Lars ran.
The path was rough. It was barely a path at all. Regardless, he pushed forward. His feet were burning from the endless running.
Above him, the sky was corrupted by a violet shade. It was a wound across the world.
He did not look up. He couldn't afford to get distracted by the immensity in front of him. He muttered to himself:
"This is pain. My legs are burning. It's real. But as a knight, I just cannot afford to rest or turn back. It's a shame that the idea of resting conjured in my mind."
"This kingdom is in danger. Someone has, for the first time, asked for my help. And it's not even about this kingdom — it's about the whole world." He clenched his fists.
"I must reach Holit City. I have to move faster."
Fafner had told him — he remembered every single word. The city Holit, ruled by the Golden Dragons. Lars was to seek their aid…
Meanwhile, at the academy:
Everyone was chained, but they could hear the sound of that thunder — it shook the whole earth. That sound of lightning pierced through their ears like knives.
Their bodies responded. Their dragon scales, their appearances, started to change. Their humanoid forms began to shatter with pain.
The principal — old man, seemingly frail — did not flinch. Even as his own skin began to alter, black scales surfacing, he still stood silently, there, chained.
But a storm of thoughts raged in his mind.
"What is happening? This has never happened. I've never seen our humanoid forms shatter without our will. Is this the tragedy we were fated to face? Where is Fafner? What is he even doing?"
Beside him, Rizark tried to stay composed. Fear haunted his eyes, but a single thought echoed within:
"I will not fear."
Though the chains dug into his flesh, pain spreading like lightning through his limbs, he gritted his teeth and endured.
Back in the forest…
He had been now running for over an hour. Finally, he reached the gate of teleportation— a structure pulsing with white energy, gleaming like a lighthouse in the void.
He stepped through.
In a flash, he found himself in A room. Shadowed and cold.
Black-robed figures stood around a ritual circle.
A circle of white candles flickered dimly, casting wavering shadows over the intricate octagonal spell formation carved into the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of melted wax and something more potent—an ancient, cloying energy that pulsed in rhythm with the low murmurs of the two figures seated within the circle.
One turned. Another appeared behind him, pressing a blade to his neck.
"Who are you?" the man demanded.
Lars didn't flinch.
"I come by the will of King Fafner," he replied calmly.
The blade was lowered.
Only members of the royal family knew of the gate's location. That was proof enough — but the man wanted more.
"What is the king's wish?"
"It's a command. I'm not here to explain. I must meet the Golden Dragon — the master of Holit."
The two men continued their ritual, but the one who had spoken grew angry.
"How dare you speak the master's name so freely?! Show some respect!"
Lars nodded solemnly.
"I understand. But right now, the situation is more urgent than formalities. Or… do you want to take this up with King Fafner?"
"Tch. Show proof that Fafner sent you to meet our master.
"He said you'd recognize me by his scent."
The man scoffed, then relented.
"Fine. Come with me."
They walked up a side staircase from the room, ascending higher and higher.
At last, they reached a grand entrance.
Lars entered.
He stood in awe.
The hall was massive , circular, and lavishly decorated with lamps. And at its center sat the Master of Holit — the current Golden Dragon.
The black-robed man knelt immediately. Lars hesitated, but the immense pressure radiating from the figure forced him down. His knees buckled.
"Long live the Golden Dragon," the robed man said, coughing and trembling. "Please forgive our intrusion. But this man… he is a messenger."
"The Golden Dragon sat draped in flowing gold — a half-loincloth and a sash woven like sunfire across his shoulders. His gaze, calm and indifferent, carried the essence of centuries."
His face was divine — yet somehow… plain.