Author's Note

Yeah, I know, this took a while, but, in my defence, I had to rewrite three chapters and then... I spent too much time playing fortnite... so, sorry abou that.

Ch. 5 Dragonkinght

The next morning, Sean made his way to class, his face set in a grimace. It was as if every eye on campus was trained on him, every whisper directed at his back. As he passed groups of students in the halls, their murmurs grew louder.

“That’s him, isn’t it? The one who killed the Dragyte?”
“Yeah, Sean Desmond. I heard he didn’t even break a sweat.”
“Do you think he really chased the culprit into the forest?”
“He’s so cool!”
“He’s so scary…”

Sean gritted his teeth, his hands clenching at his sides. So much for peace and quiet.

The whispers followed him all the way to the classroom, where the scene was no better. His classmates turned their heads as he entered, their conversations halting briefly before picking up again with renewed vigor. Sean ignored them, his focus solely on his desk.

As he walked past, Gregory and his posse—Cyle and Frederick—stepped into his path. Sean tensed, expecting trouble, but to his surprise, Gregory extended a hand.

“Thanks for saving our asses out there,” Gregory said, his tone serious.

Sean blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… sure.”

“But don’t think this changes anything,” Gregory continued, pulling his hand back. “You’re still my rival, Desmond. Don’t get cocky.”

Cyle nodded in agreement. “We’ll catch up to you one day.”

Frederick smirked. “You just wait.”

The three of them walked away, leaving Sean standing there, thoroughly confused. Rivals? Are they serious?

Before he could dwell on it, a sudden force collided with his side, nearly knocking him off balance. Cynthia had wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, her pink hair brushing against his chin as she pressed herself against him.

“Sean!” she said, her voice bright and full of relief. “Thank you again for saving me!”

Sean froze, his face turning red as he became acutely aware of her… proximity. More specifically, the pressure of her chest against him. His classmates erupted in whispers and giggles, making the situation all the more unbearable.

“Uh… yeah,” Sean mumbled, his arms awkwardly at his sides. “No problem…”

Cynthia finally broke the hug, smiling up at him. “Seriously, though. You were amazing out there. I don’t know how I would’ve made it without you.”

Before Sean could respond, their homeroom teacher, Charles De Voer, marched over, his expression stern. “Desmond. Calego. With me. Now.”

Sean and Cynthia were led to the headmaster’s office, a grand chamber adorned with banners of the academy and intricate dragon motifs carved into the walls. Behind the massive oak desk sat Headmaster Sylvara Drakemantle, her silver hair gleaming under the morning light streaming through the tall windows.

Sylvara gestured for them to sit, her expression unreadable. “Desmond. Calego. I’ve called you here because of your actions during the Dragyte incident.”

Sean shifted in his seat, glancing at Cynthia, who sat upright, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “We just did what we had to,” Sean said.

Sylvara’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Modesty is admirable, but let’s not downplay the facts. Desmond, you single-handedly eliminated a Calamity SS-rank beast. Calego, you demonstrated exceptional bravery and skill in holding your ground against overwhelming odds.”

Cynthia’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced at Sean with a small smile.

“Because of this,” Sylvara continued, standing and retrieving two sets of armor from a nearby display case, “it is my honor to promote you both. Sean Desmond, you are hereby recognized as a Dragonknight, the youngest in the academy’s history.”

She placed a set of gleaming green-and-silver armor in front of him, complete with a flowing green cape.

“Cynthia Calego,” Sylvara said, placing a slightly smaller set of armor before her. “You are named a Dragoknight in Training, with the potential to become a full Dragonknight upon further demonstration of your abilities.”

Cynthia’s eyes sparkled as she traced her fingers over the intricate designs on the armor. But her smile faltered slightly when she noticed something missing. “Wait… where’s my cape?”

Sylvara smirked. “Capes are reserved for full Dragonknights. You’ll earn yours when the time comes.”

Sean, who had been examining his own armor, gestured to the green cape draped over his shoulder plate. “Green cape means Greenhorn. Basically, a rookie.”

“Still a Dragonknight,” Cynthia shot back, sticking her tongue out playfully.

The entire academy was called to the grand auditorium later that day for an unexpected assembly. Students filled the massive hall, their excited chatter echoing off the high ceilings. The faculty stood on the stage, their expressions a mix of pride and formality.

When Sylvara stepped forward, the room fell silent. Her commanding presence demanded attention as she addressed the crowd.

“Today, we honor two exceptional students,” she began, her voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. “Sean Desmond and Cynthia Calego have demonstrated bravery, skill, and unwavering resolve in the face of extraordinary danger.”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as Sean and Cynthia stepped onto the stage, now dressed in their new armor. Sean’s green cape swayed slightly as he walked, his face stoic despite the overwhelming attention. Cynthia beamed, waving to the crowd with her usual confidence.

“Sean Desmond,” Sylvara continued, “is now the youngest Dragonknight in the academy’s history.”

The applause grew louder, with some students even standing to cheer. Gregory let out a low whistle from his seat. “Looks like my rival’s moving up in the world.”

“Cynthia Calego,” Sylvara said, “has been named a Dragoknight in Training, a testament to her potential and determination.”

Cynthia’s smile widened as she waved again, clearly enjoying the spotlight.

Sylvara concluded the ceremony with a final remark. “Let their achievements serve as inspiration to us all. The path of the Dragonknight is not an easy one, but it is one of honor and sacrifice. May their journey remind us of the greatness we strive for.”

The crowd roared with applause as Sean and Cynthia left the stage, their lives forever changed by the weight of the armor they now wore.

As the students filed out of the auditorium, Cynthia nudged Sean with her elbow, a sly grin on her face. “You’re a celebrity now, Mr. Youngest Dragonknight.”

Sean sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Great. Just what I wanted.”

Cynthia laughed, twirling a strand of her pink hair. “Get used to it. You’ve got a lot of fans now.”

Sean muttered something under his breath, but Cynthia only laughed harder, her lightheartedness a sharp contrast to his brooding demeanor.

Six Months of Trials and Triumphs

The past six months had been a whirlwind for Sean and Cynthia. Their reputations within the academy and the Dragonknight Corps had skyrocketed, each of them proving time and again that their promotions were well-deserved.

Sean had become known for his quick thinking and unmatched combat prowess. On one occasion, during a mission to escort a high-ranking noble through a dense wyvern-infested forest, he single-handedly took down an ambush of six wyverns. His precision and command of his green flames left even the senior Dragonknights speechless.

Cynthia, not to be outdone, had earned her green cape after an intense mission where she led a squad of Dragoknights in Training to fend off a pack of rampaging Dire Drakes that had terrorized a border village. Her strategic coordination and unwavering courage cemented her as a rising star within the corps.

Together, they became a formidable team, often working in tandem to tackle challenges that would have overwhelmed more seasoned fighters. Their classmates, while still catching up, looked to them for guidance as they prepared for their own tests to join the corps.

It was on a brisk morning, as the Dragonknight Seventh Corps gathered in the academy’s main courtyard, that Sean and Cynthia found themselves facing their most difficult challenge yet. The corps had been summoned to address a “religious insurrection” in the nearby Dukedom of Ardenthal.

Captain Dorian Flaylock, a burly man with a thick beard and a reputation for being both fair and unyielding, stood before the assembled knights. His voice boomed as he addressed the group.

“Listen up! We’ve been called to Ardenthal to deal with a delicate situation. A group of extremists, calling themselves the ‘Children of the Eternal Flame,’ have taken over the village of Brairstone. They’ve declared independence from the dukedom and have been attacking anyone sent to mediate. Reports indicate they’ve fortified the village and are heavily armed.”

The assembled knights murmured among themselves. Sean exchanged a glance with Cynthia, her usually confident expression now tinged with unease.

Captain Flaylock continued, his tone grave. “This is no simple bandit raid. These people believe they’re fighting for a divine cause, which makes them unpredictable—and dangerous. Our orders are to secure the village, neutralize any hostiles, and ensure the safety of the remaining civilians. Make no mistake—this will not be easy.”

The journey to the village took two days. Sean rode near the front of the column, his green cape fluttering behind him as he scanned the horizon. Cynthia rode beside him, her Dragoknight armor polished to a shine. Behind them, their classmates chatted nervously, trying to mask their apprehension.

“I don’t like this,” Cynthia admitted quietly, her voice barely audible over the clatter of hooves. “It’s one thing to fight beasts or constructs. But people? What if they’re just scared?”

Sean nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. But we don’t know the full story yet. We’ll just have to see how it plays out.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Gregory, who rode up alongside them. “Hey, don’t look so grim, you two. It’s just another mission, right? In and out, like always.”

Sean gave him a sideways glance. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who just passed the Dragoknight in Training test.”

Gregory grinned. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”

The village of Brairstone was eerily silent when the Dragonknights arrived. The fields surrounding the settlement were barren, the crops burned or trampled. Smoke rose from several buildings, and the once-bustling streets were now deserted.

Captain Flaylock raised a hand, signaling the column to stop. He turned to address the group. “Fan out and secure the perimeter. Desmond, Calego, you’re with me.”

Sean and Cynthia dismounted, following Flaylock as he led them through the village gates. The atmosphere was tense, every shadow and alleyway a potential ambush.

As they moved deeper into the village, a group of figures emerged from one of the larger buildings. They were dressed in ragged robes, their faces painted with crimson symbols. At the center stood a tall, gaunt man with piercing eyes, his voice carrying an unnatural resonance.

“Who dares trespass in the sacred land of the Eternal Flame?” he called out, his tone a mix of fury and zealotry.

Captain Flaylock stepped forward. “I am Captain Dorian Flaylock of the Dragonknight Corps. This village belongs to the Dukedom of Ardenthal. Surrender peacefully, and no harm will come to you.”

The man laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “Fools! You do not understand the power we wield. The Eternal Flame has chosen us to cleanse this land of corruption. We will not bow to your false lords!”

As Captain Dorian Flaylock confronted the zealot leader, tension crackled in the air. The gaunt man’s laughter echoed through the village, his zealot followers standing ready with weapons and glowing magical sigils etched into their hands.

“You do not understand the power we wield,” the leader said with eerie calm. “The Eternal Flame has chosen us. This land will be cleansed of its corruption, starting with you.”

Before Dorian could respond, the ground shook violently, followed by a series of deafening explosions. Fire and smoke erupted from multiple directions, engulfing buildings and scattering debris. Screams filled the air—agonized cries of both civilians and Dragonknights caught in the blasts.

Sean stumbled as the force of the explosions rattled the ground beneath him. “What the hell—”

More explosions followed, and through the smoke, Sean caught glimpses of chaos: Dragonknights being flung through the air, students scrambling for cover, and zealots charging from hidden positions. The air was thick with acrid smoke and the tang of burning wood.

“Captain!” Cynthia shouted, her voice barely audible over the cacophony.

Dorian turned toward her but didn’t have time to respond. An arrow whizzed through the air, embedding itself in his arm. He cried out in pain, dropping to one knee as blood seeped from the wound.

“Damn it!” Sean growled, his green flames sparking to life around his hands.

A group of zealots charged toward them, weapons raised and eyes burning with fanatic determination. Sean reacted instinctively, unleashing a wave of green fire that swept over the first two attackers, incinerating them instantly. The remaining zealots hesitated, their momentum faltering at the sight of the flames.

“Sean!” Cynthia yelled. “We’ve got to get the captain out of here!”

Sean nodded, his gaze fixed on the approaching zealots. “Can you carry him?”

Cynthia slid her arm under Dorian’s uninjured shoulder, helping him to his feet despite his protests. “I’ve got him. Just cover us!”

Sean turned back to the zealots, who were regaining their nerve. He took a step forward, green flames swirling around his fists. “You want a fight? Come and get it.”

The zealots hesitated for only a moment before charging again, their weapons glinting in the dim light. Sean met them head-on, his flames cutting through their ranks with brutal efficiency. But for every zealot he dropped, two more seemed to take their place.

“Cynthia, move!” Sean shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll hold them off!”

With Cynthia half-carrying Dorian, the two made their way toward the village gates. Sean stayed close, his flames forming a protective barrier around them as they retreated. But the zealots were relentless, their numbers seeming to grow with every passing second.

“Keep going!” Sean barked, his voice strained as he blasted another wave of fire at the advancing zealots.

When they reached the gates, they found their path blocked—the zealots had begun raising the drawbridge, cutting off any chance of escape. Sean cursed under his breath. “We’re not making it out that way.”

Cynthia looked around frantically, her grip on Dorian tightening. “What do we do?!”

Sean’s eyes scanned the area, and he spotted a gap in the village wall where the explosions had weakened the structure. “There! We’ll jump!”

“Jump?!” Cynthia echoed, incredulous. “Are you insane?!”

“Just trust me!” Sean snapped, grabbing her arm and guiding her toward the gap. With a final blast of fire to keep the zealots at bay, he leapt, pulling Cynthia and Dorian with him. The three of them tumbled down the slope on the other side of the wall, landing in a patch of muddy grass.

As Sean helped Cynthia and Dorian to their feet, the sound of the drawbridge slamming shut echoed through the air. Smoke billowed from the village behind them, and the distant cries of battle carried on the wind.

They stumbled toward the rendezvous point outside the village, where the remaining Dragonknights and students were regrouping. The scene was grim—faces were pale, expressions haunted. The once-proud force of 20 Dragonknights was now reduced to 12, and of the 22 students who had joined the mission, only 14 remained.

Sean’s stomach churned as he looked around. The absence of familiar faces was a weight he couldn’t ignore.

Cynthia lowered Dorian onto a makeshift stretcher, her hands trembling as she tore a strip of fabric from her cloak to bind his wound. “We lost so many…”

Sean clenched his fists, his green flames flickering faintly before dissipating. “This wasn’t just a random uprising. They were ready for us.”

One of the senior Dragonknights, a woman named Elyra Veyl, approached with a grim expression. “Captain Flaylock, can you confirm their numbers?”

Dorian winced as Cynthia tightened the bandage. “Too many. And they’ve fortified the village. Explosives, traps… This wasn’t a rebellion. It’s a goddamn war.”

Elyra turned to Sean and Cynthia. “You two saved the captain’s life. You did well, but this is a reminder that the life of a Dragonknight isn’t just about glory. People die. Good people. This mission isn’t over, and it’s only going to get harder.”

Sean nodded, his jaw tightening. “We need reinforcements. If we go back in like this, we’re finished.”

Elyra sighed. “We’ve already sent word to the academy. Reinforcements are on the way, but until then, we hold the line. No one goes back in.”

Sean looked back at the smoldering village, his green eyes narrowing. No one goes back in? We’ll see about that.

The tension among the survivors was palpable. The injured moaned softly on their makeshift stretchers, and the remaining Dragonknights stood in grim silence. Sean paced back and forth, his hands clenching into fists, his mind racing. He couldn’t stop thinking about the missing Dragonknights and students. The image of their terrified faces as explosions rocked the village haunted him.

Finally, Sean stopped and turned toward Elyra. “I’m going back.”

Elyra, who was tending to one of the injured students, looked up sharply. “No, you’re not.”

Sean stepped forward, his voice firm. “We don’t know if the missing are alive or dead. But if they are alive, every second we waste gives those zealots more time to…” His voice faltered, but his meaning was clear. “I’m not sitting here while they suffer.”

Elyra stood, her expression hardening as she closed the distance between them. “You think you’re a hero, Desmond? You think running back into that hellhole is going to fix this?” Her voice rose, anger mixing with desperation. “We’ve already lost too many. I won’t let you throw your life away!”

Sean’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about being a hero,” he said, his voice steady. “This is about doing what’s right. We don’t leave people behind.”

Elyra’s hands balled into fists at her sides. “And what happens when you don’t come back? What happens when they lose you too?”

Sean stepped closer, his green eyes blazing with determination. “Then at least I’ll know I tried. Sitting here isn’t going to save them. We both know what those zealots will do—alive or dead.”

Elyra’s breath hitched, her composure cracking. The other Dragonknights and students watched the exchange in silence, the weight of Sean’s words sinking in. The faint crackle of fire from the smoldering village seemed louder than ever.

Elyra suddenly grabbed Sean by the shoulders, her nails digging into his armor. She lowered her head, and her voice dropped to a whisper, trembling with emotion. “Please…” Her voice broke, and tears began to stream down her face. “Please… find my husband. His name is Luke Ardenthal.”

The mention of the name hit Sean like a thunderbolt. He froze, his mind racing. Luke Ardenthal? The Duke’s son? If Luke was in the village, he was a priority target for the zealots—if he wasn’t already dead.

Elyra’s grip on his shoulders tightened. “He’s strong, Sean. Stronger than most. But if they…” Her voice trailed off, and she choked back a sob. “Please bring him back.”

Sean reached up and placed a reassuring hand on hers. “I’ll find him,” he said softly. “I promise.”

As Sean turned to head back up the hill, a familiar voice called out behind him. “Sean!”

He turned to see Captain Dorian Flaylock staggering toward him, supported by Cynthia. Dorian’s face was pale, and his arm was still bleeding despite Cynthia’s attempts to bandage it. In his uninjured hand, he held his sword—a masterfully crafted weapon with an intricately designed hilt.

Dorian shoved the sword into Sean’s hands. “Take it.”

Sean stared at the weapon, his fingers curling around the hilt. “Captain, I—”

“Kill as many of those sons of bitches as you can,” Dorian growled, his voice fierce despite his weakened state. “All of them, if possible.”

Sean nodded, the weight of the sword in his hand grounding him. “I will.”

Dorian gave him a grim smile before his knees buckled. Cynthia caught him, guiding him back to his stretcher. “Don’t die out there,” Dorian muttered as he was laid down. “We’re not done with you yet.”

Sean nodded, his expression set in stone. He turned toward the smoldering village and began his ascent, the flames of his determination burning brighter than ever.

Before he could get far, Cynthia jogged up beside him. “Sean,” she called out, her voice firm.

He stopped, turning to face her. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not going,” she interrupted, her blue eyes locking onto his. “But you’re not leaving without this.”

She handed him a small vial of glowing green liquid. “It’s a concentrated healing potion. Stronger than the standard issue. You’ll need it.”

Sean took the vial, nodding his thanks. “Take care of the others,” he said.

Cynthia crossed her arms, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. “Just come back in one piece, okay? You still owe me a rematch in sparring.”

Sean smirked faintly. “Deal.”

Sean turned and headed up the hill, his silhouette framed by the faint light of the rising sun. The sounds of the camp faded behind him as he approached the smoldering village gates. The acrid stench of smoke and blood filled the air, but Sean’s focus remained unshaken.

As he stood at the edge of the ruined village, gripping Dorian’s sword tightly in his hand, he whispered to himself: “Hold on, Luke. I’m coming.”

With that, he stepped into the darkness, ready to face whatever horrors lay ahead.

Sean crouched near the hole he, Cynthia, and Dorian had used to escape earlier. The smoke rising from the village obscured his vision, but the distant glow of torches moving through the streets confirmed that the zealots were still patrolling. He pressed himself against the side of a crumbling wall, his breathing slow and measured, his sharp green eyes scanning the area.

A group of zealots passed by, their voices carrying through the quiet night. Sean strained to hear their conversation.

“We’ve found three more stragglers near the southern field,” one of them said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “Bring them to the church. The High Flame requires proper offerings.”

A chill ran down Sean’s spine. Offerings? He gritted his teeth, his fists clenching. The flames in his chest threatened to burst forth, but he forced himself to remain calm. Not yet. Stay quiet. One mistake and they’ll bring the whole village down on me.

The group moved on, their footsteps fading into the distance. Sean waited several tense moments before rising from his crouch and approaching the hole. He dropped silently into the cellar below, landing with barely a sound. The faint scent of mildew and damp earth filled the air as he crouched in the shadows, listening for any signs of movement.

Sean moved cautiously through the streets, sticking to the shadows and avoiding open areas. The village was a ghost town now, its once-lively streets filled only with the echoes of the zealots’ chants and the faint cries of those still trapped.

The destruction was worse up close. Buildings were reduced to smoldering husks, their walls blackened by fire. The air was thick with smoke and ash, and the cobblestone streets were littered with debris. Sean’s every step was deliberate, his ears straining for any sound that might indicate danger.

As he turned a corner, his heart skipped a beat. Lying in the middle of the street was a motionless figure clad in the armor of a Dragonknight. Sean’s breath caught in his throat as he rushed forward, his boots barely making a sound on the cobblestones.

Kneeling beside the body, Sean quickly assessed the situation. The armor was battered and scorched, and blood pooled beneath the fallen knight. The face beneath the helmet was pale and lifeless—one of the older veterans, Markus Wundberg. Sean recognized him immediately.

“Markus,” Sean whispered, his voice low and tight. He pressed two fingers to Markus’s neck, but there was no pulse. The sight of the man who had once trained him, lying lifeless in the street, filled Sean with a mix of grief and anger.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. I can’t let them use him.

The zealots would likely defile Markus’s body for one of their sick rituals if they found it. Sean scanned the area quickly, spotting a cellar door nearby. He hooked his arms under Markus’s shoulders and dragged him across the street as quietly as he could.

The door creaked softly as Sean pushed it open, revealing a dark and dusty cellar. He lowered Markus’s body inside, resting it gently on the floor. He removed the knight’s nameplate from his chest armor and slipped it into his satchel, a silent promise to bring it back to the others.

“Rest easy, Markus,” Sean murmured. “I’ll make sure this wasn’t for nothing.”

Sean stepped back into the street, his senses on high alert. The faint sound of chanting reached his ears, carried on the night wind. He adjusted the grip on his sword, the weight of it grounding him as he moved toward the sound.

The closer he got to the center of the village, the more the air seemed to thrum with an unnatural energy. The chanting grew louder, mingled with muffled cries of fear and pain. Sean’s stomach churned, but he pressed on, his resolve unshaken.

As he paused to check his surroundings, Sean’s mind wandered briefly to the survivors he had left behind. He thought of Elyra’s tearful plea and the name she had whispered: Luke Ardenthal. The weight of that name pressed heavily on him.

If Luke’s here, he’s their top priority. They’ll either use him as leverage or… worse. Sean’s grip on his sword tightened, the green flames flickering faintly around the blade. I have to find him. And I have to make them pay.

Sean crouched on the roof of a partially burned building overlooking the town square. The acrid smell of smoke and ash filled the air, stinging his nose and eyes. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the square below, where a large group of survivors—men, women, and children—were shackled and huddled together in fear.

He quickly scanned the group, counting heads. His heart sank as he realized there were still several people unaccounted for. However, his classmates were all there, bound but alive—except for Gregory and Maria. Where the hell are they?

The square was illuminated by torches, their flickering light casting eerie shadows across the scene. At the center stood the gaunt man who had confronted Captain Dorian earlier. He was pacing in front of the prisoners, his voice rising and falling as he delivered a fiery sermon.

“Brothers and sisters of the Eternal Flame!” the man shouted, his voice filled with a mixture of fervor and malice. “Tonight, the false Dragonknights have fallen before our righteous cause! Their arrogance, their blasphemy, has been punished by the Flame’s divine will!”

The zealots surrounding him cheered, raising their weapons in triumph. The prisoners flinched, their faces pale with terror.

The man continued, his tone shifting to one of scorn. “But do not pity these so-called knights, for they were unworthy of salvation. Their strength has crumbled, their bodies lie broken. And yet…” His voice darkened, and his eyes narrowed. “Two. Only two have been accounted for among the dead.”

Sean’s blood ran cold. They’re looking for survivors. And they know there’s at least one Dragonknight still alive in the village.

The man’s pacing stopped abruptly, and he raised his hand, pointing toward the prisoners. “But fear not! We will find the rest. They cannot hide from the Flame’s judgment.”

The zealots cheered again, but the man silenced them with a sharp gesture. He turned toward the crowd, his lips curling into a sinister smile. “Now, bring her to me.”

Two zealots moved to the edge of the crowd, where a young girl with pink hair clung to her mother, sobbing. The mother pleaded desperately, her voice breaking. “Please, no! She’s just a child!”

The zealots ignored her, prying the girl away and dragging her toward the man. She kicked and screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Let me go! Mother!”

Sean’s fists clenched as he watched, his entire body trembling with suppressed rage. I’ll burn every last one of you bastards.

The man spread his arms wide as the girl was dragged to his feet. “Behold! A gift to the Eternal Flame! My own flesh and blood shall become one with the fire, a martyr to light our path forward!”

The girl turned to him, her tear-streaked face filled with horror. “Father, stop this! Please!” she begged, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this!”

But the man’s gaze was cold and unyielding. “It is through sacrifice that we achieve purity, child. You should be honored.”

Sean’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the hilt of his sword. His flames flickered to life, threatening to erupt at any moment. I should go down there now and end this…

But the odds weren’t in his favor. Dozens of zealots surrounded the square, and the prisoners were too close to the center. If Sean attacked now, the risk of collateral damage was too high.

The man raised his hands again, his voice booming. “Tonight, the Eternal Flame will claim its rightful place as the guiding light of this land! And my daughter shall lead the way!”

The prisoners were herded toward the massive stone church at the edge of the square. The girl struggled as she was dragged along, but her captors held firm. The man followed, his zealots marching behind him, chanting hymns to their twisted faith.

Sean watched as the church doors slammed shut behind them, the chanting muffled but still audible. The square was left eerily quiet, save for the crackling of the torches.

Sean let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to focus. The church. That’s their stronghold. He knew he couldn’t storm it alone, not with the zealots inside and the prisoners at risk. I need to be smart about this.

He climbed down from the roof, landing silently in the shadows of an alleyway. Moving swiftly, he made his way toward the west side of the village. That’s where he’d last seen Gregory and Maria during the battle. If they were still alive, they’d likely be hiding somewhere nearby.

As Sean crept through the streets, he encountered another corpse—a villager this time, their lifeless body discarded like trash. He knelt briefly, muttering a silent apology before moving on. Every step he took deepened his resolve. I’ll save as many as I can. But that man… he dies tonight.

Sean crouched low as he crept through the west side of the village, his senses heightened. The charred remnants of buildings surrounded him, their walls crumbling and scorched. His sharp eyes caught movement in the distance—six dead zealots sprawled near the wreckage of what appeared to be a storefront.

That wasn’t random, he thought, moving cautiously toward the scene. The bodies bore the marks of an intense battle—slashed throats, broken bones, and burns that didn’t come from fire magic. Sean’s grip on his sword tightened as he scanned the area, his ears straining for any sound.

From inside the store, muffled voices reached him. He couldn’t make out the words, but the urgency in the tones was unmistakable. Friends or foes? He decided not to wait to find out. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the broken window and leapt inside, landing with precision.

The moment Sean landed, a blur of movement charged at him. He barely had time to react as a figure wielding a broken plank lunged toward him with a fierce cry. Sean sidestepped the attack, his instincts kicking in as he extended his leg and tripped the attacker.

The figure hit the floor with a grunt, and Sean’s heart skipped a beat when he realized who it was. “Maria?!”

Maria scrambled to her knees, her wide eyes narrowing in recognition. “Sean?” she whispered, her voice trembling. The tension in her body evaporated instantly, and before he could say another word, she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck in a desperate hug.

“Sean, you’re alive!” she cried, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Sean hesitated for a moment before gently patting her back. “I could say the same to you. Are you okay?”

Maria pulled back, her face streaked with soot and tears, but her expression was one of relief. “I’m fine. But Gregory—he’s not.”

Sean stiffened. “Where is he?”

Maria stood quickly, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the back of the shop. “Come on, hurry!”

The back room of the shop was dimly lit, the only light coming from a small lantern that flickered on the ground. Gregory lay on a makeshift bed of burlap sacks, his breathing shallow and uneven. His armor was dented and bloodied, and crude bandages wrapped tightly around his abdomen and left leg.

Sean knelt beside him, his heart sinking at the sight. “What happened?”

Maria knelt opposite him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “When the zealots found us, I… I lost my sword. I couldn’t fight. Gregory… he fought them all off. He killed every last one of them.” Her voice broke, and she wiped at her eyes. “But they got him too. He was already bleeding when we ran in here.”

Sean’s eyes darted over Gregory’s injuries. The bandages were soaked through with blood, and his face was pale and slick with sweat. “How long has he been like this?”

“Since the attack,” Maria said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to stop the bleeding, but… I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

Sean’s jaw tightened. “He’s not dying here,” he said firmly, reaching into his satchel.

Sean retrieved the vial Cynthia had given him—the concentrated healing potion that had saved Captain Dorian. Uncorking it, he tilted Gregory’s head back and forced the liquid down his throat.

For a moment, nothing happened. Maria watched anxiously, her hands clenched into fists. “Is it working? Sean, is it—”

Gregory’s body convulsed, and his eyes snapped open as he gasped for air. The pale color in his cheeks returned almost instantly, and his breathing steadied. He groaned as he sat up, clutching his side.

“Gregory!” Maria cried, tears streaming down her face as she threw her arms around him.

Gregory blinked in confusion before wrapping his arms around her. “Maria?” His voice was hoarse but alive. “What… what happened?”

“You’re okay,” Maria sobbed, burying her face in his chest. “I thought I lost you.”

Sean gave them a moment before clearing his throat. “The potion did its job. But you still need to take it easy. You were pretty close to checking out.”

Gregory looked at Sean, a weak grin forming on his face. “You again. Saving my ass, huh?”

Sean shrugged. “It’s starting to feel like a full-time job.”

Gregory winced as he adjusted his position, but his strength was returning. “Thanks, Sean. Really. I owe you.”

Sean waved him off. “Just don’t make it a habit.”

Maria pulled back slightly, her hands resting on Gregory’s shoulders. “You scared me, you idiot,” she said, her voice cracking with a mix of relief and frustration. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Gregory chuckled softly, reaching up to wipe a tear from her cheek. “I’ll try not to.”

Sean stood, scanning the room. “We can’t stay here. The zealots are still searching for survivors. We need to move.”

Gregory nodded, though his expression turned serious. “What about the others? Do we know if anyone else made it?”

Sean hesitated. “Some of the students and Dragonknights are captured. They’ve been taken to the church in the center of town. I haven’t found anyone else yet.”

Maria stood as well, her hands balling into fists. “Then we go there next. We can’t just leave them.”

Sean held up a hand. “We’re going, but we’re doing it smart. Gregory needs a few more minutes to recover, and we need to figure out the best way to get in without getting caught.”

Gregory smirked. “Lead the way, Desmond. You’ve got a knack for getting us out of trouble.”

Sean nodded, determination burning in his eyes. “Stay close. We’re not losing anyone else tonight.”

As Sean, Gregory, and Maria made their way toward the southern gate, the sound of shouting and crashing debris caught their attention. Sean raised a hand, signaling the others to stop.

“Do you hear that?” Maria whispered, gripping her makeshift weapon tightly.

Gregory nodded, his face darkening. “It sounds like a fight.”

Sean moved toward the source of the noise, crouching low and staying in the shadows. The others followed closely, their footsteps barely audible on the cobblestones. When they reached the edge of a small clearing, they peered out and saw two Dragonknights struggling against a group of zealots.

The zealots weren’t wielding weapons but instead hurled rocks, bricks, and debris at the knights with alarming force. The Dragonknights used their shields to deflect the projectiles but refused to strike back.

“What the hell are they doing?” Gregory hissed, his frustration evident. “Why aren’t they fighting back?”

“They’re zealots,” Sean said quietly, his eyes fixed on the scene. “Unarmed civilians, technically. Dragonknights are bound by the code. They don’t attack unarmed enemies.”

Gregory clenched his fists. “Code or not, they’re getting their asses handed to them.”

Sean didn’t respond. Instead, he bent down, picked up a sizable rock, and hurled it with precision. The stone hit one of the zealots square in the forehead, and the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Maria and Gregory exchanged a glance before following Sean’s lead. They each grabbed rocks and began pelting the zealots. Caught off guard, the zealots turned to see their attackers, but before they could react, the onslaught continued. One by one, they fell until all six were either unconscious or groaning on the ground.

Sean, Gregory, and Maria approached the two Dragonknights, who lowered their shields and turned toward them. One of them, a tall man with striking features and a commanding presence, stepped forward. His armor, though scratched and dented, gleamed faintly in the dim light.

“Thank you,” the man said, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “We were pinned down.”

Sean tilted his head. “You’re Luke, aren’t you?”

The man nodded, his expression guarded. “Luke Ardenthal. And this is Rowan Smith,” he added, gesturing to the second knight, a younger man who looked only slightly older than Sean. Rowan had short, messy hair and a nervous energy that made him seem out of place in his Dragonknight armor.

Rowan gave a weak smile. “Not exactly the most dignified situation for a Dragonknight, huh?”

Gregory crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you fight back? You could’ve taken them down easily.”

Luke’s eyes hardened. “We’re Dragonknights. We don’t attack unarmed civilians, no matter the circumstances.”

“Even if they’re trying to kill you?” Gregory shot back.

“It’s not our way,” Luke said firmly. “But thank you for intervening. You saved us.”

Sean waved it off. “We’re not done yet. Is there somewhere safe we can regroup?”

Luke nodded. “There’s a cellar nearby. We’ve been taking shelter there.”

The group followed Luke and Rowan through the winding streets, careful to avoid any patrols. After a few tense minutes, they reached a hidden entrance near a collapsed building. Luke lifted the cellar door, revealing a dimly lit space below.

As they descended, Sean saw that the cellar was filled with people—three more Dragonknights, several villagers, and a handful of frightened children. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and fear. In one corner, the bodies of four fallen Dragonknights were laid out, their armor still bearing the marks of battle.

The other Dragonknights stood as Luke entered, their expressions lighting up with relief. One was a woman with dark, braided hair and a sharp gaze. She nodded at Luke. “Glad to see you made it back.”

“This is Serina Calloway,” Luke said, introducing her. “And over there are Marcus Delane and Alric Thorne.” Marcus was a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, while Alric was lean and quiet, his eyes constantly scanning the room.

Maria gasped softly when she saw the corpses in the corner. “Are those…?”

Luke’s expression darkened. “They were with us when the zealots attacked. We couldn’t save them.”

Rowan added, his voice heavy, “We’ve been trying to protect the villagers, but it’s been… difficult.”

Sean looked around the cellar, his sharp eyes taking in the makeshift camp. The villagers clung to one another, their faces pale with fear. The children were huddled together, their wide eyes staring at Sean and the others with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

“How many zealots are left?” Sean asked, his voice low.

“Too many,” Marcus grunted. “And they’re using the church as a stronghold.”

Sean exchanged a glance with Maria and Gregory. “The students and Dragonknights they captured are being held there. We’ve got to get them out.”

Serina frowned. “It won’t be easy. They’ve fortified the church. Any attempt to storm it will end in bloodshed—ours.”

Luke stepped forward, his gaze steady. “We can’t abandon them. If we don’t act, they’ll be sacrificed to whatever madness these zealots believe in.”

Sean’s jaw tightened. “We’ll find a way.”

The group gathered around a makeshift table, where Luke unfurled a rough map of the village. He pointed to the church at the center. “This is their stronghold. It’s heavily guarded, but there are weak points we can exploit.”

Sean studied the map, his mind racing. “What about the bell tower? If we can get someone up there, they could create a distraction.”

Maria chimed in, “And if we can take out the guards at the main entrance, the rest of us could slip in through the side.”

Marcus crossed his arms. “It’s risky. But it might be our best shot.”

Luke looked at Sean, his expression serious. “Are you willing to lead this?”

Sean met his gaze without hesitation. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get them out.”

Luke nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Then let’s get to work.”

The group began to prepare, their resolve hardening.

Sean crouched low as he approached the church, the imposing structure silhouetted against the smoky night sky. The heavy wooden doors were flanked by two hulking zealots, their sheer size making them seem more monster than man. Sean’s green flames flickered faintly around his hands, casting a ghostly light over his determined face.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Luke had just disappeared into the shadows near the bell tower. A quiet nod between them was all it took to confirm their roles. Sean turned back to the church, his focus narrowing as he prepared for the fight ahead.

Luke moved with the practiced silence of a seasoned Dragonknight, his footsteps barely audible on the cobblestone path. The two guards stationed outside the bell tower stood with bored expressions, their weapons lowered.

With a single fluid motion, Luke drew his blade and struck. The first guard didn’t even have time to cry out before falling, his body crumpling to the ground. The second spun around, eyes wide with surprise, but Luke’s blade silenced him just as quickly. Wiping his weapon clean, Luke ascended the tower’s winding staircase, his muscles tensed with anticipation.

Meanwhile, at the south drawbridge, Marcus, Serina, and Alric led the remaining villagers across the hastily lowered platform. The frightened civilians moved quickly, some carrying children while others helped the injured. The four fallen Dragonknights were carried by their comrades, their bodies a somber reminder of the cost of the night’s chaos.

“Move, move!” Marcus barked, his voice cutting through the noise. “Get to the other side!”

Gregory returned from retrieving Markus Wundberg’s body, his face grim as he handed it off to Alric. “That’s all of them,” he said, glancing back at the village. “Let’s go!”

As the last villager crossed, a deafening roar filled the air. A massive cannonball struck the drawbridge, splintering the wooden structure and sending parts of it crashing into the river below. The sudden destruction sent shockwaves through the group, and the air was filled with panicked screams.

“They’ve spotted us!” Serina shouted, raising her shield as a volley of whistling arrows rained down from above.

From his vantage point in the bell tower, Luke saw the devastation below. Without hesitation, he grabbed the bell’s rope and began ringing it furiously, the sound echoing across the village.

“Fall back!” Luke roared, his voice carrying over the chaos. “Get them out of here!”

The ringing bell drew the zealots’ attention, and arrows began to fly toward the tower. Luke gritted his teeth as he ducked behind a wooden beam, narrowly avoiding being skewered.

Sean glanced toward the bell tower, his heart sinking as he saw Luke pinned down. Damn it, Luke. You’re buying us time, but at what cost?

Sean turned back to the church, steeling himself as he approached the two hulking guards. The men stood like statues, their faces obscured by the shadows of their hoods. When Sean was only a few feet away, they stepped forward in unison, their voices deep and menacing.

“None may enter the house of the Eternal Flame,” one growled.

Sean stopped, his hand tightening around his sword. “You’re in my way.”

The other guard sneered, cracking his knuckles. “You’ll burn like the rest.”

The first guard lunged, his massive fist swinging toward Sean with terrifying speed. Sean dodged to the side, his flames igniting as he retaliated with a sweeping slash. The blade connected, but the man’s thick armor absorbed most of the blow.

The second guard joined the fray, his movements surprisingly fast for someone of his size. Sean ducked under a wild swing and drove his knee into the man’s stomach, but it was like hitting a wall. The guard grunted, grabbing Sean’s arm and flinging him across the courtyard.

Sean rolled to his feet, flames flaring brighter as he adjusted his grip on his sword. These guys are tougher than they look.

The first guard charged again, this time with a heavy mace. Sean sidestepped the attack, his blade slashing across the man’s exposed arm. The guard roared in pain, but before he could recover, Sean unleashed a burst of green fire that engulfed him. The man collapsed, his screams echoing into the night.

The second guard hesitated, his confidence wavering as he glanced at his fallen comrade. Sean seized the opportunity, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His sword flashed in the torchlight, slicing through the man’s armor and bringing him to his knees. With a final thrust, Sean ended the fight.

Breathing heavily, Sean wiped the blood from his blade and turned toward the church doors. He placed a hand on the heavy wood, pushing it open with a grim determination. The air inside was thick with the scent of incense and something far more sinister.

Time to finish this, Sean thought, stepping into the belly of the beast.

Sean slipped silently through the church’s dark corridors, his steps muffled by the thick layer of ash and dust coating the floor. The sound of chanting grew louder as he approached the “inner sanctum.” His heart pounded in his chest, but his grip on his sword was steady. He couldn’t afford to falter now—not with lives hanging in the balance.

He peeked into the sanctum, his sharp green eyes taking in the scene. The pink-haired girl from earlier was tied to a massive wooden pyre at the center of the room. She writhed and screamed, tears streaming down her face as she begged to be released. Her father stood before the pyre, his arms raised in fervent devotion, delivering yet another impassioned sermon to the gathered zealots.

Sean scanned the room quickly. No sign of the other captives, but this is a start.

Then, his gaze caught something above the pyre—a massive, ornate chandelier hanging precariously from the ceiling. The gears in his mind turned, and a plan began to form.

Sean reached into his belt and pulled out a throwing knife. He took a deep breath, steadying his aim, and then hurled the blade with precision. The knife struck the chain holding the chandelier in place, snapping it instantly.

The chandelier plummeted, crashing onto the gathered zealots below. The force of the impact sent shards of metal and glass flying, silencing their chants in an instant. The room erupted into chaos, the air thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning oil.

Sean leapt from his hiding place, landing gracefully amidst the confusion. He was immediately met by a group of surviving zealots, their faces twisted with rage. They lunged at him, weapons drawn.

Sean’s blade moved like a whirlwind, slicing through the first two zealots before they could react. The third swung a heavy mace at him, but Sean ducked and countered with a vicious upward slash, sending the man sprawling.

Pain exploded in Sean’s side as a dagger found its mark. He gritted his teeth, twisting away from the attacker and dispatching him with a well-placed thrust. Blood seeped from the wound, but Sean didn’t let it slow him down. He fought with ruthless efficiency, his green flames igniting around his blade as he tore through the remaining zealots.

When the last body hit the floor, Sean staggered slightly, his breathing labored. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling the warmth of his blood beneath his armor. No time to stop now.

Sean made his way to the pyre and began cutting through the ropes binding the girl. She sobbed uncontrollably, her hands trembling as she clung to him the moment she was free.

“Thank you,” she choked out. “Thank you.”

Sean gently pried her off him. “You need to go. Hide somewhere safe until this is over.”

“But—” she started, her voice panicked.

“Go!” Sean said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The girl nodded, tears still streaming down her face, and ran toward the nearest exit.

Sean turned his attention to the side door where her father had fled. The man’s retreat had not gone unnoticed. Sean followed, his steps echoing through the narrow corridors as he descended into the labyrinthine catacombs below the church.

The air grew colder and damper as Sean navigated the maze. His path was repeatedly blocked by zealots lying in wait, their ambushes poorly timed and no match for his skill. Sean dispatched them one by one, though each encounter left him more battered and bloodied.

By the time he reached the heart of the catacombs, he was breathing heavily, his body screaming in protest. But he pressed on, driven by sheer determination.

Sean finally found the man standing before a row of makeshift cells. Behind the bars, he could see the captured students and two Dragonknights, their expressions a mix of fear and relief at the sight of him.

The man turned slowly, his face illuminated by the flickering torchlight. He smiled—a chilling, almost serene expression. “You’re persistent,” he said, his voice calm despite the situation.

Sean leveled his sword at him. “Why?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “Why do all of this? Why sacrifice innocent people? Your own daughter?”

The man tilted his head, his expression unchanging. “The Eternal Flame demands sacrifice. Through fire, we find purity. Through death, we find life.”

“Bullshit,” Sean spat. “You’re nothing but a madman hiding behind a twisted ideology.”

The man’s smile widened, and he dropped his sword and knife, letting them clatter to the ground. “Dragonknight,” he said mockingly. “Bound by your code. You don’t kill unarmed men, do you?”

Sean froze, his grip on his sword tightening. The man’s taunt hung in the air, daring him to act.

The room fell silent, save for the distant drip of water echoing through the catacombs. Sean’s green eyes burned with fury as he stared at the man, his sword trembling in his hand.

“You’re right,” Sean said finally, his voice cold. He stepped forward, allowing his magic to surge through his body. His armor dissolved into green flames, leaving him standing in simple clothing. “Dragonknights don’t kill unarmed men.”

The man’s smug expression faltered as Sean drove his sword into his stomach. The flames around the blade ignited, consuming him from the inside out.

“But I do,” Sean said, his voice like ice.

The man gasped, his eyes wide with shock and pain. He crumpled to the ground as the flames consumed him, his final scream echoing through the catacombs.

Sean turned to the cells, his expression hardening. He used his blade to break the locks, freeing the students and Dragonknights inside. They rushed out, some helping the injured while others looked to Sean for guidance.

“Let’s go,” Sean said, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. “We’re getting out of here.”

As they made their way back through the catacombs, Sean couldn’t help but glance back at the smoldering remains of the man he had just killed. No more sermons. No more sacrifices.

The villagers and the rescued captives from the catacombs huddled together near the southern edge of the village, anxiously watching the makeshift bridge that spanned a shallow but fast-moving river. The remnants of the original drawbridge lay in splinters nearby, a stark reminder of the night’s chaos. Dragonknights and civilians alike worked together to stabilize the hastily constructed bridge as the last of the survivors crossed.

Sean supported Luke, who was limping heavily, his arm draped over Sean’s shoulders. The older Dragonknight’s armor was battered, and blood seeped from a gash in his leg. Despite his injuries, Luke’s resolve hadn’t wavered.

“Almost there,” Sean muttered, gritting his teeth as he helped bear Luke’s weight.

Luke chuckled weakly. “You’re stronger than you look, kid.”

Sean shot him a side-eye. “And you’re heavier than you look.”

They finally stepped off the bridge and onto solid ground. A cheer erupted from the villagers and Dragonknights as Luke and Sean reached the safety of the camp. Sean was about to help Luke to a sitting position when a blur of movement caught his eye.

“Luke!” a voice cried, filled with equal parts relief and desperation.

A woman with dark, braided hair and tear-filled eyes ran toward them, her steps frantic. It was Elyra, Luke’s wife. Before Sean could react, she barreled into Luke, throwing her arms around him in a fierce embrace. She sobbed into his chest, her fingers clutching his armor as if letting go would mean losing him again.

“You idiot!” she cried, her voice muffled. “I thought… I thought I lost you.”

Luke winced slightly at the pressure on his injuries but managed a weary smile. “It’ll take more than a few zealots to keep me away from you.”

Elyra pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her gaze searching his. Then, without a word, she leaned in and kissed him deeply, her tears streaming down her cheeks.

The sight brought a rare, genuine smile to Sean’s face. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to breathe, the weight of the night’s horrors momentarily lifting.

Sean’s brief moment of peace was abruptly interrupted as he was tackled from the side. A pair of arms wrapped tightly around him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He stumbled, catching himself before they both fell.

“Sean!” Cynthia’s voice was thick with emotion as she buried her face against his chest, clutching him as if her life depended on it. “You’re alive! I was so scared you wouldn’t come back!”

Sean stood frozen, his mind struggling to process what was happening. Is this really happening?

Cynthia tightened her grip, seemingly unaware of Sean’s confusion. “Don’t you dare scare me like that again!” she said, her voice muffled but fierce.

Sean, utterly bewildered, looked around for help. His gaze landed on Maria, who was standing nearby with her arms crossed and an amused smirk on her face.

Maria arched an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for? Hug her back.”

Sean hesitated, his hands hovering awkwardly before he finally placed them on Cynthia’s shoulders. “Uh… okay,” he said, patting her lightly.

Cynthia pulled back just enough to look up at him, her face flushed but determined. Before Sean could say another word, she tightened her grip on him again, her head pressed against his chest.

The tender moment was abruptly interrupted by the sound of approaching hoofbeats and the creak of wheels. Sean turned to see an ornate carriage arriving, flanked by guards. From the carriage emerged the academy headmaster, the Dragonlord, Prince Tarus, and—of all people—Cynthia’s parents.

Sean’s blood ran cold as the group’s collective gaze fell on him and Cynthia. The Dragonlord and headmaster looked relieved, Prince Tarus raised an amused eyebrow, but Cynthia’s father’s expression turned thunderous.

“Cynthia?” her father called, his voice sharp. “What is the meaning of this?”

Cynthia froze, but only for a moment. Her resolve hardened as she turned back to Sean with a determined gleam in her eye. Before he could react, she leaned up on her toes and kissed him full on the lips.

Sean’s eyes widened in shock, his mind blanking as her lips pressed against his. The world seemed to go silent, save for the faint gasp from Maria and the loud splutter from Gregory nearby.

When Cynthia pulled back, her face was a brilliant shade of red, but her expression was triumphant. “He’s my savior, Father,” she declared, turning to face her stunned parents. “And one day, he’ll be my husband.”

The courtyard fell into stunned silence. Cynthia’s mother looked both mortified and delighted, her hand covering her mouth as if to suppress a laugh. Her father, on the other hand, looked as though he was about to explode.

“Cynthia!” he roared, his face turning crimson. “You—he—what—”

The Dragonlord cleared her throat, stepping forward with a regal air. “Perhaps this discussion is best saved for another time,” she said, her tone firm but amused. “Tonight, we celebrate the safe return of our people.”

Cynthia’s father opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by a sharp look from his wife. She stepped forward, her expression softening as she addressed Sean. “Thank you, young man. You’ve saved many lives tonight, including my daughter’s.”

Sean, still reeling, managed a nod. “I just… did what I had to.”

As the chaos subsided and the villagers began to settle, Sean found a quiet spot to sit, his mind racing with everything that had transpired. Gregory and Maria sat nearby, their conversation lighthearted despite the night’s events.

Cynthia approached him, her usual confidence replaced by a rare moment of vulnerability. She sat beside him, her hand resting on his arm. “Thank you, Sean. For everything.”

Sean sighed, his exhaustion catching up to him. “Just… try not to get into too much trouble, okay?”

Cynthia grinned, her playful demeanor returning. “No promises.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sean allowed himself to relax, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the night finally gave way to the faint glow of dawn.