The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling like the growls of an unseen beast.
Yet within the ruined mansion, the atmosphere was eerily still.
Ignilth lay on the ground, motionless.
His massive body rose and fell with shallow breaths, his black scales reflecting the flickering torchlight.
Then—
He laughed.
A weak, yet familiar sound, filled with warmth despite his wounded state.
"So… you trained Dravenith to become king?" His voice was rough, but there was a teasing edge to it. "I wanted you to be king, Ryle."
Ryle exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I wanted you to not die."
Ignilth chuckled.
Then, after a pause—
"Does your mom still suck at cooking beef stew?"
Ryle let out a surprised laugh. Dravenith's mouth twitched.
Even now, even after everything, Ignilth still found a way to joke.
Ryle kneeled beside him, placing a hand on his scales.
"I avenged you, old man," Ryle murmured. "The noble who killed you—I exposed him. I ruined him. And now?"
A faint smirk formed on his lips. "Now, I'm the World's Strongest Journalist."
Ignilth grinned weakly. "Not bad… for a human."
Dravenith, standing beside them, let out a slow breath. "I didn't just become king, Dad. I took Dragon Mountain back."
Ignilth's eyes flickered with interest.
Dravenith crossed his arms, his gaze sharp.
"There was a revolution," he continued. "I didn't just inherit the throne—I fought for it. I defeated the strongest challengers. Now, the mountain belongs to our people again."
Ignilth let out a slow, satisfied sigh.
"Good job, sons."
They sat in silence, the weight of years unspoken settling between them.
Then—
A sharp pain shot through Ryle's spine.
Something was wrong.
Ignilth's body tensed.
His wounds began closing on their own, his breath sharpening.
His golden eyes flickered—then turned red.
"Let… the… hunt… begin."
A chilling wave of power exploded outward, shaking the mansion walls.
Sylvaris stumbled back, gripping his staff. "No—this isn't natural!"
Bloodlust.
A vampire's curse—one that granted immense strength but destroyed the mind for one day.
Someone was still controlling him.
But who?
Ignilth's body twisted unnaturally, his form becoming even more feral.
His roars shook the foundations of the mansion.
Ryle and Dravenith stood their ground, eyes locked on their father's distorted form.
Sylvaris gritted his teeth, then lifted her hand.
A bright blue glow enveloped the battlefield.
"I'll amplify your power! But don't waste it!"
The energy surged through them, their veins igniting with raw strength.
Yet—
Even with the boost, Ignilth was overwhelming.
His movements were faster, his strikes heavier.
They needed something more.
Ryle, panting, gripped Thea's Hemlock Steel sword.
This was it.
He turned to Dravenith, his grip firm as he handed him the blade.
"This is what your father wanted."
Dravenith took it—
Then paused.
His expression softened.
"Our father."
With that, he raised the sword.
Ryle's claws glowed with purple dragon fire.
Ignilth rushed forward, teeth bared—
Ryle lunged, slashing at Ignilth's side, paralyzing him for a moment.
Dravenith leaped upward, his sword raised high.
Dravenith's blade burned with divine energy.
He raised his free hand toward the mansion roof.
Then—he destroyed it.
BOOM!
The stone shattered apart, revealing the stormy sky of Dragon Mountain.
The wind howled as rain poured down, lightning flashing in the background.
Ryle flew up, his wings spreading wide.
Dravenith joined him.
For a moment—
The sky was silent.
Then—
"DRAGON CHRONICLES!!"
A colossal storm shaped like a giant dragon erupted downward.
A massive wave of purple lightning and draconic energy consumed Ignilth.
His roar echoed through the heavens.
Then, within the blinding light, his voice—
"Great job, sons."
Then—silence.
Ryle and Dravenith crashed down, their energy completely drained.
The storm above faded.
Only the wreckage of the battle remained.
And the question hung in the air—
Were they still alive?