Pain.
The first thing Ryle felt was a dull ache spreading through his entire body.
The second thing?
Something—or rather, someone—crashing into him.
"Ryle!"
A pair of small but strong arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing tightly.
Ryle groaned as Thea buried her face into his chest, her body trembling.
"You idiot! You were unconscious for three days!"
Ryle blinked as his vision adjusted to the dimly lit room. The wooden walls, flickering torches, and the scent of herbal medicine told him they were in a healing chamber deep inside Dragon Mountain.
He turned his head slightly, spotting Dravenith waking up beside him.
The moment he sat up—
Sylvaris lunged at him.
"My king! You're awake!"
Before she could complete her enthusiastic embrace—
Dravenith shoved her away.
"Get off, woman."
Sylvaris huffed, crossing her arms. "Hmph! I was just worried about you, you ungrateful lizard!"
Ryle smirked, his strength slowly returning.
"Tsundere dragon."
Dravenith shot him a glare. "Shut up."
Ryle stretched his sore arms before turning to his brother. "Hey, Dravenith... We really need to change the name 'Dragon Chronicles.'"
Dravenith scoffed. "I know, right? We made that technique when we were teens. It sounds so childish now."
Ryle grinned. "Got any better ideas?"
Dravenith paused. "...I'll think of something."
The door slammed open.
A familiar figure stepped inside, her long obsidian-black hair flowing behind her like a storm.
Vaelthia.
Their mother.
And she was furious.
"You two." Her voice was calm, but the veins in her forehead said otherwise.
"You two used such a dangerous spell that it made you faint for THREE DAYS?!"
Ryle and Dravenith flinched.
Thea and Sylvaris slowly backed away, trying to avoid the incoming storm.
"Do you two realize how reckless that was?!" Vaelthia's voice rose as she paced back and forth. "I don't care if you defeated a god, a demon, or whatever monster you fought—YOU DO NOT FAINT FOR THREE DAYS!"
Ryle raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, we get it—"
"No, you don't! You pulled off some flashy, over-the-top magic, collapsed, and left ME to worry about whether my idiot sons were DEAD!"
Dravenith looked away, clearly uncomfortable.
"Mother, we—"
"AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON YOUR TERRIBLE STAMINA! Ryle, you should've trained harder! Dravenith, you're the Dragon King—act like one!"
Ryle muttered under his breath, "This is worse than our fight against Ignilth…"
Vaelthia glared at him. "What was that?"
"Nothing, ma'am."
After another five minutes of scolding that could shatter mountains, Vaelthia finally sighed.
Her anger faded into something softer.
"You two really are just like your father."
Silence fell over the room.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then, Ryle suddenly remembered something.
He looked up at his mother.
"By the way… Ignilth's last words?"
Vaelthia raised an eyebrow. "What about them?"
Ryle grinned. "He asked if you're still bad at cooking stew."
The room was silent.
Then—
Vaelthia's eye twitched.
"When I get to heaven, I'll make it feel like hell for Ignilth."
Two hours later—
Ryle soared through the sky, the cold wind whipping against his face.
Below, the vast mountains stretched endlessly, their peaks cloaked in thick mist.
With one arm, he casually flipped through the Noctis Vitae book.
With the other, he held onto Thea—who was squirming in embarrassment.
"H-Hey! Ryle! I can fly by myself, you know!"
Ryle didn't even look at her. "No, you can't."
Thea's face turned red. "I-I can learn! Just teach me already! I don't want you carrying me every time!"
Ryle smirked. "What's wrong? You don't like being princess-carried?"
Thea punched his shoulder. "Shut up!"
Ryle chuckled and returned his focus to the ancient tome in his hands.
The Noctis Vitae.
The book that could bring the dead back to life.
As he flipped through the pages—his eyes widened.
A Terrifying Revelation
There, written in blood-red ink:
"If the owner of the Noctis Vitae book sacrifices themselves to resurrect someone… the resurrected person is controlled by the creator of Noctis Vitae."
Ryle's grip on the book tightened.
He remembered Ignilth.
He remembered the way his body was controlled like a puppet.
A chill ran down his spine.
"The creator of Noctis Vitae…" Ryle muttered.
Thea frowned. "Huh? What's wrong?"
Ryle didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stared down at the forbidden text, a single question burning in his mind—
Who was the creator of Noctis Vitae?
And what were they planning?