisurely dip in any body of water—rivers, lakes, oceans—the water would glisten beautifully with residual magic for days afterward. Elves were simply one of many magical creatures that survived primarily on the ambient magic we unconsciously let out constantly, essentially making them parasites living off our excess. Like mosquitoes feeding on blood. But they didn't itch or cause pain or hurt us—they just existed there right next to us, quietly building their own civilizations in the shadows of ours. They weren't particularly annoying or bothersome. They were just there, coexisting."
She paused, her expression darkening.
"But now, there are no more dragons left in this world. The world is almost completely devoid of magic, running on fumes. The elves have surely absorbed and hoarded whatever remnants of magic remained after we went extinct, carefully conserving their supplies. They absolutely love magic, crave it desperately. They thrive on it, need it to survive. In a world where there's virtually no more ambient magic available anywhere, suddenly a young girl shows up carrying rich, powerful ambient magic and an actual dragon soul tied to her very essence—he must have gone completely insane from overwhelming greediness and hunger. Perhaps he didn't understand that your life force is intrinsically tied to that magic, that draining one means draining the other. Or maybe he did fully know it but simply didn't care about your survival, which makes him truly dangerous," she added with dark thoughtfulness.
"So, how exactly do we fight him?" I asked her, cutting directly to the chase. She looked at me intently, studying my face, and leaned closer with purpose.
"We have two options. We can temporarily merge our consciousnesses, or you can simply let me take over your body completely—your choice entirely," she said with a knowing smirk.
"Temporary merge it is," I said without any hesitation, making the decision instantly. She must have clearly seen the fierce, determined look on my face—because for the first time since I'd known her, she smiled genuinely, with what might have been respect.
"Alright then. I'll show you a glimpse of what we are truly capable of when working together," she said, extending her hands out for me to take. As I placed my own hands in hers, our fingers intertwining, I was suddenly pulled into her with such violent intensity and suction that I felt my very soul being ripped from my body. And then there was only void—absolute darkness and emptiness.
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The next time I opened my eyes, becoming aware again, I found myself back in my bed in the Gorei castle. I sat up slowly, and immediately noticed my vision was dramatically sharper and more vivid even in the darkness—I could see perfectly, every detail crystal clear. Dragon vision, I realized with a start. Then I sat up fully on my bed, and my enhanced gaze immediately found that the window positioned directly across from the bed had been thrown completely open, the heavy curtains swaying wildly in the harsh wind that poured in. And standing boldly in the window frame, silhouetted against the night sky, was that elf—Arandial.
"Welcome back, Furnaiona. Or should I call you Rhiaenne?" he said slowly, meticulously trying to figure out exactly what I was now, what he was facing. At that precise moment, I didn't really know what I was either. We were merged into a strange, messy being—two consciousnesses occupying one body. We were both simultaneously aware of our surroundings, both processing information. Our shared body was controlled by both of us, working in eerie coordination.
I rose from the bed in one fluid motion.
In the very next second, faster than thought, my hand was already wrapped tightly around Arandial's throat, and we dropped together out of the window into open air. The ground rushed up at us. Winds whipped violently at my face as we plummeted. Just as we were about to kiss the hard ground and shatter, I suddenly floated upward instead, rising high—very high—until the full moon illuminated dramatically behind me as I held the struggling elf suspended by his throat, his feet dangling uselessly.
"Freaking parasite," I let out, my voice a strange blend of mine and hers.